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You know what they say about curiosity. The damn cat never stood a chance. And neither do I.
Damon’s stride is long and fast. It takes me two steps to his one. I can’t deny he’s powerful. Nobody can if they notice the tense strength in his broad shoulders, or large biceps that fill out his shirt sleeves.
He’s dressed in a button-downshirt tonight, the navy color so dark it looks black. My eyes trail down to his ass. Down lower to his muscular thighs.
Sadly, my slow — and appreciative — perusal ends abruptly when Damon walks me into a backroom, shuts the door then lightly shoves me up against a wall to lock his amber stare to mine.
“Why do you think you know me? And don’t bullshit me with your head games, Blue. Give me an honest fucking answer because I’m not in the mood to play tonight.”
There’s a lump in my throat I can barely swallow. Somehow managing it, I fight to smile past the small trickle of fear down my spine. He’s acting out of character.
Or maybe this is just another side to him.
“I’m telling it like I see it, Champ.”
The corner of his lips curl higher.
“No bullshit, Blue. And no fucking head games. You said you know me. So now you’re going to tell me how.”
When I don’t answer immediately, his eyes dip down to my chest. “What’s wrong? Is it easier to talk with your tits on display?”
Anger chases the fear, the warmth of it replacing the cold chill I felt just seconds ago.
“Go to hell, Champ. And let me go.”
Attempting to move away is useless;he only cages me in tighter.
We’re practically sharing our breath, our faces close enough that the end of his nose touches mine.
My eyes narrow. “I’m not doing this with you tonight.”
It’s obvious he doesn’t care about my feelings, his expression seemingly at ease and charming while a fragile hold on his temper pulses beneath.
Damon’s eyes are hooded. His mouth relaxes into an arrogant smirk.
“I think we both know I’m not leaving without an answer.”
I push him away far enough that I can keep my stare on the wall at the opposite end of the room behind him and escape the burning fury of his glare.
His hands lock over my chin enough to control where I look, but not hard enough to bruise.
Not yet, at least.
The threat is there, though, and I grit my teeth because of it.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Ha! This fucker thinks he’s an authority figure now. I refuse. He can turn my head wherever he wants. I’m still not looking at him. He’s not getting an answer simply because he’s demanding it.
Leaning in, he speaks softly against my ear.
“You weren’t lying when you said you’re no man’s toy, were you?”
I don’t need to answer for his mouth to curl into a smirk. Whatever is going through his head right now has nothing to do with what’s occurring in this room. I don’t know where he’s been, who’s been fucking him, or what woman broke his heart, but the pieces of it are dribbling down his chest, a large hole missing from where the damage was done.
None of that is visible though.
Not to the eye.
