It wasn't the rain that made Zara shiver as she stood outside The Savoy later that night.
It was him.
The knowledge of him.
The memory of him.
The promise whispered earlier that she'd spent the entire day trying and failing to outrun.
Tonight.
A single word that had lived in her bloodstream from noon to midnight, pulsing through her like a second heartbeat.
She shouldn't have come.
She should have gone home, buried herself beneath blankets, drowned herself in work, prayed, meditated, avoided, escaped.
But Zara Bennett didn't run from battles.
And Damon Huxley wasn't a man you walked away from.
Not when you'd already let him touch you.
Not when you'd already touched him back.
Not when you'd woken up in his arms and let yourself want him for longer than you could deny.
Her palms were sweating.
Her breath shaky.
Her stomach twisted.
Because she knew exactly what tonight would become.
A line crossed.
A choice sealed.
A sin committed with open eyes.
And something inside her the part of her that she had kept locked behind ambition and discipline since she was nineteen whispered quietly: I want this.
Zara walked through the hotel's revolving doors with all the poise of a rising Queen's Counsel, but the moment she stepped into the quiet luxury of the lobby…
Her heart stopped.
He was waiting for her.
Standing near the elevators.
Black suit.
No tie.
Collar open.
Hands in his pockets.
Eyes locked on her the second she appeared as though he'd felt her arrival before he actually saw her.
The moment their eyes met, Damon inhaled sharply.
His tension broke.
His restraint slipped.
And he took one slow step toward her.
Zara's pulse raced.
Everything inside her screamed danger.
But everything inside her also whispered yes.
He reached her slowly, as though he wasn't sure she was real.
"Zara," he said softly.
It was her undoing.
Her breath left her body in one uneven exhale.
"Damon."
He searched her eyes.
"You came."
Her voice barely worked. "I shouldn't have."
His jaw tensed.
He stepped closer.
"But you did."
A statement.
Not a question.
A truth.
Her truth.
She swallowed.
"I don't know what I'm doing."
He lifted his hand slowly stopping just short of touching her cheek.
"You're doing exactly what I'm doing," he whispered.
"Losing a battle you never had a chance of winning."
A tremor ran through her.
He lowered his hand.
"Come."
And she followed.
When the elevator doors closed behind them, silence hit like heat.
They stood shoulder to shoulder.
Breathing the same air.
Not looking at each other.
Because looking would ignite something they wouldn't be able to control yet.
The elevator ascended.
The numbers blinked.
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears.
Damon's hand brushed hers lightly.
She jolted breath catching.
He inhaled sharply.
"Sorry," he whispered.
"You're not sorry."
"No," he admitted. "I'm not."
His knuckles brushed hers again.
She didn't move her hand this time.
He clenched his jaw like he was fighting himself.
The elevator chimed.
Top floor.
Doors opened.
He stepped out.
She followed.
And the moment he closed the penthouse door behind them…
Silence shifted.
Thickened.
Deepened.
He turned toward her slowly.
"Zara."
Her breath trembled.
He walked toward her.
She took a step back.
He kept walking.
Another step back.
Another step forward.
Until her spine touched the wall.
He stopped.
Not touching her.
Just looking at her like she was everything he didn't understand and everything he couldn't walk away from.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered.
She didn't.
His voice lowered.
"Zara."
Nothing.
"Please."
The moment he whispered that word that quiet, broken please the last of her resistance cracked.
She looked into his eyes.
Soft.
Afraid.
Wanting.
"I don't want you to stop," she whispered.
And Damon lost control.
He moved like he'd been held back by chains that finally snapped.
His hands cupped her face.
His mouth crashed onto hers.
His body pressed against her fully, finally, hungrily.
Zara gasped into him.
He groaned against her lips a deep, low sound of relief and desire and something dangerously close to devotion.
He kissed her like a man starved.
Slow at first.
Then deep.
Then deeper.
Her fingers slid into his hair.
He shuddered.
He lifted her leg gently, sliding it along his hip, pulling her closer, pinning her to the wall with the weight of his body not crushing, not trapping, but surrounding her with heat and strength and want.
Her breath broke.
"Damon"
He kissed her throat.
"Say my name again."
Her knees buckled.
He held her tighter.
"Damon" she whispered, softer this time.
He groaned a raw, helpless sound and kissed her harder.
His mouth moved to her neck, lips trailing heat along her skin, lingering against her pulse.
"You drive me insane," he murmured against her throat.
"I think about you constantly."
He kissed lower.
"I can't stop."
Lower.
"I don't want to stop."
He kissed up her jaw.
"Tell me you don't want me."
She couldn't.
She didn't.
She gasped instead.
And that answer was enough.
His hands moved slowly almost reverently along her waist, fingers gliding under her blouse.
"Is this okay?" he whispered.
She nodded.
He unbuttoned it with deliberate slowness, eyes never leaving hers.
Every button felt like surrender.
Her blouse slid off her shoulders and fell to the floor.
He stared.
Breath gone.
Control gone.
"Beautiful," he murmured, voice rough with awe.
She blushed actually blushed and he exhaled a broken sound at the sight.
He cupped her waist gently, drawing her toward the bed.
He didn't push her onto it.
He sat down first.
Pulling her onto his lap.
Zara gasped softly as she straddled him.
His breath caught hard.
"Zara…"
She kissed him.
And Damon's restraint shattered completely.
He kissed her like he needed her more than air.
His hands slid up her back, warm and slow, then down to the curve of her hip.
Her fingers tugged at his shirt.
He pulled it over his head in one movement.
Zara froze.
Her breath left her body.
He was beautiful.
Broad shoulders.
Defined chest.
Smooth brown skin and strength that made her pulse stutter.
He watched her reaction with dark, quiet intensity.
"Come here," he murmured.
She did.
Her hands traced his chest.
He inhaled sharply, gripping her thighs lightly.
Her lips brushed his collarbone.
He groaned low, deep, helpless.
His hands moved under her thighs, lifting her effortlessly and laying her back onto the pillows.
He hovered above her, breath heavy, eyes burning.
"You sure?" he murmured.
She reached for him.
"Yes."
That was all he needed.
What followed was slow, sensual, and intimate.
No rushing.
No fumbling.
No fear.
Just heat.
Just need.
Just two people drowning in something they didn't dare name.
His lips traced fire across her skin.
Her hands tugged him closer.
His breath shook when she whispered his name.
Her body arched under his touch.
His fingers explored every inch that made her gasp.
He touched her like he'd memorized her in his dreams.
She kissed him like she needed to feel him everywhere.
When they finally moved together slow, deep, intense her breath broke against his mouth.
"Damon"
He groaned her name like a prayer.
"Zara…"
And every boundary, every rule, every line they'd drawn dissolved.
Their movements were slow.
Controlled.
Then deeper.
Then deeper.
Her fingers dug into his back.
His forehead pressed against hers.
Their breaths tangled.
Their bodies aligned perfectly.
It wasn't just physical.
It was connection.
Raw.
Devastating.
Dangerous.
He whispered against her lips: "I'm losing myself."
She whispered back: "Me too."
And that honesty made the moment explode.
When she gasped, he held her tighter.
When he groaned, she kissed him deeper.
When she whispered his name, he buried his face in her neck, trembling.
They came undone together.
Slow.
Deep.
Breathless.
And when it ended
He didn't move.
He stayed on top of her, forehead resting against hers, breath hot, heart pounding.
Zara's fingers traced his jaw gently.
He captured her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her palm.
And whispered: "Zara… I'm in trouble."
Her chest tightened.
"Me too."
He kissed her again.
Soft.
Slow.
Tender.
Then pulled her into his arms and held her like she was something he'd never let go.
The room was quiet again.
London glittered outside.
Their bodies were warm under the sheets.
Zara rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat too fast, too strong, too honest.
Damon ran a slow hand through her hair.
"You know this doesn't end here," he murmured.
She swallowed.
"I know."
"Say it," he whispered.
Her voice trembled.
"This isn't a one-time thing."
He exhaled sharply relief flooding him.
"No," he said. "It isn't."
She lifted her head, meeting his eyes.
And what she saw there stole her breath:
Vulnerability.
Possession.
Desire.
Emotion.
Fear.
Want.
Him.
All of him.
"Zara," he whispered, fingers brushing her cheek, "I don't want to pretend this is casual."
Her breath caught.
"It can't be anything else," she whispered.
His jaw clenched.
"So we lie," he murmured.
"To ourselves. To each other. To everyone."
She looked away.
"And we ruin each other quietly."
She closed her eyes.
"And beautifully," he added softly.
Her breath trembled.
He kissed her forehead gently, pulling her closer.
"We're already in too deep," he whispered.
Her voice cracked.
"I know."
He held her tighter.
She didn't pull away.
Not once.