Again, the wretched dimple appears.
“It usually isn’t, but somehow I know I can trust you.”
“Gee, thanks?”
The snarky remark is out before my brain can filter the words.I want to slap my hand over my mouth.He chuckles.At least it’s a good sign, isn’t it?You wouldn’t kill someone who makes you laugh, would you?
“Speaking of work,” he says smoothly, like we’ve been chatting about the weather instead of dancing on a knife’s edge of tension, “I heard things have been busy at the vet clinic lately.”
Unease coils in my stomach.He knows where I work.
Of course he knows!
Silly me.There’s probably nothing he doesn’t know about his flock.
“Who told you that?”I ask, a little too sharply.
He shrugs, maddeningly casual.“People talk.”
“Well, you shouldn’t listen to people so much.”
“Oh?”One brow arches in amusement.“And why’s that?”
“Because most of what people say is absolute nonsense,” I say, my voice gaining confidence, “If I believed every word, you’d be drinking newborn blood and sacrificing virgins between business meetings.”
He laughs and I freeze.Not because it’s terrifying, but because it’s…normal.Warm, rumbling.It rolls over me like honey poured slow and sweet across my skin.
“Who says I don’t?”He grins, wicked and boyish all at once.For a moment he looks ten years younger, and the glimpse of this unexpected side of him hits me so hard my brain quietly nopes out of service for a few seconds.
“That sounds like a serious scheduling challenge,” I say, playing along despite myself.“Do you at least use a color-coded planner for all that dark lord multitasking?”
His grin widens.“I prefer to keep it all in my head.More mysterious that way.”
I huff a laugh, a real one this time.“Of course you do.”
He studies me then, something flickering behind his eyes.Not solely amusement now, but curiosity.Like he’s seeing me.Really seeing me.
I squint up at him, thrown off balance.The dangerous devil I’ve feared suddenly seems…almost human.Almost.Because he looks otherworldly—his beauty feels like something no mortal man should possess.
Can a man even be considered beautiful?
He is impeccably handsome, dressed entirely in black—black tux, black shirt, black silk tie, black shoes.It’s the sort of look that would make any other man appear drab, but not him.What really pulls me in, though, is the air of authority and danger that clings to him like a second skin.It is intoxicating, seductive, like he is a God of ancient times expecting worship and sacrifices from us mere mortals, or the devil himself descending to tempt the innocent.
And his eyes… God, they are smoldering, blazing with an intensity that could burn through steel.The amber ring around his pupils flickers like fire, casting an almost hypnotic glow in his otherwise dark, unrelenting gaze.
I dimly register that we have been dancing for a while now.How many songs have played?The last song has just ended and a new one is starting to play softly.But Damiano takes my arm and leads me to a set of double doors and a few moments later we are standing outside on a large terrace.
The moon is casting a soft light on the gardens and the fresh air makes me inhale more deeply.His scent overwhelms me.
He smells of citrus and cedarwood, and I love it.
Shit.
The guards who were stationed outside have ushered the other guests back into the ballroom.Now they stand by the door, their backs turned to us, like silent sentinels.
We are alone on the terrace.My heart begins to pound in my chest, the rhythmic thud echoing in my ears as I gaze out into the moonlit garden.I try to steady my breath, to calm my racing heart, but it’s impossible.Every inch of me is on high alert.
Is this fear, or…something else?
