DAISY POV...
The officer's presence wrapped around me like warm sunlight and ocean breeze — steady, unhurried, grounding in a way I hadn't felt in years.
He didn't stare at me like I was a burden.
Or a problem.
Or an inconvenience to be tolerated.
His grey eyes softened. "Rough day?"
God.
Just two words and I almost melted.
"Something like that," I murmured, looking back at the water. "I just needed… air."
"Well," he said, stepping closer, close enough that I could smell salt and clean soap, "this is the best place to breathe on the entire ship."
I tilted my head up, eyes meeting his again.
He smiled — soft but devastating.
A real smile.
Something warm pressed low in my stomach. A flutter I hadn't felt in so long it startled me.
"Mind some company?" he asked.
My lips parted. "No. It's… fine."
He leaned his forearms on the railing beside me, body angled slightly toward mine. Not touching — but close enough that I felt the heat of him.
And oh, it felt good.
Too good.
Someone genuinely wanting to stand near me, hear me, look at me—
It felt dangerous.
Not the kind of danger Damien was.
This was gentler.
Safer.
Inviting.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Daisy."
He repeated it under his breath like tasting it. "Daisy. Pretty name."
My face warmed. "Thanks."
"And fitting," he added, eyes running over my hair, my mouth, my shoulders. "Fresh. Soft. Warm. Hard to ignore."
I sucked in a breath.
Oh.
He was that type.
The smooth, charming type.
The type who meant every word.
"That's—" I swallowed. "—very forward."
He chuckled. "Sorry. Occupational hazard. You meet a lot of people at sea… but some stand out."
He said it so casually, like it was obvious.
Like I actually stood out.
My pulse fluttered — and I hated how starved I was for that feeling.
"So," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair off my shoulder like he had every right to touch it, "what brought you here today, Daisy?"
I opened my mouth to answer—
But a prickling sensation slid across my skin.
Familiar.
Commanding.
Cold-fire intense.
I felt him before I saw him.
Damien.
Standing several feet behind us, half-hidden by the stairway column.
Not moving.
Not blinking.
Just watching.
His hands were clenched so tightly at his sides his knuckles whitened. His jaw was locked, muscles ticking dangerously. His eyes—
God.
His eyes weren't cold.
They were dark.
Furious.
Hungry.
And the worst part?
He wasn't supposed to be any of those things.
He wasn't allowed to be.
Marine guy didn't notice him at first. He leaned in a fraction closer, his sleeve brushing mine. "Sorry if I'm being too direct. You just looked like you needed someone to choose you instead of overlook you."
My breath hitched.
Choose me?
The universe must've had a twisted sense of humor.
Because the second those words left his mouth, Damien took a slow step forward — like he couldn't stop himself.
The officer finally sensed it. He glanced over my shoulder — then straightened.
"Oh," he said, brows lifting slightly. "Your boyfriend?"
I let out a humorless, breathy laugh. "No. Not even close."
But Damien—
He stiffened like he'd been slapped.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
The officer nodded. "Didn't want to cross a line."
You already did, I wanted to say.
And I kinda wanted you to.
He turned back to me, lowering his voice. "If you ever want someone to talk to… or just stand with… I'm usually on deck three."
Grey eyes. Soft smile. Warm energy.
He was trouble — but the sweet kind.
The kind that didn't hurt.
He walked away, leaving a trail of salt air and longing behind him.
I barely had a second to breathe before Damien moved.
Not toward me.
Just… shifted.
Like he didn't trust himself to get any closer.
His chest rose and fell, sharp and uneven. His eyes pinned me where I stood, burning with something I shouldn't have seen.
Something I wasn't supposed to feel mirrored inside me.
"What?" I snapped, because anger was easier than heartbreak. "You can ignore me all day but stare holes through me the second someone else talks to me?"
His jaw clenched. Hard.
He still didn't move closer.
Still didn't speak.
Still held the railing behind him like he needed something to keep him grounded.
"Say something," I whispered. "Anything."
His throat worked.
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Again.
His eyes flashed — frustration, desire, fury, restraint —
And one raw truth:
He wanted me.
And hated himself for it.
Finally, after what felt like forever, I heard it.
Barely a breath.
"Daisy… don't."
Don't what?
Don't talk to him?
Don't walk away?
Don't tempt him?
Don't feel anything?
I stepped closer, voice low and breaking.
"Why not, Damien? Why not?"
He squeezed his eyes shut, like the question physically hurt him.
"Because…" His voice cracked. He forced his eyes open, staring at me with the kind of devastation that made my heartbeat falter.
"Because I can't."
Three words.
Three impossible, forbidden words.
His chest heaved once.
Then he turned sharply and walked away — fast — as if every extra second near me was dangerous.
As if touching me
wanting me
needing me
would burn him alive.
And God help me…
I almost wished it would.