Page 236 of Terms of Exposure
For whatever came next.
"Yes," I said. "I'm ready."
Chapter fifty-one
Emma
The night air was cool against my skin as we stepped out of Marina's.
Damien's hand found the small of my back, guiding me toward the car waiting at the curb. He opened the passenger door for me, and I slid inside, the leather seat cool against my bare legs.
He rounded the hood and settled into the driver's seat. Beneath us, the engine purred to life.
Damien pulled into traffic. Marina's warm glow faded in the side mirror.
I watched it go—the restaurant that had broken me once and healed me tonight.
The last time I'd made this drive, I'd been alone.
Shattered.
Tears streaming as I tried to hold the pieces together long enough to make it home.
I remembered thinking it was over—that whatever fragile, beautiful thing I'd been building with a stranger named Read had died the moment Damien Holt stepped around that corner.
Now his hand rested on my thigh.
"What?" he asked, catching me staring.
"Nothing." I smiled. "I just like looking at you."
"That's my line."
"Maybe I'm stealing it."
His laugh was low, warm. "You can steal anything you want."
Streetlights caught the planes of Damien's face—strong jaw, unfairly handsome even in profile.
Heat curled beneath my skin.
"Damien," I purred. "How far are we from home?"
"About eight minutes, why?" Damien glanced over, and I let him look—let him see every nefarious intention written across my face.
His lips parted, grip tightening on the steering wheel.
"Ms. Sinclair," he said, my name a whisper on his lips. "If you keep looking at me like—"
"Like what?" I teased.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about."
I leaned over the console, my dress dipping to show the tops of my breasts. I let a small moan fall from my lips.
He stilled, chest rising and falling in a quick cadence.
My hand slid across the console, finding his thigh.
