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When he finishes, he grabs a towel, dries off, then washes the counter and sink with the same attention he did his hands and face. Balling everything he used up, he tosses it all in a garbage bag containing his suit and shoes from this evening.
Beads of water drip from his hair. I lick my lips, unable to stop staring as he turns toward me. His eyes appraise my every inch with the same intensity that I watched him. Always searching, analyzing.
“You're still wearing your gown.”
“I was waiting for you to take it off me.” I'm sewn into it. But, the words tumble from my lips in a heated whisper.
He steps closer. “Kalena.” His voice is torn. As haunted as his eyes.
The door to the west wing opens. I jump, spinning to watch Kane stroll over.
Damien nods toward the trash bag on the ground with his clothes. “Burn it all.”
Kane nods, a silent conversation passing between them before he picks up the bag and disappears back to the other side.
As the lock clicks behind him, I turn toward Damien.
Chapter Six
Bruises mar his knuckles. Fresh drops of blood bubble from the cracked skin. The man in front of me is not my Damien. Not the sweet teenager I met years ago.
He’s changed. Not simply grown up. Haunted. Dark. Somehow I know him less than I ever did.
Still, I take two steps, closing the distance between us.
Pain throbs inside my head, threatening to explode my skull. I don’t need sweet or soft. Tonight, I need a release. I need to forget.
Reaching out, I grab his hand and bring it to my lips. He doesn't flinch as I kiss each bruised knuckle. That soul-shattered look never wavers from his face. Keeping his hand clasped in mine, I silently lead him out of the kitchen and down the hallway. I don't stop inside his bedroom; instead, I guide him into his closet and up the hidden stairs.
“Kalena,” he releases my hand when we reach the pitch-black room, “why are we here?”
I turn toward his voice, seeking out his eyes even in the dark. “You need this.” I need this.
“Need what?”
I glance around, still unable to see a thing. It's dark and cold, like the void screaming inside me. “Where are the lights?”
A slight breeze caresses my shoulders as Damien reaches past me. A moment later, the lights flick on. Heat surrounds me as Damien extends his other arm out, caging me in, pushing me up against the wall. With one hand on either side of my face, he leans close, staring deep into my eyes.
“What now, Kalena?” That wounded expression remains, but something else flickers across his features. Curiosity. Amusement.
My body heats. The voices quiet as the aroma of eucalyptus and musk from Damien's shampoo saturate my senses.
He leans closer, our noses almost touching. Yet, he doesn't close that last half a centimeter between us. My chest heaves as I reach up and twirl my fingers through a lock of his wet hair. He leans into my touch, needing it like I crave my own release.
“Use me.” I whisper into the space between us.
“What?”
Holding his hands, I push off of the wall and guide him farther into the room.
A few punching bags hang from the ceiling. Above us, several empty hooks hang from an intricate, grid system.Reaching up on my tiptoes, I grab one of the hooks in the center. Holding onto the cool metal clasp with both hands, I repeat my whispered words.
“Use me.”
“Kalena, I–”
I meet his wary gaze. “You need this.” I need this.
