Page 57 of Mutual Desire

But distraction was not on the menu. His eyes fell on a lavish spread of food laid out on the table—exotic fruits, meats, cheeses, and decadent desserts, as if they were about to indulge in some luxurious picnic.Was this a joke? Damien rolled his eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder what Nabokov was trying to accomplish with this ridiculous setup. Did the man really think a buffet would erase the kisses that haunted Damien’s mind?

Damien sank onto the leather sofa, glaring at the flames crackling in the fireplace. He pulled out his laptop, setting it on his lap, trying to focus on the reason he was here. He was late on purpose—thirty minutes, to be precise. Yet, somehow, Nabokov wasn’t already here waiting like the smug bastard Damien had expected him to. It was almost as if he knew that Damien would be purposely late, and he wanted to return the favor.

In the brief window of solitude, Damien attempted to call Craig again. No answer. Frustration gnawed at him as he fired off yet another apologetic text, knowing full well it wouldn’t fix the damage. He planned to explain everything in person—just not today.

“Good evening, Damien.”

The sudden voice startled Damien, making him fumble with his phone. His pulse spiked as he snapped his head up, locking eyes with Nabokov, who now stood just inches from the fireplace. The billionaire’s presence was impossible to ignore, commanding and effortlessly elegant. Damien couldn’t help but notice the immaculate cut of his attire. He wore a crisp, white dress shirt, open at the collar, revealing just a hint of his collarbone and lending him an effortless, understated elegance. Over it, a tailored charcoal blazer hung casually open, that fit him perfectly, accentuating the sharp lines of his shoulders and his tall, athletic build, giving him an air of understated luxury. Dark slacks tapered perfectly down his long legs, and polished leather shoes peeked out from beneath the hem, glinting slightly in the warm firelight.

Hands tucked casually into his pockets, Nabokov looked entirely at ease—like a man who had every reason to be. A sleek watch gleamed on his wrist, and the scent of his cologne, crisp and layered with subtle woodsy notes, reached Damien, as unwelcome as it was intoxicating. The fabric of his clothes was smooth, likely some absurdly expensive material Damien couldn’t name, but what truly completed the look was the unbothered arrogance that Nabokov wore better than any designer brand.

For a moment, Damien forgot how to breathe. He scrambled to compose himself, his features hardening as he tried to act indifferent, as if the sight of Nabokov didn’t unravel him. But that damn cologne—the same intoxicating scent as the other night —was already messing with his head.

“You’re not speaking to me now?” Nabokov asked, a flicker of amusement dancing in his gray eyes.

Damien clenched his jaw, keeping his gaze on the laptop screen. He’d made a vow to himself: no unnecessary conversation. This meeting was strictly business. Nick’s software presentation—nothing more, nothing less.

“So, how do you plan to present the software without saying a word?” Nabokov’s voice was playful, clearly enjoying Damien’s attempt at defiance.

Damien exhaled sharply, his patience already wearing thin. “If you’re done playing games, can we start? I’d like to go home.”

Nabokov’s lips twitched, but he didn’t reply right away. Instead, he made his way to the sofa opposite Damien’s, poured himself a glass of wine, and took a deliberate slow sip, his eyes never leaving Damien’s. The silence between them thickened, heavy with unspoken tension.

“Wine?” Nabokov offered casually, as if they were old friends catching up.

“No,” Damien answered flatly, his eyes glued to the laptop.

“Water, maybe?”

“No.”

A faint smile curved Nabokov’s lips, as if he found Damien’s irritation endearing. “Help yourself if you change your mind.”

Damien ignored him, pretending to be engrossed in the laptop. But Nabokov’s presence was impossible to ignore. The man had a way of commanding the room without saying a word, and Damien hated that it worked.

Without warning, Nabokov reached for a slice of cheesecake from the table. He took his time, savoring each bite with a precision that felt deliberate—sensual, even. Damien’s eyes flicked toward him despite himself, and he instantly regretted it.

Nabokov’s gaze was unreadable, but something simmered beneath the surface. That blank expression carried an unsettling undercurrent of desire. Damien’s stomach twisted as heat spread through his body, not from the fireplace but from the way Nabokov’s gaze lingered—like he was undressing him with every glance.

“I apologize,” Nabokov said, licking a bit of frosting from his thumb. “I didn’t have lunch today.”

Damien swallowed hard, cursing the way his body responded to the sight. He tried to steady himself, shifting his attention back to the laptop. “You’re hungry, and you choose cake?” he muttered under his breath.

Nabokov smiled, the corners of his lips curving mischievously. “What can I say? I have a sweet tooth.”

Damien huffed a reluctant laugh, despite himself. “I have one too, but even I have limits.”

Nabokov’s gaze darkened, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Limits are good,” he murmured, his voice dipping low.

The air between them felt suffocating, thick with tension. Damien fought to maintain his composure, knowing that Nabokov was testing him—pushing him, waiting for him to crack. And when the billionaire leaned forward, his expression softening but his intent unmistakable, Damien knew exactly where this was headed.

Damien leaned forward, tapping on his laptop, and the screen illuminated with Nick’s updated software. He cleared his throat. “Okay, let’s walk through this.”

Nabokov sat beside him, his posture relaxed, but his gaze sharp. Damien tried to ignore the way Nabokov's knee almost brushed against his own or how the billionaire’s presence seemed to fill every inch of space between them.

The software presentation lasted only twenty minutes. Damien moved through the slides efficiently, showing the bug fixes, smoother user experience, and the polished new interface Nick had worked tirelessly on. As Damien clicked through the final slide, he finally exhaled.

“That’s about it,” he said, relieved it was over. “The updates should meet all your requirements now.”

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