*Isabella's POV*
As I stood there, his words echoed in my mind like a haunting melody: "Make yourself comfortable, then stop by my suite." I couldn't shake off the feeling that there was more to his invitation than met the eye. My feet seemed to move of their own accord, pacing back and forth across the room as I tried to decipher the underlying meaning behind his words.
A shiver ran down my spine as a treacherous thought crept into my mind. No, it couldn't be. He wouldn't... Not Damien, surely. I'd heard the rumors, of course – the way assistants often found themselves in compromising positions with their bosses on business trips. But Damien wasn't like that. He was different. Or so I told myself.
I pushed the thought aside, attributing it to my overactive imagination. But the memory of his words lingered, refusing to be silenced.
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Just then, his deep, smooth voice cut through the air, sending a fresh wave of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. "Come in."
I took a deep breath, steeling myself as I pushed open the door. And that's when I saw him – standing in the middle of the room, a towel slung low around his hips, his eyes gleaming with a warmth that made my heart skip a beat.
"Good evening, sir," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
Damien's eyes locked onto mine, his gaze burning with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. "Come closer, Isabella," he commanded, his voice low and husky.
As I stepped nearer, his eyes roamed over me, his expression a mask of subtle disapproval. My simple jeans and shirt seemed woefully inadequate under his scrutiny.
The air was thick with tension as the silence between us stretched out like an elastic band. Then, Damien's voice cut through the stillness, his words dripping with a sensual cadence.
"When I said 'get comfortable', Isabella, I had something rather more...alluring in mind. A little lace, perhaps. And preferably...no pants."
His hand closed around my waist, his fingers brushing against my skin with a possessive intimacy that sent shivers down my spine. I felt a flush rise to my cheeks as I struggled to process the sudden shift in his demeanor.
"Take them off," he growled, his voice low and imperious, leaving no room for argument.
I hesitated, my mind racing with protests, but before I could even form the words, he cut me off. "That's an order, Isabella," he declared, his tone brooking no disobedience.
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I shook off the lingering haze of fantasy, my feet firmly planting themselves back in reality. "Snap out of it," I chided myself, my voice a whispered rebuke.
With a newfound sense of determination, I shed my worn clothes and slipped into a pair of faded blue jeans and a crisp green button-down shirt. The familiar comfort of the garments was a welcome respite from the turmoil brewing within me.
As I stepped out of my room and made my way to room 303, the boss's suite, I couldn't help but be drawn in by the hotel's opulent charm. The lavish furnishings, the sparkling chandeliers, and the intricate artwork all seemed to whisper tales of luxury and refinement, their grandeur a far cry from my own humble existence.
My sneakers, once a staple of my casual wardrobe, now seemed woefully out of place amidst such splendor. I raised an eyebrow, a wry smile twisting my lips. 'Watch me give a damn,' I thought to myself, a hint of defiance creeping into my stride as I continued on my way.
I knocked on the door, a silent plea echoing in my mind: 'Please be in a towel, please be in a towel.'
The door swung open, and Damien stood before me, fully dressed. A wry smile twisted my lips. How...anticlimactic.
"Good evening," he said, his deep voice low and smooth. I barely registered the greeting, my mind scoffing at the clichés of romance novels. 'Fully clothed," I thought, amusement dancing in my chest. 'It seems the authors have been lying to us all along.'
Damien stood before me, his office dress pants still impeccably tailored, but now paired with a blue short-sleeved T-shirt that seemed to bring out the piercing intensity of his eyes.
It was a rare glimpse of the boss in casual attire, and I found myself captivated by the subtle transformation.
My fingers itched to explore the contours of his arms, to discover if the muscles beneath his skin were as rock-hard as I'd imagined. But all I could manage was to nervously fidget with the hem of my own sleeve, my hands fluttering like restless birds.
A rogue impulse seized me, tempting me to reach out and tug gently at the hem of his shirt, to expose a sliver of bare skin and satisfy the sudden, maddening urge to touch him.
"Isabella, is everything to your satisfaction with your room?" Damien's deep voice cut through the haze of my reverie, jolting me back to reality.
I felt a flush rise to my cheeks as I struggled to compose myself. "Did the bellhop assist you with your luggage?" he continued, his tone courteous and detached.
I couldn't help but think wryly to myself, 'And back to reality I tumble.' The fantasy of seducing this powerful, enigmatic man seemed laughable now. I was just a lowly employee, and he was the unattainable CEO. The gulf between us was vast, and I was deluding myself to think otherwise.
I stood before him, my heart beating with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. "Yes, sir, everything is fine," I replied, my voice steady, but my palms growing increasingly damp.
Damien's expression remained inscrutable, his eyes narrowing slightly as he nodded curtly. "Good." The word hung in the air like a challenge, leaving me wondering what he had in store for me. "I called you here to give you this."
He paused, his gaze holding mine with an unnerving intensity. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a sleek, platinum card...