Damien watched Marley sashay away from him in a floral skirt, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she reached for the door of the restaurant. He had to remind himself that this wasn't real. That her attraction to him was because of the power of the Grigori, that she was allowing him to strip down her moral boundaries because of the temptation of lust.
Yet something in him kept saying it was different. Marley had been able to resist him, had been able to evade his touches and get her mouth around his c**k on the boat the night before. Never had any woman been able to resist his distractions, his determination to pleasure her and avoid her touching him. It had surprised him, caught him defenseless, and he'd barely grabbed a breath before he'd been exploding in her mouth.
He hadn't handled it well, afterward. But he had needed time, away from her, to sort through what had happened. Spending the night tossing and turning and thinking from every angle possible, he had decided Marley was entirely different than any other woman he had known in the last two hundred years, because not only could she resist him, she actually appeared to like him. That was a completely unique response. Women were attracted to him based solely on the physical, the demon lure. Yet Marley liked him. Damien. As both a person and a man.
And it was that certainty that had allowed him to let himself go that morning, let him explode inside her, take the pleasure she had offered so freely, so generously. It was different with Marley, and that was damn dangerous.
Because he wasn't different. Nothing had changed, and he was using rationalization to excuse his behavior. A hundred years of conviction thrown over for a few days' pleasure, and ultimately at her expense. He should be castigating himself, but he just felt easy, content, and oddly at peace.
Marley turned back to him and smiled as they entered the restaurant. "What's their specialty here? I'd like to try something new."
"I can recommend all kinds of new specialties," he said, sliding his hand around her waist, wanting to touch her, feel her, be closer to her laugh and her smile.
If this wasn't real, he didn't care.
He'd had entirely too much reality for the last two centuries.
Marley sat on Damien's balcony, a glass of wine in her hand. "This is beautiful. All these hanging baskets… who takes care of these?"
"There's a building manager for these condos." Damien pulled his chair closer to the railings and propped his feet up. "I give him free rein to take care of the place."
Lunch had been delicious Creole food, and Marley was sleepy from the sun, a full stomach, and the restless night's sleep. "I could take a nap right now."
"We could do that." Damien's eyes were closed and he looked just as languid as she felt. "There's a bed four feet away. All we have to do is stand up."
Like they'd actually sleep if they made it to a mattress. "Is this a ploy to get me naked?"
"No." His head tilted back, like he wanted more of the sun. "If I wanted you naked right this minute I'd just say so. Or make it so. No, I was actually talking about taking a nap. I'm dead tired."
When he stood up and took her hand, she went with him, figuring sex or sleep would be the outcome and both sounded damn appealing.
The bed was low, crisp white bedding against navy blue walls, which were outlined by thick creamy woodwork. Silver mirrors faced each other over the dresser and bench, and a metallic nightstand bounced light from the windows around the room, casting rainbow shadows. Marley loved the order of all of Damien's furnishings, the understated elegance, how every object served a purpose.
She kicked off her sandals and climbed onto that fluffy oasis, the duvet sinking beneath her knees. "Very soft."
"Pull the duvet back." Damien had taken his own shoes off and was unbuttoning his shirt.
Marley peeled the comforter and sheet down and slipped inside, giving a sigh as her head hit the pillow. "Oh, crap, this feels good."
Damien slid in from the left and stuffed two pillows behind his neck. He lay on his back, hands steepled on his bare chest. "I think Americans should initiate the siesta. This feels amazing with the sun on us."
What felt amazing was the way everything was so comfortable with Damien. If she sat back and analyzed it, it would probably disturb her, so she wasn't going to do that. Marley rolled onto her side, trailed her fingers over his arm.
"Are you still having the party Saturday night?"
"Do you want me to?" He turned his head in her direction, studying her. "I can cancel it."
"No. I want to see Lizzie and she said she was going to be there." Besides, if he canceled the party, logically it would be time for her to go home. And she wasn't ready, not quite yet. She wanted that last day with Damien.
"Okay. But let me know if you change your mind."
"Thanks."
He reached over, wrapped his arm around her, pulled her closer. "I owe Lizzie a thank you."
"For what?"
"For bringing you to me."
Marley's first instinct was to blush, to ignore his words, to not want to screw up the moment, or misinterpret what he meant. But instead she said what she felt. "I still want to strangle her, but I'm glad I came too. Glad I met you."
Maybe they were both meant to be this for each other, this warm bed and soft, unexpected comfort, for right now, right when they both seemed to need it. And it could be enough, a gift, a lovely memory.
Resting her head on his chest, she settled in closer to him, running her finger over the leather of his black belt. "I forgot about the letter, Damien. Lizzie's e-mail with Marie's confession. I need to give it to you, so remind me when we get back to the plantation and I'll dig it out. Actually it's in my purse, so I can give it to you whenever I can drag my lazy butt off this bed."
Damien stroked her back. "I need to tell you something. Something I'm not proud of, but that you should know, so you'll understand why I don't deserve your pity. I wasn't faithful to my wife. I made her so damn unhappy, and I was so selfish."
While Marley was surprised, she could hear the pain in his voice, had suspected there was something he was harboring guilt over. "Oh, Damien. You made a mistake. You must have been very young."
"Don't forgive me. I don't."
She could hear his heart beating strong and solid beneath her. "Maybe you should. Was it just once, or was it an affair?" Cheating was something that she didn't understand, but she also figured everyone made at least one mistake, some just bigger than others. A one-night stand fell into the latter category. Though on the other hand, a long, drawn-out relationship with another women would be hard for even a bleeding heart like her to explain away.