Page 51 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad
"It must be," I mumble, my gaze captivated by the beautiful profile of the man who’d captured my imagination from the moment I’d seen him first perform on stage.
He shoves a hand in the pocket of his beautifully-cut slacks. Surely. they must have been cut to his physique while he was standing in front of the tailor, who, no doubt, wept as he stitched them to fit every powerful muscle of those sinewed legs—Gah! Stop drooling you idiot.It’s just cloth, fabric that many others wear, except on Damian f’ing Savage, formal pants and button-downs seem to be poetry in motion.What the hell am I thinking?I shake my head; he jerks his chin up and locks his gaze with mine. Those blue eyes of his seem to penetrate my heart, my skin, my soul. My throat closes and a bead of sweat slides down my spine.
Around me, confetti rains down on the newly married couple.
Damian straightens and his shoulder seem to bulge. His biceps flex, stretching in the full sleeves of his formal wear. He doesn’t take his gaze off of me. My heart begins to thud. He brings up his thumb and runs it across his bottom lip, and bloody hell, my entire body seems to snap to attention. My belly clenches and moisture pools between my legs. What the—? What kind of hold does he have on me?
"Nice dress, by the way," Isla whispers.
"What?"
"Your gown."
"Oh, it’s borrowed."
"From whom?"
"Uh, Damian told me to wear it."
"Damian?" she whisper-screams. "So, you did spend time with him, after all?"
"Shh," I grab her arm, "you’ll attract attention."
"So I should." She stares at me. "Tell me all, bitch."
"There’s nothing to tell." I glance back at the space where I’d last seen Damian, and find the space is empty. Huh?
"Well?" She shakes off my hold, only to grab my arm instead, "So you did shag him?"
"No," I snap. "Uh, we’ve done stuff, just not that."
"I don’t understand."
"Tell me about it." I glance around the space as Weston and Amelie accept congratulations from the rest of the crowd. I should go up and wish her well too. Except, damn it, I can’t, not yet. Not when I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into. Not sure if I have a job to go to, either… Shit, a job I needed. Why the hell couldn’t he let me see his daughter? Am I so abhorrent to him? A shapeless piece of clay? Well, I certainly feel dowdy, compared to the glowing faces in this room.
"You okay?" Isla hisses.
"No. Yes." I swallow, "I don’t know." Tears prick the backs of my eyes.No, no, no.“I… I need a moment."
I step back from her and she releases her grasp on me.
"Where are the restrooms?"
"First floor, to the far right." She searches my face, "Want me to come with you?"
"No." I shake my head. "I’ll be fine, I just need to get away." I turn, skirt the crowd, and head inside. The sounds of laughter and conversation fade as I walk across the beautiful lounge, head up the steps and to the right of the hallway. Follow it to the door that’s partially ajar at the end. I peek inside, then gasp when a warm hand descends on my shoulder. I’m pushed inside so abruptly that I stumble. I turn to find Damian leaning against the door. He lowers his hand to grasp the doorknob and a lock snaps into place.
"Wh...what are you doing?"
He unhooks his belt and the buckle clanks as he pulls it off. My nerve-endings pop. I drop my gaze to his crotch, to where the evidence of his desire tents the fabric of his pants. OMFG, it’s not possible that he’s as big as he seems, is he? My toes curl. My scalp tingles. I dig my heels into the floor, curl my fingers into fists at my sides.
"On your knees," he orders.
My jaw drops. "You’re crazy."
"For you."
I glance up at his face and his lips twist.
