He’s staring at me, and there is infinite sadness in his eyes. “Oh, baby. If I could take away your fear, I would.”
“If you could?” I repeat. “You can, and you damn well know it, and I’m fucking pissed off that you won’t do anything about it.”
I’m screaming at him. I’m like a shrewish harpy and I hate it. Hate myself. But dammit, right now I hate Damien, too.
Tears stream down my face, and my legs seem to fall out from under me. I start to collapse and Damien catches me, easing me down to my knees. The irony isn’t lost on me; Damien will always be there to catch me. At least I thought he would. Now I don’t know, and for the first time, I feel alone in Damien’s arms.
“I’ve thought about it.” His voice is low and as serious as I’ve ever heard.
I freeze. I never knew that hope could feel so cold and lifeless, but it does. “Thought about what?” I ask cautiously.
He hesitates so long that I begin to think he’s not going to answer. When he speaks, the words come slowly. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he says. “And now that I have you, I’m risking everything there is between us.”
Yes, I want to shout. Yes! I realize that I’m digging my fingernails into the soft, damp earth, and I force myself to relax as I try not to anticipate his next words. As I try not to get my hopes up.
“I’m not convinced that revealing what Richter did to me is the panacea you and Maynard and the rest of them think it is. But maybe I should try. If it means that the charges will go away, then maybe I should sacrifice the privacy that I’ve spent my whole life fighting to maintain.”
I hear the bitterness in his voice, and I want to reach for him and hold his hand tight in mine. I don’t, though. I stay absolutely, perfectly still.
“There is no shame in being a victim, right? So why should I care if the world knows the vile things he did to me? Why should it matter if the press writes about the dark nights in my dorm room. The debasing things he made me do. Things I haven’t even told you. Things that I wish I could forget.”
He meets my eyes, but I see only the hard lines and angles of his face. “If it means that I can walk to you as a free man, shouldn’t I want to shout that story from the rooftops? Shouldn’t I want it plastered everywhere? On television, on talk shows, on the front page of newspapers? Shouldn’t I want to make my personal hell fodder for the whole damn world?”
Something cool brushes my cheek, and I realize that I am crying.
“No,” I whisper, hating the truth even as I say it. But this is the heart of who Damien is. A man who lives by his own code, and it is that core of him that I fell in love with. “Not even for me,” I say. “Not even to stay out of prison.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, and fresh tears spill out over my lashes.
The pad of his thumb brushes my cheek.
“You understand?”
“No,” I say, but I mean yes, and when I open my eyes I can see that he knows it. He moves closer to me, and my breath hitches. I hiccup a little, tasting tears as his mouth closes over mine. The kiss is soft at first, gentle and sweet. Then his hand cups the back of my head even as his other arm snakes around my waist and tugs me onto his lap.
I gasp with surprise at the movement, and he takes advantage, his mouth hardening, his tongue finding mine, his kiss becoming deeper and more demanding. I twine my fingers through his silky hair and lose myself in the sensual firmness of his mouth. In the wildness of this kiss. Our tongues meeting, our teeth clashing. My mouth will be bruised in the morning, but I cannot resist this kiss that is setting us both on fire.
I am breathing hard when he finally pulls away. My lips feel swollen and used and spectacular. I wonder if I’ve ever truly been kissed before, even by Damien. And right then, all I want is more.
I lean toward him in silent demand, but he catches me with a firm hand under my chin. I stay there, my position awkward, my eyes lifted to his.