Page 9 of Bite of Midnight
My breath catches. “You sound sure of that.”
His lips curve into a faint, dangerous smile. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.”
We keep moving, slow and easy, the crowd melting around us. His thumb strokes small circles against my back, each one setting my nerves on fire.
I should step away. I should remember that I barely know this man. But it feels like I’ve known him forever, like my body’s been waiting for this, for him.
I don’t understand it. I just don’t want it to stop.
He leans closer, his lips near my ear. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
I don’t trust my voice, so I nod.
He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath for centuries.
And in that moment, surrounded by strangers, wrapped in his arms, I realize that somehow, against every ounce of logic, I’ve stepped straight into something I’ll never come back from.
The music melts into something slower, darker, like it was written just for this moment. For us.
Damien moves with a kind of grace that doesn’t feel learned. It feels remembered. His hand never leaves my waist, guiding me easily through each soft turn, my body following his as if it’s always known how.
The rest of the ballroom fades to a blur of color and sound. All I can see is him, his dark eyes, the curve of his mouth, the way he’s watching me like I’m the only real thing in the room.
My heart beats too fast. Every brush of his hand sends sparks through me.
“Calla,” he murmurs, his voice so low I almost don’t hear it.
“Yeah?” I breathe.
“Breathe,” he whispers.
I try. I really do. But then he slides his hand up my back, fingers tracing the edge of my spine, pulling me a little closer.
His lips hover near my ear when he says, “That’s better.”
My pulse stutters. I can feel it everywhere, my neck, my wrists, my chest pressed against his.
We sway, and I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly his face is close enough that his breath grazes my skin. The scent of him, clean, faintly spiced, something wild underneath, wraps around me.
He tilts his head slightly, and before I can think, before I can decide whether to step back or lean in, his lips brush the side of my neck.
It’s barely a kiss, just the ghost of one.
But my entire body reacts like it’s been struck by lightning. I gasp, my fingers clutching at his jacket. My knees nearly give out, and he catches me easily, holding me steady.
“Damien…”
“Shh,” he whispers, his voice rough now, a low growl that vibrates through me. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.”
My breath comes out shaky. “You, You can’t just, ”
“I know.” He pulls back enough to look at me, his eyes darker now, almost black in the candlelight. “Forgive me.”
I should say no. I should be furious. But I can’t think straight with the way he’s still holding me, his thumb tracing slow circles against my waist, his breath still warm against my skin.
“I don’t, ” I start, but the words falter.
He searches my face, gaze flicking between my lips and my eyes. “Tell me to stop.”
