At exactly 7 PM, my doorbell rang. I opened it to find Damien standing there, looking effortlessly gorgeous in a leather jacket and that signature smirk.
"Right on time," I said, trying to sound unimpressed, though my heart was doing cartwheels.
"I always am," he replied smoothly, his eyes raking over me. "Nice outfit."
I glanced down at my simple dress, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze. "It's just dinner, not a fashion show."
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "With me, everything's a show."
I rolled my eyes and grabbed my bag, locking the door behind me. "Let's just get this over with."
The restaurant he chose was one of those upscale places with dim lighting and pretentious menus. As we sat down, Damien ordered for both of us without even glancing at the menu. Confident, as always.
"So," he said, leaning back in his chair, "you're still pretending you're not interested?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Interested in what? Your ego? Pass."
His smirk deepened, clearly enjoying the banter. "No, interested in why I'm here. With you."
I crossed my arms, leaning forward slightly. "I figured it's because you enjoy tormenting me."
"Partly," he admitted, his eyes glinting with amusement. "But mostly, it's because you're different. You don't throw yourself at me like everyone else."
"Wow, what a compliment," I said dryly, taking a sip of my water. "I'm so honored."
He chuckled, the sound low and sexy. "You should be. I don't chase just anyone."
"And yet, here you are," I shot back, refusing to let him have the upper hand. "Chasing."
His eyes darkened, the playful smirk giving way to something more serious. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just intrigued by a challenge."
Our food arrived, breaking the tension for a moment. But even as we ate, his gaze never left me, making it impossible to focus on anything else.
"You know," he said, setting his fork down, "you're not as hard to read as you think."
"Oh really?" I challenged, arching a brow. "And what am I thinking right now?"
He leaned in, his voice a low murmur. "That you're wondering what it would be like to kiss me."
My breath hitched, but I refused to let him see me flustered. "In your dreams, Damien."
He smirked, leaning back. "Maybe. But I've got a feeling you're curious too."
The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of witty comebacks and simmering tension. By the time we left the restaurant, the air between us was practically crackling.
As we stood outside, Damien looked at me with that unreadable expression again. "Let me walk you home."
"I can manage," I replied, though a small part of me was tempted to say yes.
"I insist," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
We walked in silence for a few minutes, the city lights casting a soft glow around us. Just as we reached my building, Damien stopped and turned to face me.
"You know this isn't over," he said, his voice low and intense.
"What isn't?" I asked, heart pounding.
"Whatever this is," he said, gesturing between us. "It's just getting started."
Before I could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear. "Goodnight, Faith."
And just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there, breathless and utterly confused.
What the hell had I just gotten myself into?
I stood there for a moment, the cool night air doing nothing to calm the heat rushing through me. Damien Vercetti was trouble, wrapped in a dangerously attractive package, and I had just stepped right into his game.
With a deep breath, I finally made my way up to my apartment, trying to shake off the lingering sensation of his lips so close to my ear. My phone buzzed as I closed the door behind me.
Damien: Sweet dreams, Faith. I'll be seeing you soon.
I stared at the message, my heart racing again. This man had a way of getting under my skin like no one else. I tossed my phone onto the couch, determined to ignore him—at least for tonight.
But as I crawled into bed, his words echoed in my mind.
"It's just getting started."
And somehow, I knew he was right. This was far from over.