His brows furrowed as he looked at her. She could tell he was trying to decide if she was taunting him, or if she really felt that way.
“Not half bad? Well, I guess I’ll just have to do it better this time,” he said with a smile before his mouth descended on hers.
By the time they found their clothes in the dark and made their way to the car, Sierra was practically frozen and could barely walk, but it was certainly the most exciting trip she’d ever had to a park.
Chapter Twenty
“Look, Damien, you’ve proven that I want you. You’ve shown me a world of emotions and sensations I never even imagined existed before meeting you,” Sierra started.
“Why do I get the feeling there’s a but coming up?” he asked, his tone wary.
“ – But…” Sierra paused, “This isn’t a good idea. Yes, the sex is great, but I’m in no way capable of having a cheap affair followed by you discarding me like yesterday’s trash.”
“You think pretty little of me, obviously,” he stated, his tone turning cold.
“It’s not that I think little of you, it’s that I know how men like you work.”
The truth of what she said – his original intentions – stung as if she’d slapped him across the face. Had he not let his heart become involved, he certainly would’ve discarded her without a second thought. The reality was that he had let his heart complicate the matter. He enjoyed her company…her laughter…her femininity. Her words stung, causing him to disguise the pain with the coldest chagrin. Damien Whitfield was never denied.
They were silent for the rest of the drive to his house. Sierra looked weary as she followed him inside his home.
He walked to his study with her slowly trailing behind. His first stop was his liquor cabinet. He needed to soothe his wounded ego. After a shot of whiskey, which he hated, he could feel the effects numbing the ache in his chest.
“What would you like to drink?” He said, turning to her.
“I’m fine,” she answered as she nervously licked her lips.
He poured her a glass of red wine and walked over, handing her the glass. She lifted it to her lips and automatically took a sip.
“This is ridiculous, Damien. The silent treatment isn’t helping. You said you wanted to talk about the work issue, then let’s talk about it. I don’t want to talk about the sex thing anymore.”
“You work for me. What else is there to understand,” he said as he crowded her personal space. She backed up and sat down in one of his chairs.
“I don’t know what my job is. It’s still unclear as to why you even hired me,” she said as she stepped back. “You’re my assistant. Your job is to do whatever I need you to do,” he reminded her.
“Well, if the job is to just sit around day in and out, I’d rather resign,” she said, her gaze meeting his for the first time since the park.
“I have plenty of ‘hands on’ things you can do, Sierra,” he said with a growl in his voice. He slowly started approaching her again.
He watched as she finished her glass and nervously swallowed. He reached her chair and leaned down, his hands gripping the wood arms on either side of her.
“I’m not used to this kind of life, Damien. To tell you the truth, you frighten me,” she whispered, her breath hitching as he leaned closer to her.
“You’re a smart woman, Sierra. You should be afraid. I want a lot from you, a lot more than I originally planned,” he said with a wicked smile.
∞∞∞
Panic washed through Sierra in waves. What if he tried taking more than she was capable of giving? What did she have to give, anyway? She had nothing – nothing that would appeal to a man like Damien. He may be amused by her for a short time, but then what? What happened when she was half in love with him, and he was done playing? She wasn’t afraid of him physically abusing her like her father did, but she had a feeling that Damien could do far more damage to her heart in a short amount of time, with nothing more than his words, than anything her father had ever done to her body, with his fists.
She couldn’t think when he was so close to her, his hot breath softly caressing her face, his scent filling her nostrils, his body so temptingly near. She fought the desire to reach out and touch him, run her fingers along his solid chest, trail her hand down his stomach, feel the bulge she knew was present in his pants.
“Is this only a game?” she finally asked.
He tensed as he shot up straight and began removing his jacket. The muscles in his shoulders rippled beneath the thin linen shirt he was wearing. The man exuded agitation, causing a pang to tear through her chest. It seemed he was playing a game. Until that moment, she didn’t realize how badly she’d wanted him to tell her she meant something – anything other than a cheap lay. She quickly stood from the chair, needing to pace to help sort out the annoying stir within her.