Chapter 5

Amelia

I've had more wine than I should have. There's a nice lightness in my chest that I haven't had for a while. A freedom that I've been missing. Grief does that to you; holds you down with memories and expectations.

This dinner is a mistake. I didn't expect to see him at the gym. Clamping down my disturbing reaction while keeping up the bossy banter, my mind blanked. I couldn't make up a sensible excuse to decline dinner.

Maintaining a combative stance all evening has been a struggle. I'm trying hard not to enjoy this dinner... and failing. The wine has also loosened a tightly wound screw inside of me, and suddenly I want him. Damian. He's sitting across from me, all broad shoulders and lusty gazes, and I can't deny the swirling sensation in my veins or the sudden rush of moisture between my legs. It's been like this ever since Brooke's wedding, no matter how hard I've tried to hide it or forget about it. He's had me in his sights, and it's oddly thrilling. I've been a widow for the last few months, but Damian's gaze is constantly seeing past that. And having Robyn screen all my calls and reschedule him continuously hasn't stopped images and thoughts of him. I need to leave this dinner before I lose control. C'mon Amelia, think of an excuse to leave right now!

He leans over and pours me another glass of wine. I know I should stop him, but I don't. He keeps my gaze as he pours, and we both know he has me. Fuck. That wasn't supposed to happen. I've never been an easy drunk, but apparently, that all changes when I lose a second of control.

"Should I take you home?" he murmurs.

"What? No. I'm not going home with—"

He chuckles. "I meant to your house. I'll call you a car."

My breath is shaky when I inhale. "No. That's okay. I'll do it. Edgar, my driver, will be nearby. Eleanor had a function around here, too. I'll wait until she's ready, and we'll go home together."

Damian raises one eyebrow. "Eleanor is living with you?"

I shake my head. "I'm living with her."

"Since…"

"Since Jackson died, yes." I slump forward. "I can't do it," I whisper hoarsely. "The empty house. The coffee. So much coffee. I can't…" Damian reaches over the table and puts his hand on mine as a tear drops down my cheek. "I can't be alone."

Quick as a flash, Damian is in the seat next to me, his firm hand cupping my chin to brush the tears under my eye. "Let me take you to Eleanor's. I'll stay with you until she gets back."

I manage a weak nod, but Damian's hand is still on my cheek, so warm and comforting. It's been so long since I last had physical touch, and I feel myself leaning into it, anxious for it to stay.

Damian's gaze drops down to my lips and back to my eyes, and I think it's me that leans forward and kisses him, but even if I didn't, our lips are still pressed together, moving so naturally against one another.

He deepens it, his tongue darting into my mouth while his hand curls into the hair by my ear. It's like an explosion of desire I've kept a lid on has been released in my chest, and I don't think I could stop even if I wanted to.

He pulls away first, his expression dark and wanting, breathing heavily. He doesn't say anything, waiting for me to come to terms with what we just did and to stop anything else from happening.

I don't.

He moves smoothly. Damian gets me into his car, and I barely register the thought that he gets behind the wheel and drives towards his house. My hands are twitching as they rest on my thighs, my whole body aching for release.

The second we're in the front door of his house—smaller than mine and Eleanor's, probably the smallest of any Garrett family member, but still impressive—Damian's arms are wrapped around me, his body molded to mine. I clamber for his lips on mine again, and he willingly obliges, moving into a perfect rhythm of lips and tongue and teeth until I'm whimpering with desire in his firm embrace.

His mouth slides down my neck, biting gently at my jaw and my collarbone. His tongue traces the curve of my neck as he murmurs curses and compliments that seem to fire directly into my nervous system, making me a pool of lust in his foyer.

I'm completely at his mercy. Gone is the professional boss who works in the company offices, and in her place is a whimpering mess seeking out the next thing that will give her the most pleasure. At this moment, it's every time Damian slides his hands up my thigh or applies the smallest amount of pressure to his grip on my hair. I want him to claim me.

He growls in desire as he crouches suddenly, lifting me up into his arms and carrying me towards the sofa. It's an ugly-looking thing, but I couldn't care less when he lies me on it, draping himself over me. He moves slowly, taking his time to explore, his fingers skimming my legs as he catches the heel of my shoe and slides it off. He does the same with the other foot until he can lie comfortably in between my legs.

My eyelids flutter closed when he hooks his finger into the strap of my dress, tugging it down until my breast is exposed. He hums appreciatively at the back of his throat before all thoughts leave my head as he focuses all his attention on my body.

Such a talented tongue. Such talented fingers. I squirm underneath him, eager for friction at the apex of my thighs. As his fingers creep up my thighs and hook into the edge of my panties, I can't help the whimper of pure need. His breath is warm on my collarbone as his fingers slip inside the warm heat.

"So wet," he murmurs. "So ready for me. Aren't you, Amelia?"

"Yes," I gasp. "More."

His thumb finds my clit as his finger works inside, and my whole body arches off the sofa, trying to find the perfect tempo for what I crave.

Damian understands and slides his whole body down, replacing his thumb with his tongue. I cry out in relief and curl my fingers into his hair, keeping him firmly in the direction I want him.

My toes, trapped underneath him, brush against the throbbing hardness in his pants, and I'm filled with an urgency I've never experienced before. There's an ache within me that can only be soothed with what's between this man's legs.

With his spare hand, Damian reaches in between us and grabs my foot, planting the ball of it firmer against the bulge in his pants, using his fingers to curl my toes against it.

He props himself up, his face flushed, his lips wet and pink, his fingers still touching the spot inside me that feels like the lifeline to my soul.

"Oh, Amelia," he mumbles. It comes out stuttered and broken, losing a lot of the syllables. "Oh, Mila. You're a fucking goddess." He leans back down to press his lips to my naval. "I'm going to fucking worship you," he growls into my skin.

I gasp as his mouth returns to my clit, his fingers increase in their intensity, and his erection pulses in his pants. I moan loudly as I approach the brink of the earth-shattering orgasm I can feel rising in me.

"Damian," I whimper. "Don't… st…" I cry out and grip tightly to his head as he knows better than to change a single thing he's doing. Smart boy. "Yes!"

I go hurtling over the edge of pleasure, barely aware that Damian is still there. As long as his tongue draws out the last of my orgasm, he can do whatever he wants.

As soon as I've come back down to earth, I sit up and pull my dress over my shoulders, shimmying out of my clothes as he shifts to sit on the sofa, his eyes clouded over with longing. He peels his shirt off as he waits impatiently, not taking his eyes off me as he hastily unbuckles his belt and pants.

I drop my gaze to his cock as he pulls it out of his pants and slowly pull my hair up into a ponytail as his mouth drops open. I don't think either of us are winning this. We're too dependent on each other, chasing the next high we can get.

He exhales something that could be a curse or a prayer as I sink to my knees and take him deep into my mouth. His hands cup my head, gently stroking my cheeks as I work him over slowly and deliberately. I'm not as experienced with this as I should be; Jackson wasn't a huge fan of oral—giving or receiving. Said it made him feel dirty, and he could feel it on his tongue for days. Could feel it on mine.

"Baby," Damian croons, and I look up at him. His head is on the back of the sofa, his jaw slack, his shoulders relaxed. I own his whole world in this moment, willingly handed over.

He lifts his head when he realizes I'm staring and gently tugs me off him.

"Enough," he murmurs. "I need to be inside you."

My body twitches in anticipation, and he pulls me to stand, moving alongside me so that I'm back on the sofa, straddling his lap as he reaches between us to line himself up.

"That's it, baby," he hums.

I grip his shoulders as I sink down easily. His eyes widen as he stares into mine, both of us taking a second to realize what we've just done. Nothing about this can stop me now. It's too fucking good.

Damian's hands rest on my thighs before they travel around to my ass, his body rigid with restraint. I lean back and brace my hands on his knees as I slowly start moving, watching Damian's control reach breaking point. "You're so fucking hot, Mila girl," he hums.

I close my eyes as he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me forward, burying his face into my breasts as he moves his hips faster.

Being held like this, two people being enveloped with lust and need and desire, is enough to make me clutch at his shoulders and enjoy it.

I'll go back to being me tomorrow.

I think I might be sick. Not only because I'm about to be in front of twenty reporters at a press conference to discuss news about the future of the company now that Victor is dead, but also the wine I drank last night is swimming through my body and back up in the opposite direction.

I'd panicked last night the second Damian had suggested a second round in the bedroom, and I'd hightailed it out of there, anxious to get home.

Robyn studies me with a concerned frown as I pace in my office before we have to walk downstairs to the large conference room where everyone is waiting.

"I think I'm going to be sick," I moan again, trying to loosen my pants.

"You mentioned. Can I get you some water?"

The idea makes me dry heave, and I clamp my hand over my mouth. "No," I gasp. "Just… make sure there's no coffee on the desk downstairs and see if we can open a window or something. What does the room look like?"

"There's a window behind you. I'll crack it open to get some fresh air." She glances over her shoulder before looking back at me. "Is this… something to do with your dinner meeting with Damian?"

I look at her in surprise. "What? We had dinner and some wine, and then he drove me home. That's all. Nothing could make me like this. What could it be—"

"I was thinking food poisoning," she says slowly before looking at me incredulously. "Wait… did something happen? You don't normally act all flustered like that."

I contemplate telling her before shaking my head. "No," I breathe. "I…" I wince. "I'm hungover. That's all. I stupidly let him be in control of the wine."

Robyn relaxes. "Oh, girl, been there." She laughs. "Just get through the press conference without vomiting on anyone, and we'll treat your hangover in silence when you get back."

I breathe out slowly. "Thanks. Give me two seconds. I'm going to run to the bathroom."

I make it just in time.

When I'm finally fresh enough again, Robyn is urging me down the hall. "We're late," she sings.

"It's my company. Everyone else is early."

She snorts and opens the door for me.

The first person I notice is Damian, standing against the wall, his arms folded across his chest and a smirk on his face. Across the room, sitting low in a chair, is Douglas Bright, much to my dismay.

And in the front row, her expression sharp and wary, is Damian's ex-wife, Rachel. I'd known she was a journalist, but her presence here is less than ideal, especially after I spent the night with her ex-husband. I probably still smell like him, no matter how long I spent in the shower this morning.

"Sorry I'm late," I say with a breathless smile and waltzing behind the desk. "Let's get started so I don't waste any more of your time than necessary."

I don't wait to see if everyone is ready. I launch into the details of the new hotel updates from our existing properties, I give a quick update for our shareholders of our financials, and I'm about to announce the breaking of the ground date for the new hotel when there's a hand raised in the back of the room. There's a young woman in a sea of men, and I pause in surprise before gesturing to her. "Is there a question about that?" If there's a woman braving sticking her hand up in the middle of a crowd, I'll give her the spotlight.

"No, Mrs. Garrett, I'm sorry to interrupt. I have to leave as you were late today, so I won't get to question time, but I just needed a quote from you."

I shift on my feet and feel another rise of bile in my throat. I force a smile and nod. "What about?"

She holds up her badge. "My name's Deanna. I'm from Celeb Fashion Magazine." I feel my smile fall off my face slowly, and I glance at Damian, who is looking more and more smug. Deanna from Celeb Fashion Magazine continues. "Our readers just want to know who the designer of the outfit you wore to the opening of—"

It's Rachel who interrupts Deanna, raising her hand briefly. "I think we have more important things to discuss than outfits, Mrs. Garrett. I'm sure that sort of question can be answered by an email to your assistant. If the readers of Celeb Fashion Magazine are so curious as to the designer of a brand they probably can't afford, I wonder if they couldn't figure it out themselves with a quick little Google search. Mrs. Garrett, if you could continue so that we can get to the more serious questions, several of which I am as eager to ask, however, with more important subject matter."

I give her a brief, thankful smile. "Yes. MVM Hotel and Resorts would like to take this opportunity to announce that we'll be breaking ground at—"

"A fashion house, apparently," one of the men chuckles. "What outfit will you wear then?"

I hold my shoulders steady and try to avoid vomiting on everyone. The angrier I get, the more the urge becomes.

Damian chuckles from his position. "An outfit that will cost more than your annual salary, I suppose." Everyone looks over at him, and he shrugs. He glances coolly at me, and I can see the tension in his jaw at what I was announcing. "Go on."

"We will be breaking ground at the new MVM Glacier Eco-Lodge Retreat site next Tuesday. Feel free to come along to the ceremony, but if there are questions about my outfit, I encourage you to email my office so you don't waste my time. Thank you."

I beeline for the nearest exit, Robyn running along behind me.

"Bathroom," I mutter.

"To your right."

I slam the door open and make it to the toilet just in time, hurling everything up all over again. "What the fuck?" I hiss at myself. I can hear Robyn standing in front of the door, hurrying someone away as another wave of vomit hits me.

"Oh, move," I hear Damian's low growl, and the door swings open. I manage to pick myself up from the floor and stumble to the sink, leaning miserably on it. "What the fuck's happened to you?" Damian snaps.

"You tell me," I hiss. "I was fine yesterday. Did you put something in my wine? Did you do something to the food?"

He stops in pure shock before pointing at his chest. "Me? You think I did something?" He suddenly looks angry. "Tell me everything you ate yesterday," he demands. "I'll follow up at the restaurant. I can't have people getting food poisoning, Amelia. I'll fire them. All of them."

A flash of him calling me Mila last night shudders through me, and I squeeze my eyes closed. "It wasn't the food," I mumble. "You're fine, and we ate the same things."

"True." He steps closer and brushes my hair out of my eyes. "You need to go home, get some res—"

I push him away and stand up, gathering myself. "Robyn?" I call out. She appears a second later with my make-up bag, some aspirin and an electrolyte drink. She glares at Damian before leaving again.

I wash my face, brushing my teeth vigorously before reapplying my make-up.

"You're making a mistake with going ahead with this hotel project," Damian says, leaning his hip against the sink.

"Yes, well, I've made a few of them recently," I snap, catching his gaze in the mirror. I cap my mascara and turn to face him, feeling marginally better. "Last night was the biggest mistake of my life, and while I can't take it back, I wish that I could." I take a step towards him. "I don't know what you put in my drink, but I will never accept an offer from you again."

He tracks me with a smirk as I walk to the door. "You accepted an offer last night, all right. A damn good one too. Remember? You're probably still feeling it today." His expression softens for a fraction of a second. "Trust me on this, Mila, I don't drug women to get them to sleep with me. If a woman wants me, they come to me all on their own. Just like you did." He bites his grin and chuckles softly. "Boy, did you. That will stay in my memory for a long time. I don't regret a second of it." He steps forward and trails a finger down my cheek to where my shirt stops on my shoulder. "You know, I've wanted to taste this spot of you ever since I first saw you."

"Have you no…" I trail off as I feel like I'm going to throw up again.

Damian grabs my wrist and tugs me back towards the toilet stall, brushing the hair out of my face as I splutter up some more. "Whoever did this to you," Damian says fiercely. "I'll kill ‘em."

I chuckle weakly and stand up. "I'm okay. I'm sure you have someone else to terrorize all day. Get Robyn for me."

He grumbles under his breath but does what I ask.

It's only later that night as I'm packing up to leave that I spot the packet of tampons I'd got Robyn to buy me a few months ago in one of the drawers. I take them out and think about it in confusion.

"Ready to go?" Robyn asks, pushing into the room. She stops in surprise when she sees what I'm holding.

"I never got my period." I shove them back in the drawer and sink into my desk chair.

"I mean, stress and with the grief of Jackson's passing… some women go through changes…" She trails off as we both come to the same realization. Robyn gestures to her desk out in the hall. "I have a spare pregnancy test at my desk. I bought a packet for my sister when she visited, but she only used one." She gives me a weak smile. "Do you… do you want me to get you one?"

I exhale a shaky breath and nod. "Go get it."

I head to the bathroom, pacing nervously. I can't be pregnant. Pregnant means sex, and I haven't had that—bar last night—in months. Months is a long time to not know you're pregnant.

I get back to counting. Almost three months now since Jackson has died, Damian's efforts last night certainly don't count, and it was probably a couple of weeks before Jax's death that we'd had sex last. He'd been jittery and stressed before his death; nothing that I could do would calm him down, and sex wasn't even on his radar. It hyped him up more and set him on edge.

Robyn comes into the bathroom and hands me the test. "Do you want me to… go? Or—"

"Stay," I blurt out. "Please."

I could call my sister, but Olivia wouldn't know what to do in this situation, either. She'd tell me it was in the tarot card she'd read that morning, or she'd seen it in some moon crystal vision. I can't tell Eleanor because how do I explain to my grieving mother-in-law that I might be pregnant with her dead son's baby? She'd call it a miracle.

I pee on a stick, the first time I've ever done that, and place it on the bathroom sink as we wait. I face away from it, but Robyn doesn't. It means she watches the two pink lines emerge almost straight away.

Her gaze locks onto mine, wary of my reaction.

I think I'm going to faint. "If you're playing a joke on me, that's sick," I hiss.

"Do you want to look?" she says quietly.

What the fuck am I going to do? I'm twenty-six years old. I just got to the damn desk I'd worked hard for. My husband is dead. I can't walk into my fucking house without crying.

I cover my mouth with my hand and start sobbing. Robyn wraps me in her arms and lets me cry.