Page 84 of Sinful Sacrifice

“Will you give me a hint?” I plead with Damien in the back seat before adding flirtation to my tone. “Just a little one.”

“You’re lucky you’re sexy as hell,” he replies with a chuckle.

I hate how poorly lit our space is, making it difficult to see more of his face. I love when he chuckles. There’s always a sliver of a smile on his handsome face when he does.

He withdraws two tickets from his blazer pocket, passes them to me, and turns on the overhead light. I gasp as I read them.

Two front-row tickets to New York City Ballet’s Swan Lake.

Once, he asked what my dream ballet to attend was. I casually mentioned the show being on my bucket list but didn’t expect him to take me. I’ve replied to that question with the same answer since I was a child.

It was on my Santa wish list four years in a row before I eventually quit asking. My father once told me Santa didn’t have a budget for things like that.

This is yet another quality I admire in Damien.

He listens. Truly listens.

When we talk, he absorbs my words like they hold a secret puzzle within them.

My heart thumps in my chest when we arrive at the theater. Augusto parks and opens the back door.

Just like every time he has a driver, Damien doesn’t allow him to assist me out of the SUV. He cups my hand, holding me as I step out.

Augusto tells us to have fun, and Damien guides me into the building. The lobby is quiet as we head straight to the theater. Peering up, I admire the gold-leaf ceiling and crystal chandelier. The room itself is a masterpiece.

I’ve been to this theater two other times. Once during a third-grade field trip and the other when I brought my mother for a matinee show on Mother’s Day. Each visit increased my love of ballet more. Growing up, this was where I dreamed of dancing. Unfortunately, life got in the way of that.

As I stand here, bliss spreads through my body.

I’m in absolute heaven.

If heaven had a population of two.

No other soul is in the theater.

No people making random chatter or filing in, searching for their seats before the show starts.

I slip my hand up Damien’s wrist to check the time on his watch. “How is no one here yet? The show starts in ten minutes.”

Here I was, stressed we were on time.

“No one else is coming,” Damien says with absolute certainty.

I inch closer, our bodies brushing, as if we were in on a secret. “What?”

His lips curl into a smirk. “It’s a private show for us, baby.”

I gape at him, shivers spreading over every inch of my skin. “Are you serious?”

He slowly nods.

My mouth falls open, and it takes me a moment to recollect myself from the rush of happiness flowing through me. “You spoil me too much.”

Damien releases my hand to rest his on my waist, drawing me in closer. The smell of his intoxicating cologne swallows the air around us. With the way he’s hungrily staring at me, even if the theater were flooded with people, he’d still absorb all my attention.

He brushes his bruised knuckles across my cheek, and I shiver.

Bruises. Cuts. Blood.

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