Claim Me(169)

I hear rather than see his answering smile. “That depends on who’s asking.” He doesn’t turn to face me, but he lifts his arm so that his hand is held up in a silent invitation. I close my hand in his, and he guides me gently around the chair until I am standing in front of him. I know every line of this man’s face. Every angle, every curve. I know his lips, his expressions. I can close my own eyes and picture his, dark with desire, bright with laughter. I have only to look at his midnight-colored hair to imagine the soft, thick locks between my fingers. There is nothing about him that is not intimately familiar to me, and yet every glance at him hits me like a shock, reverberating through me with enough power to knock me to my knees.

Empirically, he is gorgeous. But it is not simply his looks that overwhelm. It is the whole package. The power, the confidence, the bone-deep sensuality that he couldn’t shake even if he tried.

He is exceptional. And he is mine.

“Damien,” I whisper, because I can’t wait any longer to feel his name against my lips.

That wide, spectacular mouth curves into a slow smile. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He tugs my hand, pulling me onto his lap. His thighs are firm and athletic, and I settle there eagerly, but I don’t lean against him. I want to sit back enough that I can see his face.

“How could I sleep without you?” I ask. “Especially tonight?” I stroke his cheek. He hasn’t shaved since yesterday, and the stubble of his beard is rough against my palm. The shock of our connection rumbles through me, and my chest feels tight, my breath uneven. Will there ever come a time when I can be near him without yearning for him? Without craving the touch of his skin against my own?

It’s not even a sexual longing—not entirely, anyway. Instead, it’s a craving. As if my very survival depends on him. As if we are two halves of a whole and neither can survive without the other.

With Damien, I am happier than I have ever been. But at the same time, I’m more miserable, too. Because now I truly understand fear.

I force a smile, because the one thing I will not do is let Damien see how scared I am of losing him. “You couldn’t sleep? Are you thinking about the trial?”

“A bit,” he says, his eyes locked on my face. “Mostly, I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Oh.” I cannot help the flutter in my chest, and I feel the flicker of a smile tugging at my lips. “What were you thinking?”

“That I am a selfish man, but nothing that I have done in my life is more selfish than loving you.”

“Damien, no. I want to be here. I need to be here. You know that.” We’ve had this conversation before. When the German indictment came through, he’d tried to push me away, believing that he was protecting me. But he’d been wrong—and I’d flown all the way to Germany to tell him so.

“No,” he says with a small shake of his head. “I mean I should never have pursued you in the first place.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” I say. The thought that Damien never entered my life is worse than the thought of him leaving it.

“I pissed you off at Evelyn’s,” he says. “Remember? I should have let you stay pissed. I should have simply walked away.”

My mouth is dry, and my chest feels tight. I do not want to hear these words. I don’t want to believe that there is even some tiny part of him that would prefer to have never met me, not even if that fantasy is borne from a desire to protect me. “No,” I say. It’s the only word I can manage, and it sounds strangled and raw.