Zara never overslept.
She was the kind of woman who woke before her alarm, planned her days with precision, and lived by a discipline that kept every part of her world intact.
But she overslept today.
The moment her eyes opened, she wasn't met with sunlight or silence.
She was met with warmth.
The warmth of his chest against her back.
His arm draped around her waist.
His fingers loosely curled just beneath her ribcage.
His breath brushing the nape of her neck.
And love songs playing softly from some hidden speaker in the suite something smooth, low, sensual.
Her heart clenched painfully.
No.
Not this.
She couldn't want this.
She shifted slightly.
His arm tightened immediately.
Damon murmured against her skin, voice heavy with sleep:
"Don't.
Her breath caught.
She whispered, "I have to get up."
"No," he mumbled, pressing a slow, warm kiss to her shoulder. "Stay."
Her eyes stung.
"I can't."
He exhaled not dramatically, but like a man being denied something he didn't know he needed until he had it.
"Five minutes."
Her throat tightened.
"Damon…"
"Zara," he murmured, kissing her again, this time lower, "please."
Her body reacted before her mind.
Her breath hitched.
She closed her eyes.
She stayed.
For five minutes.
For ten.
For fifteen.
Until she finally whispered, voice shaking:
"This can't keep happening."
He didn't let her go.
"And yet we both know it will."
When she finally did rise from the bed, the room felt colder.
Damon sat up slowly, watching her silently as she buttoned her blouse, trying not to tremble.
He wasn't smirking today.
He wasn't teasing.
He was studying her.
Softly.
Carefully.
Too deeply.
"Zara," he said quietly.
She refused to look at him.
"We can't let this destroy everything we've worked for."
He stood.
Walked toward her.
Stopped when he sensed she was seconds from falling apart.
His voice softened.
"It doesn't destroy anything."
"It destroys everything."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Does it feel destroyed to you?"
She swallowed.
Her voice cracked.
"It feels dangerous."
He stepped closer.
"Then I'm dangerous with you."
Her breath caught.
He gently touched her wrist not pulling, not forcing just grounding.
"You're not alone in this," he whispered.
She closed her eyes.
For one dangerous moment, she leaned into his touch.
Then she pulled away.
Before she broke.
Before she begged.
Before she stayed.
"I have to go," she whispered.
He exhaled sharply.
But he didn't stop her.
He just followed her to the door.
And when she opened it, he placed a hand on the frame behind her not blocking her, but close enough that she felt the heat of him.
"Tonight," he murmured.
She blinked.
"No, Damon."
He leaned in, lips brushing her ear.
"Yes, Zara."
She trembled violently.
And left.
By the time Zara entered chambers, she was composed on the outside.
On the inside, she was chaos wrapped in dignity.
Her assistant, Eleanor, glanced up from her desk.
"Morning, Ms. Bennett. You, um… look different today."
"Different?" Zara repeated too quickly.
"Glowing," Eleanor said, sipping her tea. "Rested. Or… well…"
Zara froze.
"Did you meet someone?"
Zara blinked once.
"No."
Her voice cracked on the single syllable.
Eleanor's eyes widened.
"Are… you sure?"
Zara fled to her office.
She shut the door, dropped into her chair, and pressed her palms over her face.
She couldn't do this today.
She couldn't think about him today.
She couldn't feel him today.
She needed to be Zara Bennett Queen's Counsel.
Not Zara Bennett the woman who had spent the night wrapped in Damon Huxley's arms gasping his name.
Her phone buzzed.
She cursed.
DH: Did you sleep at all?
Her chest tightened.
Another message appeared.
DH: You left your earring.
She groaned.
DH: I'll keep it. Unless you want to come get it yourself.
Her face heated.
Another buzz.
DH: Tonight.
She slammed her phone face-down.
This man was going to end her.
The ethics committee meeting convened at noon.
Zara arrived early, trying to steady herself.
Damon arrived late.
Of course he did.
When he finally walked in, he wore a storm in his eyes dark, hungry, all focus aimed at her.
She didn't look.
She couldn't.
But she felt it.
Everyone in the room did.
Damon took the seat beside her.
Close.
Too close.
Their knees brushed.
She flinched.
He smirked faintly.
Lord Davenport began speaking, but Damon leaned slightly toward her and murmured:
"You smell like me."
Zara's breath stopped.
"Stop talking," she hissed softly.
He chuckled under his breath.
"Not a chance."
She glared at her notes harder than she'd ever glared at anything.
"Look at me," he whispered.
"I will not."
"Zara."
His voice dipped dangerously low.
She looked.
That was her mistake.
His gaze darkened instantly.
Heat.
Possession.
Something unspoken.
Something she shouldn't have ever let happen.
She looked away fast, pulse racing.
During the break, an aide approached.
A young man.
Bright smile.
Too eager.
He handed Zara a file.
She thanked him politely.
Damon stiffened.
His jaw clenched.
His posture straightened.
His eyes narrowed like a predator locking onto prey.
Zara blinked.
"Damon?" she whispered.
He said nothing.
The aide walked away.
Damon's voice came out dark and low.
"He was flirting with you."
Zara stared at him.
"He was handing me a file."
"And flirting."
"He was being polite."
Damon inhaled sharply through his nose.
"Zara, darling."
He smirked sarcastically.
"That man was not thinking about ethical issues. He was thinking about you."
Her pulse stuttered.
"And you think you have the right to care?"
He leaned in.
"More than I should."
Her breath caught.
"Damon"
He cut her off.
"Come with me."
"Where?"
"Away from here."
"No."
"Yes."
She exhaled.
"We're not doing this now."
He stepped closer.
Too close.
"Then we'll do it tonight."
"Damon"
He smiled.
Don't smile.
"Zara, love… you think you're in control."
"I am."
He leaned in and whispered:
"Not anymore."
Her stomach dropped.
When the meeting ended, Zara walked fast.
Damon followed.
"Stop running from me."
"I'm walking."
"You're fleeing."
"I am leaving."
"Not without talking to me."
She turned sharply in the hallway.
"You don't get to tell me what to do."
He stopped in front of her, chest rising, jaw tense.
"And you don't get to pretend last night didn't happen."
Her voice cracked.
"It was a mistake."
Damon stepped closer.
"Say it again."
"You heard me."
"Say it again," he repeated, voice low, "and look at me when you do."
She looked up.
Their faces were inches apart.
And she whispered, trembling:
"It was a mistake."
Damon inhaled sharply.
His eyes darkened.
And then he leaned in so close she felt his breath on her lips.
"You're lying," he murmured.
Her breath stuttered.
"You're lying to yourself. Not to me."
She tried to speak.
She couldn't.
He whispered against her mouth:
"Zara."
She made the mistake of answering: "Yes?"
He kissed her.
Hard.
Hungry.
Desperate.
Soft.
Rough.
Everything at once.
Her back hit the wall.
His hand hit the wall beside her head.
His other hand cupped her jaw.
She gasped.
He groaned.
Every ounce of restraint shattered.
"Damon" she whispered against his mouth.
"Stop saying my name like that," he said roughly. "It's driving me insane."
She kissed him back finally, fully, truthfully.
And he growled into her mouth.
People were walking nearby.
Anyone could see.
She didn't care.
He didn't care.
When he finally pulled away, both of them were shaking.
He pressed his forehead to hers.
"Tonight," he whispered, breathless.
She swallowed.
"Yes."
She shouldn't have gone.
But she did.
He opened the penthouse door immediately.
He looked wrecked.
Like he hadn't breathed since their kiss in the hallway.
She stepped inside.
He closed the door softly.
No words.
Just heat.
He reached for her jaw and kissed her slowly, deeply, hungrily as though the entire day had been torture.
She melted into him.
His breath shook.
He whispered against her lips: "You're all I thought about."
Her voice cracked.
"Damon"
"Don't say anything."
He kissed her again, deeper this time, lifting her slightly off the floor, pressing her against the door with a groan that sounded like relief.
Her hands slid into his hair.
He shuddered.
He pulled back just enough to look at her.
His voice broke.
"Tell me to stop."
She whispered: "I can't."
And he whispered:
"Then I won't."
He kissed her again.
And again.
And again.
Everything else disappeared.
Tonight was not soft like the first time.
It was intense.
Desperate.
Inevitable.
Their bodies collided with a need that had simmered for too long, their breaths tangled, their hands exploring without hesitation.
He carried her to the bed.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
He whispered her name like a secret prayer.
She whispered his like an answer.
Heat built.
Need sharpened.
Restraint evaporated.
And when it finally unfolded
It was deeper than the first time.
More overwhelming.
More emotional.
More destructive.
More real.
When they were done, Damon didn't let go.
He pulled her into his chest and buried his face in her neck.
He whispered against her skin: "This is going to ruin me."
Zara's eyes stung.
Her voice trembled.
"Me too."
He held her tighter.
She didn't leave.
Not this time.
Not yet.
Not until dawn.