Chapter 36: Dawn Break
Beth woke to the slow, decadent drag of lips across her shoulder.A faint, wet pressure, followed by the sharp sting of teeth. A low hum of pleasure vibrated against her skin.Damien. He was tracing the marks he’d made hours before, cataloging his work with a drowsy, meticulous attention.
Her body was a map of him.A dull ache between her thighs. The tender constellation of bruises along her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. She kept her eyes closed, feigning sleep, wanting to live in this hazy, weightless moment where the past and its betrayals hadn’t yet seeped back in.He wasn’t fooled. “I can hear you thinking,” he murmured, his voice gravel-rough with sleep. His hand, heavy and warm, splayed across her stomach, holding her in place as he continued his lazy exploration. His mouth moved to the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “It’s too early for boardroom strategies, Montgomery.”
“It’s too early for you to be re-inventing abstract art on my neck, Rossi,” she mumbled, but she arched into his touch, a traitorous reflex.
He chuckled, the sound resonating through her bones.“It’s not abstract. It’s a very clear statement of intent.” He shifted, his body a solid wall of heat pressing along her back, and nuzzled into her hair. “Mine.”
A shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the cool morning air filtering through the windows. The word, spoken with such casual possession, should have rankled.It did, somewhere deep down, a flicker of her old defiance. But draped in the warmth of him, submerged in the scent of sex and his expensive cologne, the protest died before it reached her lips.Instead, a bubble of something dangerously close to giddy happiness rose in her chest. She felt… silly.Young.Deliriously claimed.
She twisted in his arms, facing him.His green eyes were already awake, watching her with a focus that made her breath catch. His dark hair was tousled, a shadow of struff smudging his jaw. He looked less like a don and more like a decadent Roman emperor, thoroughly debauched and pleased with his spoils.“We have to get up,” she whispered, though she made no move to escape. Her hand came up to trace the sharp line of his cheekbone. “Maria will have breakfast on the table. The staff will talk.”
“Let them talk.” He captured her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm, then to her wrist where her pulse hammered. “They’ll say the lady of the house finally looks properly loved.Well-rested.” His tongue flicked against her pulse point. “Well-fucked.”
She flushed, a genuine, hot blush that spread from her chest to her hairline.“Damien.”
“Bethany,” he mocked gently, his smirk widening. He rolled her onto her back, settling over her, his weight a delicious anchor. The sheets, cool on her back, contrasted with the furnace of his skin. He kissed her slowly, deeply, a languid exploration that had no urgent destination.It was a kiss of ownership, of quiet, staggering satisfaction. When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing harder.
“You’re going to make us late,” she breathed, her fingers threading into his hair.“I’m the boss. I’m never late. People just have to wait longer.” He dipped his head, kissing a path down her throat, over the marks he’d left. His hand slid down her side, over the curve of her hip, squeezing.“And you don’t have a board meeting until two. I checked your schedule.”
“You checked my—” The laugh that escaped her was part outrage, part helpless affection. “Of course you did.”
“Priorities,” he stated, as if it were the simplest logic in the world. He shifted lower, his mouth closing over one peaked nipple, sucking gently until she gasped. His hand continued its journey, slipping between her legs, finding her wet and ready for him all over again.He groaned against her breast. “Christ, you’re perfect.”
It was slow, and sweet, and utterly devastating. He made love to her with a patient, worshipful intensity that left her boneless and floating. There were no frantic commands, no brutal claiming—just the steady, deep thrust of his hips, his eyes locked on hers, his thumb stroking her clit with a maddeningly perfect rhythm. She came softly, a wave of warmth rather than a detonation, her cries muffled against his shoulder. He followed her over the edge with a shuddering sigh, his own release a quiet surrender.
For a long time afterward, they just lay tangled, listening to the distant sounds of the ranch coming to life.A horse whinnying. The hum of a tractor.The comfortable clatter of pans from the kitchen wing.
Reality, in the form of the polished world outside this room, was politely knocking. She couldn’t ignore it forever.“We really have to move,” she sighed, regret lacing her voice.
He kissed her temple.“Fine. But I’m picking what you wear.”
“Absolutely not.”
“The black dress.The one with the buttons down the front. I have fond memories of it.”
She pushed at his chest, finally wriggling out from under him. “You are a child.” She padded naked to her walk-in closet, acutely aware of his eyes on her. She chose a cream-colored silk blouse and tailored taupe trousers—elegant, armored, businesslike. A statement.When she emerged, he was already up, pulling on his own dark trousers. He took one look at her and frowned, a playful scowl. “Boring.”
“Professional,” she corrected, heading to the en suite.“I can be professional,” he called after her. “I’m a very professional individual.”
She leaned back out the doorway, toothbrush in hand. “You run illegal betting rings and extort shipping magnates.”
“See? A specialist.” He grinned, that wicked, boyish grin that had disarmed her a million times before.It still worked. She shook her head and disappeared into the bathroom.
By the time they made it downstairs, the sun was high, pouring through the tall windows of the dining room. Maria, the housekeeper, didn’t bat an eye at their late arrival or their togetherness. She merely gave a small, knowing nod and set down a fresh pot of coffee alongside a spread of avocado toast, fresh fruit, and soft-scrambled eggs.“Good morning, Ms.Montgomery.Mr. Rossi.”
“Maria,” Beth said, feeling inexplicably shy.
Damien pulled out Beth’s chair for her, a gesture so old-fashioned and deliberately performed it made her want to both roll her eyes and kiss him. He took his seat beside her, close enough that his knee brushed hers under the massive oak table.
They ate in a comfortable, almost domestic silence for a few minutes. He stole a slice of strawberry from her plate.She retaliated by taking a sip of his coffee, black and bitter, and making a face.
“You still take it like tar,” she grimaced, pushing the cup back.
“And you still take it with enough sugar to induce a coma,” he retorted, nodding to her own creamy, sweet concoction.It was so normal.So terrifyingly normal. This was the dream she’d once had, before the lies and the blood money and the men showing up at their door with silent, grim messages.The champagne-and-bullets life he’d dragged her into. The memory of it was a sudden, cold trickle down her spine.
As if sensing the shift in her mood, Damien’s phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen, and the easy, morning-soft look in his eyes vanished. It was replaced by a flat, assessing coldness she knew all too well.The don was in the room.
“Excuse me,” he said, his voice now devoid of its earlier playfulness. He stood, taking the call as he walked towards the living room. “Talk.”
Beth watched him go, the warmth of the morning leaching away with every measured step he took. He stopped before the grand piano, his free hand coming to rest on the velvet drape covering it. His back was to her, rigid, a rampart of tailored wool and contained violence.She heard only his side of the conversation.Low, terse syllables. “Where?” A pause.“How many?” Another, longer pause. His hand curled into a fist against the velvet.“No.Keep him there. I’ll handle it.”
He ended the call and stood motionless for a full minute, staring at the shrouded piano.Then he turned. The charming, insouciant man from her bed was gone. In his place was the ruler of a shadow empire, his green eyes sharp enough to cut glass.
“Beth,” he said, and his tone was a door closing. “We need to talk.”