Page 42 of Watch Me Burn
“I did, but I’m not used to this world.”
“You fit in perfectly.” His lips curve into that half-smile that sends heat spiraling through me every time.
There are still some stragglers in the ballroom, but almost everyone is gone. Cade walks up to us as Damien leads me toward the coat check room.
“You two heading out?”
“Yes. You and Tiffany can wrap it up.”
Cade nods before turning to me, taking my hand. “It was lovely to meet you, Luna. Your presence made this night bearable.” He leans toward me. “And just between us, you’re way too good for him.”
His words sound teasing, but there’s something deeper, a dangerous undercurrent that seems to lurk beneath them. Damien tenses beside me.
“Yes, she is. Now, let go of her hand before I break yours off.”
Cade drops my fingers and steps back. The look that passes between the two men carries a weight I can’t decipher, some silent conversation happening in the space of a few seconds. Then Damien’s shoulders drop, tension bleeding away.
“It was nice to meet you, Cade.” I inject warmth into my voice, trying to smooth over whatever just happened.
Cade’s expression returns to a mask of professional composure.
“You two have a good night.”
Damien guides me away. I consider asking him what that was all about, but it’s none of my business.
He retrieves our coats but tosses them over his arm rather than offering me mine. He leads me down a hallway and around a corner toward a bank of private elevators, the ones that we used when we landed on the roof earlier.
“How about a nightcap before I take you home?” His voice is casual, but his eyes burn with intention. “My penthouse is on the top floor. I have an excellent view of the city.”
I hesitate. I should decline. Tomorrow is Sunday, so it will only be Maren and me, and I need to check Ricky’s tummy. But more than that, my wolf will come to my bed in just hours, and the kisses with Damien already feel like a betrayal. Is it smart to spend any more time with him?
Self-preservation screams at me to refuse and ask him to take me home.
“Just one drink,” I say instead, and Damien’s smile widens. Warmth floods my chest, pooling behind my ribs until I can barely breathe.
As we near the elevator, a metal wall-mounted pad beside it scans Damien’s eye, and the doors open.
“These only go to my private floors.” We step inside, and the doors close.
Silence wraps around us, broken only by the elevator’s mechanical hum. My pulse kicks up, a betrayal of nerves I can’t quite swallow down. His presence fills the small space, the mirrored walls reflecting him from every angle. His profile, his hands, and the way he watches me as the numbers beside the door climb, each floor bringing us deeper into dangerous territory.
Maren’s words from the other day echo inside my head.
“His penthouse is in the same building. Win-win. Just head on upstairs, and I’ll let you fill in the blanks…”
Yeah, this is a mistake.
“Having second thoughts?”
Is the man a mind reader?
My hands tremble as I grip the handrail, desperate for something to steady myself against this tide of want threatening to sweep away my better judgment. Every second of silence stretches the tension tighter, like a violin string about to snap. I need an escape route, something light and safe.
I tilt my face up to meet his gaze, painting on a smile. “Just wondering if you have a spare pair of slippers. These heels weren’t designed for actual walking, and I’m pretty sure I left a trail of sequins from the ballroom to the elevator.”
His laugh breaks through the charged air between us. “Good. The place could use a little sparkle. Too much marble and steel, not enough personality.”
The elevator slows to a stop, and the doors slide open. My breath catches as his world unfolds before me in sweeping grandeur, soaring ceilings, and an expanse of clean lines claiming the entire top floor. He hit the mark about the marble and steel. For all its undeniable elegance, the space carries a chill. It’s too pristine, too perfect, like a museum where visitors aren’t meant to linger.
