Page 85 of Remembering Passion

“How do you feel about the campaign?” he asked.

“I’m even more excited about it now that I’ve met everyone. I truly see the possibilities for mutual benefits.”

“I like mutually beneficial endeavors.”

Inside the hotel, riding the elevator up to the fourth floor, I asked, “I take it that Mr. Ayers and Mr. Welsh aren’t married, or did their wives not want to join them this weekend?”

“Bob was married. I think she was number four.”

I scrunched my nose. “Four marriages?”

“If he starts looking at you for number five, I may have to violate the terms of the coalition and punch him.”

“Bob must be in his sixties.” I reached for Damien’s arm. “Besides, I’m not looking to be anyone’s number anything.”

He covered my hand with his. “About that?”

About what?

His blue stare swirled with deeper shades. “I had an idea while you were wowing the coalition.”

“An idea about…?”

“I’m still mulling it over in my mind.”

“If this idea includes me, I should be hearing it.”

“It does.” Before I could reply, he added, “Hear me out.”

I opened the door to my hotel room. “You better come in and explain.” As we walked through the threshold, it hit me how drastically things had changed in a relatively short period of time. A week ago, I was hesitant to allow him in my room. As I took off my coat and kicked off my boots, everything felt natural—a way I never thought I’d feel again, especially not with Damien.

Removing his jacket, he eyed my untouched bed. “I could explain in bed.”

Without thinking, I scanned from his brown loafers up his long blue-jean-clad legs and higher to his light blue sweater—one that fit exceptionally well, showcasing his toned torso, wide shoulders, and muscular arms. By the time I made it to his handsome face, his smirk let me know he caught my gawking. My cheeks lifted as I grinned. “Why did you wear jeans, and I am your dress-up doll?”

Damien came close, snaking his arm around my waist. “Saturdays with the coalition are more casual.” Navy swirled in his blue orbs. “I like dressing you.” His eyebrows danced. “I prefer undressing you.”

There was a pair of jeans in the suitcase.

I laid my palms on his chest and met his gaze. “Talk to me.” Inside the little refrigerator was the ridiculously expensive drink options. Taking a step back, I pointed toward it. “Do we need a drink for this?”

Damien threw his suit coat on the bed and took a seat on the sofa. “I haven’t lied to you.”

My stomach twisted as I sat at the far end of the sofa. With one leg beneath me, I hugged my other knee. “That’s a rather frightening way to start a conversation.”

He shifted, turning toward me. “When I saw you at the airport, I almost didn’t believe it was you. I tried to move on—in all aspects of life—after you left, but Ella, letting you go was the worst decision of my life. There were so many times I’d dreamt of you. At first, seeing you take that barstool, I thought you were a mirage.”

I recalled that afternoon. “I thought I’d pulled one over on you.”

His lips quirked in a lopsided grin. “Until you walked on the plane.” He laughed. “Your expression was priceless.” He exhaled and laid his head back against the wall. “This is going to sound like an elaborate plan.” He lifted his head up and met my gaze. “It wasn’t. I didn’t even think of it until this afternoon.”

A sense of dread crept into my chest.

There was something in the way he was speaking—his tone or volume. It sounded uncharacteristically vulnerable.

What was he going to say?

This was why I didn’t want to renew anything with Damien. I didn’t want to end up hurt.

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