The Paper Swan(92)

“Nick is in San Diego. Happily married. He was here to help you set up a charity for the women in Valdemoros. Or should I show you his folder?”

Shit. So much for trying to get the man to leave. I had seen the way Damian had looked at Nick. His jealousy had burned like a red-hot spear, ready to gouge the other man’s eyes out, before he’d retracted it and left.

“You’ve done well for yourself, all things considered.” Damian sat on the edge of my bed and regarded me, his eyes falling on the strap that had slipped off my shoulder. “The princess who lives among the peasants.”

“I did what I had to. No thanks to you.”

“I didn’t know.” He slid the strap back into place and let his fingers linger on the small scar that the bullet had left.

It took every bit of control not to close my eyes. Eight years. Eight long, lonely years. I’d gone out on a number of dates. I’d wanted to fall for someone else, but nothing came close to what Damian’s touch did to me. Once you’ve been loved by a man like Damian, once you’ve been branded and molded in the fires of that possession, you will never be moved by tepid, impostor kisses.

“I assumed that your father had set up some kind of fund for you, something separate from his finances.”

“He did. But I used it to pay for his medical expenses towards the end.” I couldn’t stop scrutinizing his face. The jaw was more solid. Everything was more set—his brows, his nose, his mouth—like they’d finally found their place. If he leaned any closer, I’d feel his breath on my neck.

“You and Sierra had nothing?” He let go of the strap and tilted my chin, forcing me to meet his midnight black orbs. They glittered with something raw and fierce.

“We managed.” I pushed his hand away.

“You should have told me.”

“Why?” My temper flared. “So you could swoop in and make things right? You can never make things right, Damian. You can never take back what you did. Maybe I took a page from your book. Maybe I wanted to punish you for destroying my father. Did you ever think of that? Vengeance begets venge—”

He cut off my tirade mid-sentence, one arm around the small of my back, crushing me up against him. He ravaged my mouth, forcing my lips open, thrusting his tongue inside. This was no soft, dreamy kiss. It was a blistering, roaring flame that crackled and fizzed through my veins. The kind of kiss that welds hungry souls together. It was Damian, wild and erratic, like a summer storm. His fingers twisted in my hair, yanking my head back, holding it immobile. There was no escaping him, no denying him. He didn’t let up until my body went limp in his arms, until the resistance ebbed out of me.

“You lie,” he said, breaking the kiss. “That’s not vengeance I taste on your tongue. It’s fear. You’re afraid of me, Skye.”

“Do you blame me?” I spit out. “You shot me. You were going to kill my father. I couldn’t stop you. You’re ruled by things I can’t compete with. Your rage trumps love, and hope, and faith. If you’ve come back hoping to pick up where we left off, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I’ve worked too hard to build a life for Sierra and myself. I won’t let anything jeopardize that. I won’t pin our future on a man who couldn’t let go of the past. I don’t need you, Damian. I don’t need anyone.”

“Liar.” His eyes raked my face. “Let’s try that again. This time without the lies.” His mouth hovered over mine, but I refused to close the distance. He laughed. One swift, forward tug and his lips were on me again, gentler this time, but I could sense his restraint. He was like a beautiful Arabian stallion, pure power and drive, reining himself in. The way his fingers trembled as he stroked my arm slowly, up and down, betrayed him. The way his entire body throbbed with a need so deep and palpable, told me he hadn’t been with a woman in eons.

My unbridled reaction took me by surprise. Even in remembrance, I had felt the intensity of his kisses, relived them, given in to the wild rush of pleasure that swept through me at the mere thought of him. It was a well-worn track that I had gone over, again and again, the feel of his tongue on that most intimate, hidden part of me, the way his muscles bunched as he moved over me, the pleasure he took in watching me come, the way his movements intensified when he was close.

And now here he was, igniting every switch in that network of erotic memories. Every single one led back to him. He was my pleasure center. Everything throbbed outwards from him.