Page 56 of Deliah
“I do now,” he replied, picking up my suitcase. “Come on.”
We moved through the villa like I was in a fever dream. He led me upstairs to the guest suite—if you could call a private wing with a balcony, walk-in wardrobe, and spa bathroom a ‘guest room.’ He set my suitcase down.
“This is you,” he said. “You should find everything you need, but let me know if anything’s missing. I’ll let you get unpacked.”
I stood frozen for a second.
“Thank you,” I said quietly, the weight of it all suddenly catching up with me.
He nodded once, then turned and disappeared downstairs like he hadn’t just casually dropped me into a life people fake on Instagram. I rolled my suitcase to the bed, sat down, and stared out the window. The ocean stretched endlessly, shimmering in soft blues and silvers. The air smelled like sun-warmed stone and sea salt.
What the fuck was I doing? This was madness. I was in Spain. In a villa. With a man I’d barely touched. But then I looked around again. The walk-in wardrobe. The rainfall shower. A vanity lined with skincare products so expensive I didn’t even know how to pronounce half the brands. It wasn’t just luxury. It was intentional. Curated. He’d obviously thought about what I’d want before I’d even gotten here. I stood and wandered to the wardrobe, expecting it to be empty. It wasn’t. One dress hungthere. Alone. Red Versace. Crossed back. Gold Medusa detail. I blinked, stepping closer. A small note was pinned beside it.
Wear this tonight.
Downstairs at 9 p.m.
– D
My stomach flipped. Hard.Oh, Damion. You’re good, really fucking good.I brushed my fingers across the fabric, heart skipping like it had somewhere to be. This couldn’t be real. Surely this wasn’t my life. And yet… Here I was. And the red dress was waiting.
Chapter 21 –
Build the Ache
Red was always a dangerous colour. And tonight, I wore it like a warning. The dress hugged my body like it had been made just for me—blood-slick silk, high slit, low back, and the kind of neckline that said, “Look at me and suffer.” I knew what I looked like. I knew what he wanted me to look like. And I knew exactly what this dress was meant to do. Still, I walked down the stairs at 8:59 p.m. like I hadn’t spent the last hour debating whether this was the best decision I’d ever made… or the beginning of my very glamorous downfall.
He was waiting downstairs, perched on the arm of the charcoal leather sofa like he’d been sculpted for it. Black shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, top two buttons undone. That gold watch—sleek, heavy, and probably worth more than my childhood home—glistened on his wrist. And the look he gave me when I steppedinto view? Lethal. He stood slowly, eyes raking over me with quiet precision.
“Deliah…” he said, voice low, smooth, and slightly strained. “You look… incredible.”
I tilted my head, feigning innocence. “You pick the dress, plan the night, and still act surprised?”
His lips twitched. “Not surprised. Just impressed.”
I reached the last step, and for a second, neither of us moved. The tension hung in the air—sharp, electric, loaded.
He held out his hand. “Ready?”
I hesitated just a beat before placing my fingers in his. His palm was warm. Steady. Dominant in the softest, most unshakeable way. The moment his skin touched mine, something twisted in my stomach. Not butterflies—no, this was deeper. Hungrier. Like nerves and desire had wrapped themselves into a knot I couldn’t untangle.
As we walked towards the car, I glanced sideways at him. “So… where exactly are you taking me? Am I about to be murdered or wined and dined?”
He opened the door for me with a smirk. “Just dinner.”
“‘Just dinner,’” I repeated, sliding into the leather seat. “Said every man ever before things went downhill.”
He got in beside me and shut the door with a soft click. The engine purred to life.
“You nervous?” he asked after a beat, not looking at me.
I scoffed, immediately defensive. “No.”
He glanced over, unconvinced.
“Okay… maybe a little,” I muttered.
“Why?” he asked gently.
