There are other small changes that I don’t really focus on as I take in what has happened over the span of these nine hours that I wasn’t home.
Matt’s disdainful words swim in my ears and my cheeks flush a bright red and angry tears glitter in my eyes. Sure, these things are beautiful and most certainly more comfortable than what I had. But they aren’t mine.
Before I can muster any other thought, the bedroom door opens and I see Damien walk out, his gait slow as he tries not to pull apart his stitches. There’s a welcoming smirk on his lips. “Mon chéri, welcome—”
I turn to stare at him, not bothering to conceal my expression and he freezes. “What’s wrong?”
When he steps toward me, I immediately take a step back. It’s difficult to force the words out when all I wish for in this moment is that I had never met him or his friends so that I could never feel this small again.
“Where are my things?” I hiss, my tone hard.
He blinks. “They’re gone.”
I take in a shuddering breath, trying to compose myself. “Gone where?”
He studies me for a few seconds before responding, his tone cautious. “Did they hold any sentimental value to you?”
No, they didn’t. They were secondhand things I had salvaged money to buy. But they belonged to me. In a world where I have so few possessions, the loss of even those worthless things hurts.
“That’s not what I asked.” I glare at him.
“They’re safe.”
My shoulders sag in relief and my knees feel weak.
Swallowing, I look at him and I push down on the bitterness that is rearing its head inside of me. My words are measured. “These might not be the ideal accommodations for you but I would appreciate it if you don’t replace my belongings. You’re just here for a week.”
He doesn’t respond to that and despite the fact that I’ve tried to keep my face as expressionless as possible, it feels that he can see right through me to the hurt little girl who’s been completely savaged today.
“I heard you met Matt.”
His words have me jerking as if I’ve been slapped and I pale before tightening my fist around the bag in my hand. “Yes.”
Unable to look at that wickedly handsome face, I make my way to the adjoining kitchen space and put down the containers. I shrug out of my jacket and purse and hesitate before placing them on the sofa.
“Braden said you might be upset over something he said to you.”
I shrug my shoulders, my back to him. “We didn’t talk much. I had other patients to see.”
I feel his presence before I see his shadow fall over me, as he effectively cages me against the kitchen counter. He’s not touching me but I can feel his breath on my nape, ruffling my short hair, his arms on either side of me. If I turn to face him there wouldn’t be an inch of space between us.
“I told you, you can’t touch me.”
“I’m not touching you,” comes the gladden reply.
“This counts.”
“How?”
“You’re in my personal space.”
“You never said anything about personal space.”
“It was implied.”
A rough chuckle that feels like it’s stroking against my skin comes from him. “How can I seduce you when I can’t even get under your skin?”
I growl. “I don’t want you to seduce me.”
“Mon chéri, I disagree.”
My brows lower into a forced frown even as his words tug at me, making my stomach quiver, and I turn around without thinking. My hand comes up to rest against his chest as if I mean to push him away and I freeze, at both the proximity and the fact that I might hurt his wound.
He lifts a brow and then one hand comes up to circle around my wrist and then I watch dazed, as he lifts my limp hand and brings it to his mouth to nibble at the fingertips, his wild green eyes on mine. His hot mouth on my fingers wreaks havoc on my defenses and I stare at him, unable to do anything but stand there as he gently nips at my fingers.
“What did he say to you?”
The repeated question is like a cold bucket of water tossed onto my head and I blink, forced out of this sudden enthrallment. I try to tug my hand back but his grip is firm.
I’m trapped.
“Nothing,” I grit out. “He didn’t say anything.”
Damien smiles at me indulgently. “You’re a little liar.”
His smile is just as devastating as his smirk. It gives a gentle look to his face and yet something dark and hungry watches me from behind those eyes.
“Why do you care what he said to me?” I spit out.
He gives me a punishing nip for my impudent tone, his words idle. “So, I can figure out the best way to make him pay.”
My lips tremble at that, taken aback at his words. “W-What? Why would you—?”
“He hurt you.”
Damien’s words were simple, his reasoning straightforward and yet I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
“He’s your friend.”
He watches me through hooded eyes and I realize that I’m not even protesting what he’s doing to my fingers. “What’s your point, mon chéri?”
“Why would you go that far for me?”
He stills at that as if he’s not considered it. Then his shoulders relax. “Because I like you.”
“You just met me,” I retort.
For countless months, I’ve been a pale faced ghost, after my father’s death, a growing numbness taking up residence inside of me, and this man draws reactions from me, one after the other. It stuns me and scares me, at how responsive I am to him.
His tongue darts out and licks the pad of my thumb in a way that has me whimpering. His eyes darken at the sound. “Then I must be an unreasonable person.” His other hand comes up to cup my face as he brushes his thumb over my cheek, his tone almost menacing. “I warned Matt to behave himself around you but he doesn’t seem to listen. He made you cry.”
I stiffen at his words, even if they are slightly true.
“I most certainly did not cry!”
“There were tears in your eyes. Braden saw them.”
“Braden’s a little snitch!” I blurt out, both embarrassed and furious. I yank my hand back from him, lifting myself to my full height and look at him, despite the fact that my eyes only reach until his shoulders. “Listen, Dam—pal,” I try to sound tough, “I’m not going to let some snot-nosed little kid make me cry. Got it? There was something in my eye and that’s it.”
His lips purse and I feel a sliver of outrage in me. “Are you laughing at me?!”
“Not at all, mon chéri.” He pokes my cheek with his thumb and I push his hand away. He lets me. “So, that’s what happened.”
When he steps away from me, I blink. “What?”
“I’ll have a talk with him. He’ll come and apologize to you.”
“What?” I’m not following. “I just told you—”
He ignores me and walks away, slowly. Ignoring the food on the counter, I trail after him, feeling frustrated. “I don’t need you to fight my battles.”
He sits down on the sofa and looks up at me, smirking. “I wouldn’t dare.”