Miranda Chase lay back against her pillows, her eyes drifting shut as she surrendered to the memories that refused to leave her in peace. Damian Cross was a storm she couldn't escape, no matter how hard she tried. He was there in the quiet of the night, in the way her body ached with longing, and in the faint ghost of his cologne that seemed to linger in her mind.
Her thoughts drifted back to their first meeting—a chance encounter at a house party where he had swept into her life like a hurricane. She could still feel the intensity of his gaze when their eyes met across the crowded room, the way his lips curled into that devastating smirk that promised trouble. Damian had approached her with the confidence of a man who always got what he wanted, and from the moment he said her name, she was lost.
"Miranda," he had said, his voice low and deliberate, his dark eyes holding hers as though they were the only two people in the world. His presence was magnetic, and when he reached for her hand, his touch sent a shiver down her spine. He hadn't kissed her that night, but the promise of it hung in the air, leaving her breathless and aching for more.
Their first kiss came weeks later, on a rainy evening in the backseat of his sleek black car. She remembered the way his fingers brushed against her cheek, the rain tapping softly against the windows as he leaned in. His lips were warm and soft, moving against hers with a controlled intensity that made her knees weak. The memory of that kiss was seared into her soul, a moment of pure, unadulterated desire that she could never forget.
Her mind wandered to the nights they spent in his penthouse, where he would pull her into his arms and hold her close as the city glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Damian had a way of making her feel like she was the center of his universe, even as she knew he was a man who could never truly be tamed. He would trace the curve of her jaw with his fingertips, his voice a soft murmur in her ear as he whispered secrets meant only for her.
She remembered the way he would tease her, his wit as sharp as his gaze was tender. Damian had a knack for disarming her, for making her laugh even as he unraveled her with a single touch. He could be gentle when he wanted to, his hands moving over her body with reverence, as though she were a masterpiece to be admired. But there were moments of raw intensity too, moments when his passion burned so brightly it left her trembling in its wake.
The nights they shared were etched into her memory in vivid detail. The way he would press his lips to her neck, his breath hot against her skin as his hands explored her with an intimacy that left her utterly exposed. The sound of his moans, deep and resonant, still echoed in her ears, sending a shiver down her spine even now.
And then there were the mornings, when the sunlight would filter through the curtains and she would wake to find him watching her, his expression unreadable but his touch impossibly tender. Damian was a contradiction—a man of power and control, yet capable of moments of surprising vulnerability. She had loved those mornings, loved the way he would brush a strand of hair from her face and press a soft kiss to her forehead.
But as beautiful as the memories were, they were also a source of pain. Because no matter how much she had loved him, Damian Cross was not a man built for forever. He was a force of nature, a wildfire that burned too brightly to be contained. And when it was over, when he had walked away with that same confidence he had arrived with, she had been left to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart.
Miranda's chest tightened as tears pricked her eyes, the ache of his absence as sharp as ever. She hated him for leaving, but she hated herself more for still wanting him. No one had ever made her feel the way Damian did, and she doubted anyone ever would.
Her thoughts grew darker, the memories sharper. She remembered their last fight, the way his voice had risen, full of frustration and something dangerously close to regret. "You knew what this was, Miranda," he had said, his tone cutting but his eyes betraying a flicker of pain. She had begged him to stay, to give her a part of himself he seemed incapable of sharing. But Damian Cross didn't belong to anyone—not even her.
And yet, she couldn't stop herself from imagining what it would be like if he came back. If he walked through the door right now, his dark eyes smoldering with the same intensity that had undone her from the start. She would hate herself for letting him back in, but she knew she would. Damian was a weakness she couldn't overcome, a temptation she couldn't resist.
Her heart pounded at the thought, her body betraying her as her lips parted, her breath quickening. She closed her eyes, and for a moment, she could almost feel him—the warmth of his body, the roughness of his stubble against her skin, the way his voice would rumble in her ear as he whispered her name.
But when she opened her eyes, the room was empty, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside. She let out a shaky breath, her chest heaving as she fought back the tears threatening to spill over.
And then, just as she began to gather herself, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Miranda's heart stopped as she glanced at the screen.
It was him.
Her hands trembled as she reached for the phone, her breath hitching in her throat. The message was simple, just two words, but they hit her like a lightning bolt.
"Miss me?"
Miranda stared at the screen, her mind racing, her heart caught between longing and fury. She knew she should ignore it, delete it, block his number once and for all. But as her thumb hovered over the screen, she felt the pull of him, as powerful and irresistible as ever.
What would she do?
The question hung in the air, heavy with possibility, as Miranda's lips parted in a soft gasp.