(Evelyn's POV)
The night still carried the weight of Damien's presence, the way his shadow had seemed to linger even after he left my side the last time. I paced my room for a few moments, hands tugging at the hem of my sweater, trying to decide whether I should simply stay put or make some kind of move to reclaim normalcy. But what was normal when Damien Kane existed in the same city, in the same house, in the same room?
I drew in a shaky breath and reminded myself that I wasn't powerless. I wasn't a passive spectator in my own life. And tonight, I would take action. I needed a distraction. I needed something to remind me that I still had choices. Clothes. Shopping. Something mundane and simple, something ordinary to try to ground myself before the whirlwind that was Damien could consume me again.
My feet carried me toward his room, a mix of determination and apprehension in every step. I knocked lightly, unsure if he'd even answer, if he was still pacing the apartment, brooding in that terrifyingly calm way of his.
The door cracked open, and the sight that greeted me stole my breath. Damien stood there, shirtless, and I couldn't help but stare. His chest was sculpted, the six-pack on display in the dim light, muscles flexing subtly as he leaned casually against the doorframe. The air around him seemed heavier, charged, and I could feel my pulse skip. My hands immediately went to my sides, trying to hide the sudden shiver that wasn't entirely from the cool night air.
"Evelyn," he said, voice low, teasing, and with a dangerous smoothness that always seemed to wrap around me like a vice. "Deciding to invade my sanctuary now?"
I cleared my throat, forcing my gaze away from the sharp angles of his torso and the heat radiating off him. "I… I wanted to tell you that I'm going shopping. Clothes. I need to get out of the house for a bit." My words sounded casual, but my chest betrayed me, tightening in anticipation of his reaction.
He didn't move immediately, letting the silence stretch between us like a taut wire. Then, with slow deliberation, he pushed off the doorframe, eyes fixed on me with that piercing gaze I never got used to. "Shopping," he repeated, voice low, deliberate. "Do you think you can just go shopping without thinking of me?"
I opened my mouth, to tell him that of course I could, that it wasn't about him, that I had my own life. But my words stumbled on the edge of my tongue. Because the truth? The truth was, I couldn't stop thinking about him. Even when I tried to assert myself, even when I tried to be casual, he drew my attention in like gravity.
"Of course I can," I said finally, attempting confidence. "It's just… shopping."
His lips curled into that smirk I couldn't ever resist. He stepped closer, and my body betrayed me, leaning back instinctively even though I didn't want to. "Just shopping," he echoed, his hand hovering near mine, just a fraction away from brushing my arm. "You say that, but your heartbeat isn't lying. It's racing. You're not calm, Evelyn. Not really."
I swallowed hard, trying to regain control. "It's… nothing. I'm fine."
"You?" His voice dropped an octave, rich and teasing, yet dangerous. "Fine? You're not fine. You're thinking about how you can sneak past me, about how you can leave without… consequences. And yet…" He leaned in slightly, close enough for me to feel his breath. "…I can see the way your lips press together, the way your fingers tremble. You're not fine. Not with me."
Heat pooled in my stomach, my resolve faltering. I tried to step back, tried to regain some semblance of authority in this interaction. But every step felt like it brought me closer to him, even when I tried to put distance.
"I'm leaving," I said finally, my voice firmer, trying to assert my independence. "I'm going shopping, Damien. That's all."
He tilted his head, studying me like a predator assessing its prey. "Leaving," he said slowly, savoring the word. "You think you can just leave, and I won't notice?"
I felt a pang of frustration mixed with desire. "I'm not a child, Damien. I can make decisions for myself."
He chuckled softly, that low, rich sound that always made my chest flutter in ways I hated and loved all at once. "Decisions. Choices. I've been hearing those words since the moment you walked in. And yet…" He stepped even closer, closing the distance until my back hit the wall. "…you still tremble when I'm near. You still bite your lip when you try to speak. You still—" His hand lifted suddenly, brushing a strand of hair from my face, letting his fingers linger against my cheek, "…react to me in ways you don't even notice yourself."
My pulse hammered in my ears. My hands clenched at my sides. "I… I'm not…" I tried to lie, but the lie dissolved the second his fingers brushed my skin.
"Not what?" he asked softly, voice dangerously low. "Not affected? Not aware? Not… intrigued?"
I bit my lip, trying to steady my racing heart. "I'm… aware. But that doesn't mean—" I stopped, unable to finish the sentence, because every inch of him made my protest sound hollow, even in my own ears.
He leaned closer, pressing his body against mine, letting me feel the solid weight of him without any aggression, but with undeniable intensity. "It doesn't mean what?" he whispered. His lips were so close, the warmth of his breath brushing my own, making my knees weaken despite myself. "Doesn't mean you want to see where this goes?"
I shook my head, trying to regain control, stepping back slightly—but he followed, each movement precise, deliberate, reducing the space between us to nothing. "I—" I began, but my voice caught in my throat.
His fingers moved to my chin, tilting my face up so that I couldn't look away. "You want to go shopping," he murmured, almost teasingly, "but your eyes betray you. Your heartbeat betrays you. Every instinct you have screams that this… moment…" His gaze flicked to my lips, then back to my eyes. "…is charged. And yet you want to leave. Why?"
I swallowed hard, words failing me entirely. My chest heaved as my body betrayed my desire to assert control. "Because I have to. I… need to get out."
He let out a low laugh, deep and full, that resonated in my chest. "Need to get out," he repeated, shaking his head slightly. "And yet here you are, trembling in front of me, breathless, heat rising in places you can't even acknowledge."
My face burned, my fingers fidgeted at my sides. "I'm… fine," I lied again, but he could see through it. He always could.
"You're not fine," he said softly, pressing a thumb against my cheek, holding my gaze. "You're everything but fine. And yet…" His voice dropped, almost a growl. "…you're here. Talking to me. Standing here. Trying to convince me you're independent, strong, untouchable. And yet every nerve in your body screams for attention. For me."
I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, willing myself to step back, to breathe, to regain some semblance of control. But when I opened them, he was even closer, the heat radiating off him almost unbearable, yet addictively magnetic.
"You know," he whispered, low, deliberate, "…I could make this so much easier. I could lean in, claim what's mine, and all this pretense would vanish. But I'm not cruel. Not yet."
I shivered involuntarily. "Not yet?"
He smirked, dark and knowing. "Not yet. Because the chase… the struggle… the fire in your eyes when you try to assert control…" His hand trailed down to my waist, letting the warmth of his fingers linger. "…it's intoxicating. And I'm… addicted."
I felt my knees weaken. My chest heaved. And I realized, with equal parts terror and thrill, that I was equally addicted. To him. To this tension. To the danger he represented and the desire he sparked in me.
Finally, I tore my eyes from his, stepping back and whispering, "I really need to go. I… I have to shop. Clothes. I need to—"
He followed my retreating step, voice low, almost a growl. "You think leaving will stop the pull between us? You think a few streets, a few shops, a few hours… will erase this?"
"I… I have to try," I said, heart racing, fists clenched at my sides.
He didn't speak, didn't stop me, but the intensity of his gaze followed me as I backed away. Every step felt like a battle between desire and reason, between my mind and my body. When I finally turned toward the door, ready to escape, his final words lingered in