Page 63 of Emperor of Lust

Her raw, vulnerable expression tugs at something deep inside me that I’m not sure I want to acknowledge.

“When I didn’t want to sleep in a bed with you…” She trails off, glancing down. “It’s just that… I never have. I’ve never shared a bed with anyone. Not since that night.”

The exhaustion on her face is palpable as she tries to hide a yawn.

“You should get some sleep,” I murmur.

She nods, glancing back toward the bedroom, then hesitating.

“I’ll sleep out here,” I add quietly.

Her mouth curls slightly at the corners. Relief flickers over her face as she looks at me with faint gratitude in her eyes as she wraps the duvet around herself like a shield.

“Thank you,” she whispers, looking down. “For listening to what I just told you…and not looking at me now like I’m broken or disgusting.”

I just nod, watching as she retreats into the bedroom, leaving the door open a crack. My thoughts are still filled with black rage and a possessive sort of fury.

Josh might be dead. But there were two other fuckers in that room that night—who not only did nothing, but laughed as she screamed.

She didn’t mentionthembeing dead…

When I finally pull myself from my blood-soaked fantasies involving a flaying knife, it’s been half an hour. I stand and walk to the bedroom door, peeking in to make sure she’s okay.

Hana is sleeping soundly, wrapped in her duvet. Her sleeping face is unburdened. There’s no sign of nightmares playing under her eyelids.

Still, I watch her for another half an hour: watch her sleep, and dream.

And for once, the silence is enough.

19

HANA

I stepout of the car, the cool Tokyo night wrapping around me. Damian’s already here, leaning against a black SUV, and his eyes snap to me the second he sees me. I catch his gaze, and a spark of electricity shoots through me, like a dangerous, silent current.

“Hey,” I say, clearing my throat.

He tilts his head, smirking slightly. “Hey yourself.”

The fundraising gala we’re attending is for a local planning and zoning minister who both the Mori-kai and the Nikolayev Bratva plan on speaking with…okay,bribing…for easement on future construction projects in Tokyo. Damian and I opted to arrive separately and meet outside, as we’ve both been in a barrage of different meetings all day.

A strange sort of shyness settles between us. I’m not used to this uncertainty. Damian usually fills the entire space with his sheer presence, but right now, he’s giving me a look that’s softer, gentler, almost intimate.

“How were your meetings?” I ask, trying to fill the silence. “Good?”

He nods. “All good.”

His eyes trace unabashedly over me, drinking in the black Dior gown with the silvery sequin accents and trim, the daring—thought notnearlyas daring as on the dress I wore to Miyamoto’s house—neckline and plunging back letting the cool air tease over my skin.

“You look fucking amazing,” he murmurs, a dark edge to his tone as his gaze slides over me again.

I blush. “Thanks, you too.” I hesitate, glancing down and pricking my fingers together before lifting my gaze back to him. “Thanks for last night,” I shrug, feeling the weight of the unspoken words. “For listening to my whole sob story. I mean, I’d prefer?—”

“No one’s going to hear it from me,” he growls. “If that’s your concern.”

“Thanks,” I smile. “Really.”

His eyes hold mine for a beat. “Anytime,” he says, his voice low. He nods up at the ballet theater where the gala event is being hosted in the upstairs foyer. “You a fan?”

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