Page 19 of Damian
I moved closer, the weight of her words still vibrating in my chest. “You see patterns most people can’t.”
Her eyes met mine, nervous but steady. “It’s just fiction.”
“No, love,” I said quietly. “It’s bloody insight. And ifLuthor ever heard the way you just spoke, he’d know you were the most dangerous kind of threat — someone who sees him for what he is.”
Silence settled, heavy and sharp.
For the first time, I understood what Morgan Tate truly was. Not just a frightened writer desperate to save her sister. Not just a civilian caught in the crossfire.
She was a mind Luthor couldn’t control.
And that made her invaluable.
19
Damian
Ishould’ve been studying the tracker data Cyclone pulled. I should’ve been planning our next move, running contingencies, thinking three steps ahead of Luthor.
Instead, my eyes kept straying to Morgan.
She sat at the table with her papers spread wide, head bent over the pages, lips moving as she whispered lines into that recorder. The morning light poured through the kitchen window, catching the strands of her hair, turning them to copper and gold. Her skin was pale from sleepless nights, but it only made her eyes sharper when she looked up.
Bloody hell. She was beautiful.
Not the polished, practiced kind. Not the sort you see in magazines. No — this was raw, unguarded beauty. The kind that slipped past armor before a man knew he was bleeding.
And my body knew it before my mind would admit it. The way my chest tightened when her gaze met mine. The heat that crawled low when she bit her lip in concentration. The pulse that quickened when she brushed a strand of hair from her face, oblivious to the effect she had.
I clenched my fists against the table. Discipline. Control.That’s what kept men alive. Letting attraction creep in was a mistake, and mistakes got people killed.
But damn it, I couldn’t look away.
River caught my stare and smirked, like he’d seen this dance before. I shot him a glare sharp enough to cut, but the damage was done. My men weren’t blind. And neither was I.
Morgan glanced up then, catching me mid-thought. For a heartbeat, the air thickened. Her lips parted, like she wanted to say something, but she looked down instead, cheeks coloring.
That flicker — that awareness — snapped through me like an electric current.
I suddenly stood up, pushing my chair back more forcefully than necessary. “We move tonight,” I snapped, sounding rougher than I meant. “Hemsley’s not going to disappear without a tail. We stay prepared."
River raised a brow but wisely kept quiet. Cyclone returned to his screen. And Morgan… she just nodded, but I didn’t miss the way her hand tightened on the recorder like it was the only thing keeping her steady.
I turned away, jaw locked, forcing my mind back to the mission. But in the back of my head, one thought refused to quiet:
She’s getting under your skin.
And God help me, I wasn’t sure I wanted her out.
20
Damian
The hours dragged like weighted chains. We spent the day sharpening plans, cycling through contingencies, and waiting for Hemsley’s tracker to light up the next breadcrumb.
I tried to lose myself in the work, but every time I glanced toward the kitchen, Morgan was there.
Bent over her notes, her pen tapping against the table in rhythm with her thoughts. Cheeks flushed when she muttered too loudly into the recorder. Lips pursed when she pieced fragments into patterns that even Cyclone raised a brow at.
