Page 36 of Salem's Fall
I try to decide if he’s just saying this to pacify me or if he actually means it. I suppose he looks sincere. Or at least as sincere as Damien Blackhollow can look.
“Well… okay, then.”
“Good.” He nods, taking another sip of wine. “Why don’tyou use the ladies’ first before we go? Looks like it’s going to be a long night.”
Not a bad idea. The wine and water are already catching up with me, so I excuse myself to the bathroom. When I return to the table moments later, Damien looks up, apology etched in his features.
“I’m sorry for being an ass,” he says. “I just don’t want you walking into something you can’t handle.” He lifts his wineglass and gestures to me. “Truce?”
I nod, cheersing him, even though I probably shouldn’t let him off the hook that easily. But when he looks at me like that—genuine, apologetic—it’s hard to stay mad.
The wine slides down my throat, warm and rich. When I set my glass down empty, a satisfied smile tugs at his lips. He tosses his black American Express Centurion card on the table and signs for the bill.
As we step outside and head toward Damien’s fancy car, a wave of drowsiness creeps over me, slow and heavy, like a weighted blanket settling over my shoulders. My legs feel unsteady, and I stumble for a moment before his hand finds the small of my back.
“You okay?”
I nod, though the movement feels sluggish.
“Seems you’re a bit of a lightweight, hmm, Counselor?” he teases.
I sway again, and Damien steadies me with a firm but easy grip. “Guess I’m out of practice.”
I rarely go out drinking anymore. I’m always in the office, always working.
Damien opens the passenger door and helps me into the backseat, sitting beside me while Bennett drives. Inside the car, the drowsiness deepens. I press my palms against the cool leather of the car door, trying to stay awake. My head lolls slightly before I catch myself, blinking hard.
What the hell?
I only had those two glasses of wine, didn’t I? Or… was it three?
Damien watches me from across the seat, his gaze steady, almost assessing.
“Guess I should stick to one glass while on the job, huh?” I joke, my voice sluggish, thick.
“It was a long day. I’m sure you were already tired.”
I am tired. So very, very tired. Like I want to go back to my room and sleep for days.
“The Hollow,” I whisper, trying to push through the fog creeping in. “I need to get to the Hollow—” The yawn pulling from my chest interrupts my words.
“You’re not seriously still planning on going tonight, are you?”
I open my mouth to argue, but suddenly, the thought of stumbling through the dark woods of the Hollow feels impossible.
“No.” I slump further in my seat. My brain is melting into syrup. “Guess not.”
By the time we pull up to the Cottage, my eyelids are so heavy, I can barely keep them open. Damien walks me inside, his hand pressed to my back as he guides me toward my room. His touch is gentler than I thought a man like him was capable of. As I turn to say goodbye, I find him standing far too close, his dark eyes locked onto mine.
“You’re stalking me again,” I mutter, half-joking, half-serious as I lean against my door for support. He takes the key from my shaky hands and helps me unlock it.
“Just making sure you’re safe.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got it from here,” I say, lifting a brow. “And you can’t keep following me back to my room. You’re my client. It’s not… proper.”
“I’m not,” he says, stepping back with a mock bow andpointing to the room beside us. “I’m going tomyroom—next door.”
I sway, gripping the edge of the doorway. “You… you booked the room next to mine?”
