by Beth Mikell
Mike was not swayed. “What the hell are you doing, man?” He jabbed a thick finger into Damon’s shoulder.
In a second, Damon released her, throwing a punch against Mike’s face. He sent the guy crashing into a nearby table. But he wasn’t finished. Damon yanked Mike up to his feet, dragged him closer to the bar, and shoved him into the waiting arms of two bouncers. The blaring music died, leaving the bar in a state of sizzled shock.
“Get him out of here!” Damon hissed.
Clive Davis, the owner of Looney’s, arrived flushed faced and distressed.
“Davis! If you want to remain open, I suggest you screen your clientele before I shut this place down! Be happy all I’m doing is kicking out the trash!” He swung away.
Brooke stood silently, nothing reaching her, not even Jennifer’s insistent questions and apology. Damon moved sure-footed back to her, and unceremoniously took her hand, pulling her against him.
His face softened ever so slightly, but the firm edge of his lips clearly indicated his anger. “Ready to go?”
Unable to find her voice, she merely nodded. The only thing penetrating the fog of her mind was the warm heat of his body. She shivered.
Damon weaved through the crowd and out into the fresh night air. His Hummer stood ready, the door open to receive them. He helped her climb in, but Jennifer rushed up in a panic. Damon blocked her.
“Please? Where are you taking her?” she asked him, frowning.
“Home.” Without another word to her friend, he slammed the door.
Brooke rocked back and forth, shock settling in, so cold. She had never been touched like that, never assaulted, or made to feel powerless. Tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to fall.
“Brooke?”
She turned at the sound of his velvet voice, her luminous eyes meeting his. Damon’s concern penetrated deep within her mind. “If you hadn’t come back… if…” She could not finish her sentence. As her adrenaline rush died out, her tears fell.
An unnamed emotion crossed his face. Damon gathered her into his arms, and he cursed under his breath. “Shem, turn on the heat,” he told his driver.
Warm air filled the Hummer, and Brooke turned her face into his neck with a small sob. All her senses were raw, yet somehow comforted. His scent enfolded her, just like his strong arms, banishing the harsh reality of the night’s cruel events. Her lips brushed over his skin. The ache to suck his flesh shocked her more than the terrifying hands that had grabbed at her earlier. She wanted him down to a primitive level.
She hated the feeling. Dependence on anyone… scared her. Brooke did not want to care about anyone, and then lose again.
She shifted in his arms, embarrassed.
Damon’s arms hugged her briefly before letting go, but his eyes searched her face. “Do you feel better?”
His hands moved up and down her arms, restoring warmth to her chilled skin. “Yes, thank you.”
“Shem, turn off the heat,” he called out and immediately, the driver responded. “Where may I take you?”
She lifted her eyes to his, flushing under his stare. The beauty of his face paralyzed her. “My apartment,” she whispered, giving her address in a wispy tone. “I’m sorry.” Brooke looked away, watching the world outside the window pass by.
“For what? You can’t be held responsible for what that jerk did,” he said, cupping her face between both his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You did nothing wrong. I’m sorry I left you alone. If anyone is to blame, it is me. I left you unprotected. I’m sorry.” His thumbs caressed her cheeks.
“But… but if I had just accepted your dinner invitation… then…” Why did she feel so small—so tiny in his presence? So utterly… feminine.
He smiled wolfishly. “True, but who is to say I’m any safer?”
She inhaled a sharp breath, wondering the same. He wasn’t like the jerks that manhandled her so ruthlessly at the club. “I trust you.”
He let go of her and sat back with a deep sigh. “Well, you shouldn’t.” Damon ran both hands through his hair, looking away.
“Why?”
He turned to look at her, his diamond-like eyes cool. “Because all I want to do is suck the breath right out of your body with a kiss until you can’t even remember your name. Trustworthy? Hell no.”
She gasped. His eyes burned hot green fire in the darkness, his meaning clearer than a perfect flight in the sky. And his suggestion caused her lips to tingle with anticipation, firing her with desire. For the first time in her life—she wanted a man—not just any man—but Damon. The ultimate, super hottie with savior skills and silky words. She couldn’t have dreamed up a better candidate.
Emboldened, Brooke leaned closer. “So, why don’t you?”
He grunted harshly. “Because we’ll be no closer to knowing each other than we do right now.”
If she had a tenth of Jennifer’s seductive prowess, they would be in a hot lip-lock and parting more than a few zippers. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—but God, how she wanted to. Brooke wanted what every woman on the planet knew well—a hot date and a morning after. Maybe even breakfast in bed, wearing one of his shirts or nothing. Nice fantasy.
But the Hummer slowed to a stop outside her apartment building, ending the heated spell. Without a word, Damon got out and helped her with a light touch on her arm, yet it was enough to send her over the edge. Still a delicious shiver ran over her body. The man blew her off, and his rejection smacked her harder.
“Thank you, Mr. Sinclair. I’ll see myself up,” she said without looking up at him.
“Mr. Sinclair? I thought we moved beyond the formal, Ms. Stone,” he said with a hard tone. “I’ll see you to your door.”
Shrugging, she strode a little ahead of him, entering her apartment building. Her pride stung hard from his gallant brush off, yet another fine moment to add to her anti-womanly list.
They didn’t speak in the elevator ride, nor did she look his away.
“Brooke.”
“Don’t,” she wheezed out between clenched teeth. “Don’t say another word, Damon. I get it! Just don’t embarrass me further. I’ve had enough.”
He moved to speak, but the elevator dinged open on the fourth floor, and she shot out, practically running toward her apartment.
Anger burst in her chest. Brooke stopped mid-stride and faced him, coming up short, as she found him inches from her.
Her eyes glittered with unsuppressed annoyance. “What the hell is it? What is it about men? Am I Quasimodo? The Elephant Man? The Bearded Lady? Am I so repulsive that no man would want me? Granted, I’m not the most graceful or attractive woman, but—”
Damon’s hands settled on her shoulders, his face stone cold, and his eyes narrowed. “You have no idea how much I want you right now! If you insult yourself one more time, I will happily prove myself to you!”
Chapter 3
Brooke’s breath sawed in and out, her face burning. Damon had managed to twist her out of control. She was completely undone. He had vaporized her ability to breathe, speak, or move. She should have felt fear at his outburst and rough handling, yet she did not. She felt wanton and desirable. It was the hottest moment of her life. She wanted to throw herself in his arms.
His nostrils flared; his anger evident. “When I kiss you—when I make love to you—you will know exactly who possesses you. Until that moment, we will work damn hard to control ourselves, baby. Right now, I want you more than I can tolerate—don’t test me,” he warned.
Damon’s hands gentled and smoothed down her arms, while he focused his attention on something else.
He pulled her closer to the lamp. “Dear God… your skin. What did those guys do to you?” He inspected her arms, turning her this way and that under the light.
Brooke looked down. Black and blue handprints gleamed on her skin in a mismatched pattern over her forearms and wrists, exactly where Skydiver Mike and cronies had held her down.
She snatched her arms away, trying to hide t
hem. “Forget it. It’s nothing. It doesn’t even hurt.” But she winced as she pressed a hand to her bruised flesh.
“This isn’t right, Brooke,” he whispered with a haunting calm.
“They were drunk and they weren’t in their right minds.” She shrugged it off and her wary gaze met his. Damon’s face appeared livid, flushing his handsome face, and his sea-beauty eyes glowed fiercely.
He snorted. “They were jerks who couldn’t respect a lady’s boundaries.”
She searched his eyes and stubborn expression.
He lifted a hand for her to proceed before him. “Let’s get you tucked into your apartment, shall we?”
Rolling her eyes, she turned away. Men were creatures of the unknown. Would she ever understand them?
Her steps faltered as she saw her apartment door flutter open. She frowned. She had locked it this morning.
Pushing the door wide, a creepy chill wafted over her. “Oh my God…” she whispered.
Ransacked? No, shredded more like. A piled of trash called her entire life lay completely at her feet. Ruined. Nothing remained as far as she could see. Lamps shattered, books were destroyed and scattered on the floor. The TV was busted, and the sofa ripped apart with wads of stuffing thrown everywhere. Even the walls had been ground with a sharp object, slashing deep grooves in a haphazard fashion.
“What the…?” Damon’s hand squeezed her shoulder. “Stay here.”
Even as she watched him move into the apartment, whipping out his phone from his pocket, she heard the unmistakable sound of glass crunch under his feet.
She stood frozen.
Not one item still held its original form. Who could have done such a thing? And why?
Brooke stared at the chaos, but jumped at the sound of the elevator arriving behind her.
Damon came back to her side, enveloping her close. His body heat chased the chill from her. Then, the police arrived, and the next hour or so became a nightmare of Q & A.
The extent of damage reached further than she could have imagined. Her clothes had been shredded down to the last plate in the kitchen broken—even the doors of her appliances had been ripped off and stabbed with a sharp object to prevent repair. Strangest of all, nothing was stolen, just demolished in a fit of rage—and the police called it a potential hate crime.
For what?
She gave hot air balloon rides to people. Why would someone target her? Her business was slumping, but she chalked it up to the lull in the economy—people needing to buy food versus balloon rides.
Detective Abbott of the Bel-Air Police Department stood next to her, kindly watching her with shrewd blue eyes. His sparse brown hair was combed neatly over his balding head. “Ms. Stone, is there anything else you can think of that may help us? Perhaps an irate or disgruntled customer?”
She shook her head. “No. I can’t think of anything.”
Damon stepped closer, his eyes glittering. “Detective, I think Ms. Stone has answered all your questions. I think you have enough for your report. I would like to take her to a safe place, so she can rest. If you have anything further, here’s my card.” He flipped out a business card from his pocket, handing it to the officer.
“Brooke?”
She turned at the sound of her name, finding Jake standing shocked on the threshold of her apartment.
Her eyes widened in surprise, and she stepped toward him, her boots crunching over the broken chunks of whatever was under her feet. “Jake? What are you doing here?”
His eyes peered around the room. “I… was out with friends and saw all the cop cars outside your building. I wanted to check on you. Are you okay?”
Brooke shrugged, and Jake’s hands came up to caress her shoulders.
“What happened?”
Glancing around, she offered her best guess, though the destruction was obvious. “Someone broke in and…” Laid waste to her entire life.
“Were you here?” The timbre of his voice rose.
She shook her head.
Jake rolled his eyes upward. “Oh, thank God!” He looked around the room. “Hey, isn’t that the guy from the balloon ride earlier?”
Brooke did not bother to turn around, and she confirmed it with a nod. “Yes. We ran into each other,” she whispered, flushing a bit.
“Look, if you need some place to stay, you’re more than welcome to crash at my place.” He continued to stroke her arms.
“I—”
“Thank you for the offer, but I will see to Ms. Stone,” Damon said from behind them.
Both Jake and Brooke looked up, but she wisely observed the irritated anger etched in every line of Damon’s face and the tense way he held his body.
Jake’s hands fell away, and she turned back to her friend, noting his equally angry face.
What was it about men? Why was everything a contest?
Her nerves were obliterated. She was exhausted and ready to drop. “Thank you for the offer, Jake, but I’ll be fine,” she explained, though she was sure Damon would exert a territorial position, if she chose to go home with Jake. “Just do me a favor and don’t mention this to anyone. I’ll let Harry know myself.”
He nodded. “Are you on the flight roster tomorrow? I can cover you.”
She gave a weak smile. “No, it’s my day off, but thanks for thinking of me.”
Damon stepped up, sliding his arm around her waist. “We should go. Brooke?” His tone was terse and impatient.
She ventured a look up and found his eyes glittered dangerously. “Yes.” Then, she gave Jake a level look. “Good night.”
“Call if you need anything,” Jake offered.
Damon tensed beside her, but she looked at her friend, and said, “Thanks.”
****
She was back in the Hummer, and the more she was here, the more comfortable she felt. And to think, she wanted to go straight home after work. She was not sure whether to laugh or cry, as she stared out the window. Her life was falling apart around her, and she could not do anything about it.
An unexpected giggle escaped her lips. She was a complete, emotional wreck, yet tears pricked her eyes, showing her the open door of her crumbling world.
“Brooke?”
Turning to look at Damon, she was overpowered by his beauty. Then, her tears fell. What could she say? She had never broken down in front of a stranger. She had never ridden in a car with one either. Sure, a hot air balloon, but that was different, under a controlled circumstances. Apparently, this was first of many moments with Damon.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, peering at her in the darkness. He wiped her tears. “What is it, baby?”
She had never known anyone that made her safe just by his sheer presence alone. She had never known a man that made her feel wanted and beautiful. Perhaps his beauty overtook her sanity, or her lack of willpower. Brooke really wanted him to kiss her—and take away all her problems. Make her forget. If only for a moment.
“Kiss me,” she rasped.
Even in the dark, his eyes changed to smoldering. Just when she thought he would deny her request, he leaned forward.
Her breath suspended. She was cloaked in his delicious scent. She was afraid to breathe, her heart tripping double time. Should she move? She wanted her Cinderella kiss as his mouth closed in.
Damon’s lips brushed over hers and she whimpered.
His lips were warm and firm, but so sensuous. Every sweet movement thawed every rigid part of her, thrusting her against an imaginary wall. His closeness pounded against her senses by the briefest touch. She was so lost, wanting more.
Her mouth parted, and his tongue swept gently inside. She unraveled. A sob choked her throat. He tasted divine. She thought she might fragment inside pleasure.
Brooke sank into his arms, abandoning her muscles, and he gathered her tight up against him. She never dreamed up his muscles either. He was so massive, shrinking her awkwardness into oblivion.
His tongue seduced hers in a provocative tangle. Unc
onsciously, her hands reached up, threading through his hair, testing the texture. The silken strands burned her palms. Still, she wanted more, but he stilled. Somehow, she knew her Cinderella moment was over.
Damon withdrew and leaned his forehead against hers, his breath heaving. “I want this. More than you know, but… I still hold firm to my words earlier. I want you to know me first. There are things that…” He trailed off.
Brooke was confused. His words suggested a deeper meaning, but she could not figure it out. At least he did not reject her. Yet she did not need to be reminded of anything irritating in this precious moment. It was enough for her to know he kissed her. Wanted her.
“I’m sorry—”
“Never apologize.” He shifted back, cupping her face. “You’re beautiful to me, and you’ve had a helluva night and need rest. I will not take advantage of you, no matter how tempted I am. Do you trust me? Even a little?”
“Yes. But honestly, I don’t know why,” she confessed. The only supporter of her whole day sat inches from her.
Without another word, Damon gathered her back into his arms. A stirring in her heart bloomed, one she never felt before. Brooke reveled inside the newness, a simple pleasure without overthinking. She knew absolutely nothing about the man who held her so sweetly in her fractured pain, yet part of her gave over the reins of trust.
She rested peacefully against his chest, his comforting scent wove her into safety. His warmth lulled her into sleep.
****
Brooke awoke with a start as the Hummer came to a stop. Still wrapped in Damon’s arms, she sat up, peering around the unfamiliar place with a frown. “Where are we?”
“At my home in Washington, D.C.”
She gave him an incredulous glance. “Why? I could have gone to Jennifer’s house.”
He tucked a wisp of her hair behind her ear. “Then you would have had to relive your alarming night all over again. I wanted to spare you that. Besides, I heard you tell your friend you won’t have to work tomorrow,” he said with a shrug. “I thought you might like a change in scenery. Of course, I can have Shem turn the Hummer around.”
