Page 30 of Unmasked

CHAPTER NINE

DAMIANPUMPEDHISarms and legs, gaining speed as his feet pounded the boardwalk planks that lined the Yarra River. No matter how fast he ran or how loud he blasted the music through his earphones, he couldn’t get Lainey out of his head.

Knowing the mysterious redhead was in fact his little sister’s best friend should have put a stop to the dirty dreams. But instead the knowledge fuelled them, gave them life and depth and the sharp snap of reality that had him turned upside down and inside out. Every night was a battle of wills—his carnal self paired with vivid imagination versus his moral core.

It was a terribly one-sided battle.

After his evening run, he was itching to get out of his workout clothes. The soaked cotton clung to his back and chest like a second skin, and he peeled it off quickly. A light ache spread through his muscles, a sign that he’d pushed himself hard today, and he’d need to spend some time on the foam roller to ease out the knots.

He’d been tighter than usual. Stress, his trainer had said. Lack of stretching, according to the remedial masseuse. Working too hard, his assistant claimed. But he knew it wasn’t any of those things.

Desire. He’d felt it burrowing under his skin ever since he’d seen Lainey on Monday night, niggling at him in the quiet portions of the day. In the dead of night. In the dark corners of his dreams.

He shook the thoughts off and stepped under the running water, sighing as the warmth seeped into his muscles. He lathered up, working the bar over his skin. Tonight was going to be an exercise in restraint.

Because sleeping with Lainey again—this time knowing it was her—would only create trouble.

You don’t fuck people you care about.

Sex had no place getting mixed up with feelings, that much he knew. But since the Carmina Ball he’d only had thoughts of one woman. And his libido had come back to life like a bear out of hibernation—hungry and desperate for the bounty of springtime.

Just one night.

Temptation rolled around in his mind. Would it be so bad to act on the fantasy that Lainey was his fiancée? God, she was gorgeous. Porcelain skin and ruby-rich hair that looked so perfect it should have been natural. Perky breasts that went uninhibited by a bra most of the time. The memory of running his thumbs over her nipples, the stiff little peaks pressing against his touch, rocketed through him.

He was hard as stone remembering it. Without thinking, he reached down and wrapped a soapy hand around his cock. He’d spent every day trying to deny his urges—to deny his fantasies about her—and now all the sexy thoughts had piled up. Testing the heft of his length against his palm, he let the air rush out of his lungs.

The muscles of his ass and thighs clenched as he squeezed himself, sliding his hand up and down slowly. Deliberately.

Bracing his other arm against the cool tile of the shower wall and shutting his eyes, he thrust into his hand. It would never be as good as the real thing, but his flickering reel of fantasies was vivid and bright. He could practically feel the soft wetness of her mouth against his cock, the slippery slide of her tongue and the tight ring of her perfect pink lips.

Orgasm welled within him, pulling his balls up tight against him and making his muscles harden. When he came it was hard, his grunts bouncing off the walls of the shower as he emptied himself, his mind filled with Lainey.

This would have to do. He couldn’t let himself get fooled again.

* * *

Lainey had expected an email with the details for their dinner date, or whatever the hell she was supposed to call it. Maybe a text. Even a phone call. You know, normal-people communication methods. But Damian didn’t do things the way most guys did.

The day after he’d dropped by the house, a parcel had been delivered via courier with a handwritten note.

I’ll pick you up at 7:00 p.m. on Friday. Don’t open the box until then.

Ever since, she’d been on edge, each night willing sleep to come. But her dreams were no less restless, and the silver box winked at her from across her bedroom. Tonight she’d see him again.

Gripping her towel tight, Lainey skimmed her hand over the subtly embossed pattern, enjoying the feel of the tiny ridges beneath her fingertips. Heart in her throat, she lifted the lid and stared at the layers of frothy, candy-coloured tissue paper.

It crinkled as she opened the edge to reveal a dress. One of those formfitting bandage-type dresses. The straight lines were enhanced by panels of mixed fabric—leather, brushed silk, something reflective and glossy—all in a shade of purple so dark it was nearly black. A fine zipper in gold ran the entire length of the dress from the bust to the hemline.

She steeled herself and glanced at the swing tag, blinking at the neatly printed price label. Surely that last zero wasn’t supposed to be there. Lainey’s stomach pitched. She could cover a few months of rent with that!

She dropped the dress onto the bed as though it had burned her. In no universe could she accept such a gift. The dress she’d worn to the Carmina Ball had been this expensive, but it had been a loaner and she’d almost ruined it.

Lainey had a thing against charity. The second you accepted it, you admitted that you couldn’t take care of yourself. Sure, she might need rescuing from funny situations on occasion, but she had a job that she was damn good at. Opportunities on the horizon. She was her own woman and she paid her own way.

Lainey fingered the fabric. She had to admit Damian had impeccable taste.

Who says he bought it for you? He probably had an assistant do it for him.

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