Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Damien

"Don't be nervous." I whisper the command in Frankie's ear as we stand on the red carpet while all the city's glitterati snaps photos of us, shouting questions to me about my lovely companion.

"Easy for you to say," she mumbles under her breath, still smiling. "They love you and you've done this before."

I turn to her and say, "You look gorgeous tonight, Francesca. Turquoise is definitely your color, and that split is doing wild things to my imagination."

That pulls a soft smile from her. "Thank you, Damien."

"No," I lean forward. "Thank you for agreeing to come tonight." I brush a soft kiss against her lips and I'm sure it's a photo that's going to garner some attention. "I can't take my eyes off you."

"Same."

The dreamy look in her eyes, mixed with the warm affection she beams at me, isn't just intoxicating—it's addictive as hell. But it's also unsettling because I like that look she gives me, like she believes I'm a good guy. Like she sees me and truly appreciates me. I never expected this when I started down this path.

The plan was simple: get her to fall for me, distract her from chasing the killer, and then decimate her world.

Now, though, I can't shake the feeling that she might decimate mine instead.

This part is entirely unexpected, and I find myself doubting both myself and my plan. The evidence is hard to ignore. She's still at my penthouse when she doesn't have to be. She's here because I want her here. I don't need to roll out the red carpet tonight, but I do it anyway, because the way she looks at me is irresistible.

"You're causing a scene," she whispers against my lips.

"It's you and that damn dress." It's gorgeous, even more stunning on her than I imagined when I had it sent to the penthouse along with all the essential accessories.

"Thank you for the dress," she smiles up at me, wiping a bit of gloss from my lips while cameras snap our every move. "It wasn't necessary, but it's stunning."

"You're stunning in it."

The way her cheeks flush is so uncharacteristic that it sends another wave of warmth swelling in my chest—one I refuse to acknowledge. Instead, I spin her back toward the cameras, placing my hand on her lower back to guide her inside, where all the beautiful and important people in the city have gathered to pat each other on the back for their beauty, wealth, and creativity.

I hate these events, and I know Frankie isn't impressed by the celebrity and wealth of it all. What she enjoys is the way I'm romancing her, and that makes it all worth it.

Simply put, my plan is working. It's working better than I expected because she loves me. She said the words herself and even though she hasn't said them again, I can see it now. I see it so fucking clear in the way she looks at me, the small affectionate touches when we're working side by side in the penthouse, the way she hands her erotic pleasure over to me completely.

She hasn't said the words again, but I hear them all the same.

That's how I know the plan is working to perfection. Things are all falling into place the way they should. Olivia is making progress. There are almost no leads on the string of murders except one that's unlikely to pan out.

Knowing all of that doesn't stop the urges, though. I'm ready to strike another name off The List. Ready to satisfy my need for vengeance.

Tonight.

I sit next to Francesca, pretending to give a shit about the awards show as a beautiful woman in a designer dress takes the stage to accept her award. She beams, thanking every person in the room, but my focus is elsewhere. The applause fades into the background as my mind races.

All I can think about is the thrill that's coming. This night is just another step toward what I want, and soon, another name will be crossed off.

I'm bored out of my fucking mind and if not for the way Frankie's hand stays in mine, running her thumb along the inside of my palm absently, as if touching me is just second nature to her, I might have got up and left. But I remain where I am until they give out every damn award and we can finally leave our seats.

And mingle.

Fucking mingle.

"We can go," she whispers as soon as we make our way through the crush of people.

I look at her and I can see she's being honest. Francesca isn't into manipulation tactics, and this isn't a guilt trip. That's why I stay. At least that's what I tell myself as I pull her close and wrap an arm around her slender waist.

"Soon. I have a few people I want you to meet." It's not true, of course, and it has nothing at all to do with Frankie. She's great. Wonderful. Beautiful and intelligent and dedicated to her career. But the people I introduce her to? I don't give a fuck about them. Sure, some of them I respect as businessmen or scientists or negotiators, but we're not friends.

I'm working on my alibi.

"Damien, good to see you." Tripp Stevens flashes his billion-dollar smile and shakes my hand.

"Tripp, congratulations on another successful year." He's a Hollywood heartthrob turned award-winning director. "This is the lovely detective, Francesca DeMarco."

His blue eyes flash wide, a surefire sign of surprise, before turning to Frankie. "Great name. How'd you meet Damien?"

She smiles politely, but I don't see any stars in her eyes. "He spilled coffee on me while I was investigating a murder."

Tripp laughs, his gaze full of amusement when he turns to me. "I can see why he'd be flustered by you. Strong, beautiful and accomplished. Sounds like the next script I need to write." Something flashes in his eyes. "You're the detective investigating the Butcher of Beverly Hills?"

She groans, nodding reluctantly. "I'm hunting the serial killer terrorizing the city, yes. Nicknames are for movies."

I feel nothing but pride at her words, both as her lover as well as the man she's hunting. I keep her close to me while she and Tripp talk a little longer before he moves on. "No autograph?"

She laughs. "I'm not the autograph kind of girl, but it was nice talking to him. He's more grounded than I expected."

I press a kiss to her temple. "Remember that because Iris and Steff Moreland are less grounded than anybody. Ever."

She laughs, but it quickly fades as the former pop starlet and her studio executive wife approach.

"Oh wow, a real-life lady cop," Steff says, her voice dripping with enthusiasm, her smile all teeth and charm.

"Oh, please," Iris chimes in. "I'm a lady executive."

"Yeah, but your job is mostly talking tough, right? She's out there chasing killers and rapists. That's a tough job, like a real tough job."

Frankie stiffens beside me, but I keep my tone light. "I don't know, I think being successful as a woman in any field is tough. And the higher you go, the tougher it gets, you know? There's a lot to manage."

Iris seems pleased by that answer and quickly shuffles Steff to greet more people. Thank God. I honestly didn't expect that word salad.

Francesca leans against my side, her hand wrapped around my arm. "Ready when you are," she says with a yawn.

"As you wish," I say, making her laugh. I stand a little taller, walking a little prouder as she remains tucked in my side as we make our way out of the theater. The way she clings to me, possessive and a little bit desperate, is heady.

It's exactly what I want.

Frankie sighs as she slides against the soft leather seat of the limo. "Thank you for that. It was fun and exciting, but so damn exhausting."

"Agree on all counts. You know I just showed up to see you in that dress." My gaze darkens as I take in the sight of her bare leg when she crosses it, exposing flesh up to her hip.

Her laugh is thick and husky. "You really like this dress, huh?"

I shake my head. "I really like you in this dress, though I'd prefer to see you out of it."

Her smile dims as she slides closer. "As much as I would love that I'm not sure either of us wants to get caught naked in the back of a limo."

My jaw clenches. "Definitely not."

She tosses the little clutch of hers to the seat across from us and turns to me. "But the thing about this dress, so silky and thin? It lays better without panties." Her eyes sparkle with a blend of hunger and mischief.

"Francesca."

"Yes, Damien?" Instantly she's on her knees in front of me, making quick work of my belt, my button and then my zipper before she's fisting my cock in her hand. "Something you want to say?"

My blood is hot and thick, like lava rushing through my veins at the sight of her on her knees like this, playful and sexy as she strokes my cock, licking it every few strokes just to tease me. "Yeah. Suck it. Get me all wet so I can slide right into your greedy little pussy."

Heat blazes in her eyes as she repositions herself and then does exactly what I tell her. She takes my cock to the back of her throat, so deep she gags slightly.

"Again," I command.

Again, she obeys.

"Fuck," I growl when she does it again and again, sucking my cock while she looks at me with those big brown eyes. "More." I battle to keep my eyes open because I need to see my cock disappearing into her mouth, going so deep her eyes water. "Enough."

Without another word, she hikes up her dress and straddles my lap and slides down my cock slowly. A soft cry escapes when I'm buried deep inside her. "Damien."

"Make yourself come, Francesca." I keep my hands on her hips and my eyes glued to her face as she bounces on my cock, long slow strokes at first that grow faster and more frantic as her pussy clamps and pulses around me.

"Fuck," she moans and switches to a grinding motion that lets her clit make contact with my pelvis. Her moves grow faster and jerky, as if she's losing control of herself.

As if she's losing control, period.

"Damien."

"You're so close," I tell her. "Fuck me. Grind on my cock. That's it, my pet."

She shudders at my words, chasing her orgasm breathlessly.

My hands slide up her waist, molding over her curves until I reach her gorgeous tits, nipples hard and pressing against the silky fabric. I squeeze the hard nubs between each thumb and forefinger, applying even more pressure until I feel the telltale clamp around my cock. "That's right Francesca, come right now. Come all over me."

Seconds later, she's flying apart and just when her orgasm crests, I release her nipples and grip her hips, fucking her harder in search of my own pleasure.

"Oh fuck, Damien, Damien," she's whispering her moans in my ear, the perfect soundtrack to the fire raging through me. Another orgasm starts and that's all my cock can take.

My hips shoot up and I fill her with my come as she jerks and convulses, her cunt squeezing me until it sucks every drop from my body. "Fuck, Francesca."

She rests her forehead on my shoulder while she catches her breath. "That was hot." Her skin is flush, her eyes are wide and slightly glassy, and her face displays everything she's feeling.

"So fucking hot," I growl and sink my teeth into her shoulder. "Mine." I hold her close while I press soft kisses to her overheated skin until her breathing evens out. She's half asleep when we make it back to the penthouse.

I lie awake for hours wondering why I'm still in bed listening to her soft, even breathing instead of being out in the dark city.

Hunting.