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"And more importantly, how did you get in? This is a private rehearsal." His words are casual, but the undercurrent is clear - he's marking his territory. A reminder that he controls every aspect of my life.
"I know the owner." Damien's jaw tightens, that muscle ticking. He sees right through Brandon's passive-aggressive power play.
"I'll have to talk to him," Brandon says, annoyed.
Damien turns and looks at him then, almost haughtily.
"You've got him standing in front of you now," he states.
"You own this recording studio?" I ask, impressed, since this is the best studio in town.
"This one and a few others," Damien says, tone impassive.
I raise an eyebrow in admiration.
"Anyway, this is still a private rehearsal," Brandon reaffirms.
Damien glances at his watch, a Rolex glinting in the dim studio light. "I'll make it quick."
He looks at Brandon and then at the engineer sitting at the console, and the message is clear in his dark eyes.
Out.
I clear my throat and look at Brandon. "Five minutes," I promise.
If his face was red with anger before, now it's turned purple, but he obeys. He squeezes my arm, a silent warning, before striding away. The moment he's gone, the tension in the room dissipates.
I can breathe again.
"What's wrong?" I ask him.
He takes a step in my direction and, almost casually, his fingers brush my cheek as he grabs a lock of my hair.
He examines it as if it were made of gold and then carefully places the lock behind my ear.
I feel the current that runs through me every time he touches me, from where his fingers have brushed my skin down into my underbelly, causing a delicious but dangerous tingling sensation.
My heart pounds in my chest, and I can't help but wonder when was the last time a man made me feel this way. Or if there was even a time to begin with.
"I'm worried about you," Damien finally says. "I had to come check on you for myself."
"Why?"
"I've seen the news."
"Oh, that."
His serious face stays firm while I bite my lower lip, trying to keep my cool.
"It's no big deal. Logan's an expert at raising hell. Always has been."
"Likewise. I know this affects you."
"I won't let it," I promise.
His scent reaches me through the cold air, and I can feel the warmth emanating from his skin and the woody notes of his cologne, which are so masculine and desirable.
His face lowers slightly, seeking my gaze as his fingers brush the contours of my face.
