Page 65 of Pawn

“You actually owning up to that shit, King?” Leaning on the wall next to him, I nudge his shoulder. He hangs his head. “So what if you got carried away in there? You still have a solid plan.”

“With Carson suing me, the plan’s dead.” He steals the bottle back. “Hell, the entire company is. No one’s gonna want to do business with a kid who can’t control his temper.”

“Where’s my confident King?” My hand comes to his cold, chiselled cheek while I search his eyes. “I’m sorry you lost the deal but there will be another way. You’re Damien King. You don’t give up that easy.”

“There is no other way, Jo,” he mutters, keeping his head down.

He reaches for my hand and I let him, the comforting feeling of his hold too much to ignore. Pulling me close, he plants a boozy kiss on my lips that leaves the room around us in a murmured blur.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” His forehead lands on mine before he pierces me with that gaze. He sounds convincing but I’m not sure if I buy it. “The only thing I really want is you.”

“What about—”

“Not this business, not these assholes.” He kisses me again before his teeth sink into my lip, pulling on the thin skin and it makes me forget where we are. Makes me a dazed fool in his hold. “Nothing else matters, Jo. Just you. Just us.”

* * *

A slam startles me awake.

When I open an eye, reaching for the comfort of Damien’s firm pecs, I get cold, silky sheets instead.

Sitting up, I say his name, squinting at the dark room, “Damien?”

He doesn’t answer and when I call again, I get nothing in return. After stirring in bed for a few moments, there’s no way I’m getting back to sleep without him. Pathetic, I know, but nothing puts me back to sleep like curling up on his broad chest, listening to his heart.

Climbing out of bed, I check the bathroom before heading into the hall. Willow’s asleep when I check the guest room, her mouth hanging open to the ceiling. Closing her door, I try again. “Damien?” Looking down the hall, there’s a light coming from under the office door, a musky stench in the air.

Weed.

Walking over to the door, his voice stops me.

“I can’t do that.” His voice is low, but Damien’s bassy croak makes it easy to hear his words. “You know I can’t do that. Is there anything else?”

Pushing on the knob, it’s open and when I look inside, Damien’s behind the desk. It’s dark in the room, no lights on besides the little lamp by his arm. When the door creaks, he looks up.

“Let’s discuss this later,” he says before he pulls the phone from his ear, his eyes roaming my frame in his shirt. “What are you doing up, Rowland?”

“Could ask you the same question,” I reply, remembering to breathe now that he’s in front of me again.

“Couldn’t sleep.” A glass of something amber hangs from his fingers in one hand, a joint in the other. Something tells me these aren’t his first.

“And now, neither can I.”

He’s had trouble sleeping all week but he usually stays by my side, awake or not. He catches my glare before a smirk pulls at his lips.

Scratching at my tangled curls I make my way over to the desk, dried wax still on the top. “I thought I was your sleeping aid.” His eyes are on my tits when I lean over to steal his joint.

Looking around the room, I notice some more changes. He switched the chandelier to something a little more modern. Same with the old wooden decor, now all black, making the room look dark and sleek. Like him.

Reaching for my hand, he pulls me all the way around to his lap. “Why? You need me to put you back to bed?” His finger trails my neck to my chest, tugging on the collar of the shirt.

“Not without you.” Leaning into his chest, it scares me how much I’ve come to crave his touch, his comfort. He’s the only reason I’ve been able to sleep. If that isn’t a sign I need therapy I don’t know what is, but for now, he’s my therapy. “Who were you talking to?”

His eyes flash to his phone before he looks up at me, eyes narrowing. “Eavesdropping again?”

“No.” But now I’m suspicious. “Why? Did I miss something?” He shifts in his seat, his fists clenched, an uneasy look on his face. Seems like I did. “Who was that?” I try to read the look in his eyes, that scowl on his face before I pry. “You can tell me anything, Damien. Your deepest secret. Your darkest thought. If I wanted to run by now I would’ve.”

He lets out a breath, his eyes wandering my face and it gives me the tingles all over again. “Craig.”

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