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Bare.
That was the first word that sprung to mind. Not in a judgmental way, but as a general observation. Despite the fluffy rug on the tiled black floor and one mirror on the plain white walls of the entryway, there was nothing else. A stark contrast to my own warm entrance.
“Wine?” Damien asked, touching his hand to my back and guiding me into the kitchen.
He flicked another light switch, and the room lit up thanks to several spotlights spread across the ceiling. A few were concentrated over the large, rectangular island in the middle of the room, their brightness glinting off the shiny marble countertop.
“There’s rosé in the fridge,” he continued, motioning to a backed stool at the island.
I arched my eyebrows. “You remembered. I’m impressed.”
A tiny twitch caught the corner of his mouth. His eyes flashed with something genuine—something I couldn’t quite pinpoint because he turned around. “Of course I remembered.” He pulled the bottle out from a rack inside the fridge and shut the door. “Like I said in the car…I pay a ridiculous amount of attention to you, Dahlia. It’s an easy thing to do.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I swallowed and watched as he poured the pink wine into a glass. He followed up by placing the bottle back in the fridge and pulling out a beer. Popping off the top with a satisfying hiss using an opener attached to the side of his fridge, he caught the cap and threw it into the trashcan.
“Do you want to eat before or after I justify my perfectly sane comments to you?” he asked, wiping the side of his bottle.
“Oh, the one where you deemed women unworthy of your conversation?”
“If it were women in general, you wouldn’t be putting wine in your mouth. You’d be putting me in it.”
I took a big mouthful of wine and glared as I swallowed it.
He sighed, despite the smile playing with the corners of his mouth. “It’s so fun to mess with you.”
I carried on glaring at him. He may have thought so, but I couldn’t say I agreed. Messing with him was probably way more fun.
“There are three types of women in my world.” Damien held up three fingers, leaning back against the kitchen counter, before bending two down so only one was up. “One: the types who come to me for a job. They do it for fun, for college, or for their kids. Maybe even for their parents. Mostly, they’re good people, stuck in a tough place. Our conversations are short and sweet.” He flipped up a second finger. “Two: the types who get dollar signs in their eyes when they look at me. You’ll know them as gold diggers, and I bet you’ve seen your fair share of male ones. They don’t care about me or my business. They care about my car, my bank, and whether or not I’ll spend fifty grand on a fucking handbag for their birthday or not.” The third finger went up. “Three: the very rare women who actually give a shit about me. Maybe we’re colleagues, family friends, or we have business to do. Those are the two-way relationships and the conversations I have time for.”
All right.
“Your explanation is spot on, but your original delivery needs some work.” I leaned onto the counter and propped my chin up on my hand. “And yes, I have seen my fair share of gold diggers who see money when they look at me. That doesn’t mean they aren’t worthy of my conversation. I can’t adequately tell them where to go if I don’t talk to them.”
“You tell one to fuck off and you’re feisty. I do it and I’m an asshole.”
“A label that shouldn’t bother you, given that you are. Mine doesn’t bother me.” I grinned.
Damien smiled behind the rim of his beer. “I forgot the fourth type of woman.”
I watched him expectantly, twisting my glass in my hand.
“The business rival who drives me crazy.” His smile twisted into a dirty smirk. “She goes by Dahlia Lloyd, but I prefer to refer to her as my little pain in the ass.”
“I can be a pain in a whole lot more.” I blinked at him innocently, lifting my glass to my mouth.
He put his bottle down on the island and rounded it. His eyes were fixed on mine as he approached with slow, calculated steps that made a shiver run down my spine. His dark eyelashes fanned across his cheeks every time he blinked, and the closer he came to me, the more the memory of his kiss tingled across my lips.
He stopped right in front of me.
Pulled me up.
Held me against him.
Ran his lips across my jaw.
“My sanity?” His lips brushed across my earlobe as he spoke. “My resistance? My common sense? My ability to make good decisions? My ability to leave you the fuck alone, Dahlia? ‘Cause I can assure you, you’re a pain in all of those. In fact, they’re all non-existent where you’re concerned.”
