Chapter 8 - The Crimson Glass
After Agent Miller departed with Mr. Vance, the basement office fell into a deep, intense quiet.
The distant, muffled hum of the live jazz band and the ambient laughter of two hundred guests floated down from the floor above, but inside the room, time seemed to stand still.
Damian stood behind the desk, looking at me.
The dim light of the desk lamp caught the sharp, elegant lines of his face, softening the terrifying edge he usually projected to the outside world.
“You knew where the discrepancy files were stored,” Damian said softly.
“You gave me the safe code three weeks ago, Mr. Mercer,” I replied, stepping closer to the desk.
Damian walked around the heavy oak desk, stopping less than two feet from where I stood in my dark green silk dress.
He reached out—his long, warm fingers gently catching my chin, lifting my face slightly so my eyes met his. His touch was incredibly light, a stark, breathtaking contrast to the brutal force Greg had used on me in this very building two months ago.
“You didn't flinch when a federal agent threatened an investigation,” Damian whispered, his slate-gray eyes burning with an intense, undisguised admiration.
“I knew the numbers were clean,” I whispered back, my breath catching in my throat as I felt the warmth of his hand against my cheek. “Because I know who runs this house.”
“And who runs this house, Lena?” he asked softly, his thumb gently brushing across my bottom lip.
“We do,” I said.
A slow, breathtaking smile appeared on Damian Mercer’s lips—not the cold, Enigmatic smirk he showed to corrupt politicians or rival businessmen, but a genuine, radiant smile that reached his eyes.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that was slow, deep, and filled with a fierce, protective passion that sent a wave of electric warmth straight through my veins.
When he pulled back, his hands rested gently against my waist, holding me close against his chest.
“I have owned twenty properties across six cities, Lena,” Damian whispered into my hair, smelling the sweet scent of jasmine and rain. “And I have never felt at home in any of them until I stepped into this room and saw you holding that clipboard.”
I rested my head against his crisp white shirt, hearing the steady, powerful beat of his heart beneath my ear.
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“I’m not going anywhere, Damian,” I whispered, using his first name with total, unshakeable confidence for the first time.
“I know,” he whispered back. “Because anyone who tries to take you away from me will have to tear this city down to do it.”
