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Misty
Dread forms in my stomach at the sound of Carter’s knock, knowing this is a mistake before I even open the door. Every fiber in my being screams at me that this is wrong. That no matter how many times I tell myself Damon has no hold on me, I know that’s a lie. That even though he’s a controlling, egotistical asshole who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, some part of me has latched onto him. Wants exactly what he’s offering and is more than willing to pay the cost. There’s this cord that draws me to him, pulls me right back to his side whenever I dare to walk away. A part of me craves to know what it’s like to be his, to let him own a piece of me.
“Misty?” Carter knocks again.
I twist the door open. There’s nothing left to do. I’ll just let him in and explain that I’m not feeling well, apologize for wasting his time and never speak of this again.
I open the door, revealing the over six-feet-tall hockey player. He’s dressed casually but nice. Polo collared shirt, dark-washed jeans. I can’t help but compare him to Damon, and he comes up lacking. Accepting the inevitable awkwardness, I invite him in.
Carter’s gaze trails up my legs, over the short hem of my deep purple dress, and finally to my face. His eyes are hooded, and his tongue skates over his lips. I shudder, revulsion turning my stomach. I’ve made a lot of stupid mistakes, but this is near the top.
I have to get rid of him, but I can’t break my carefully crafted persona. I’m the chipper, happy girl, not the complaining, teasing you on a date girl. I fire off a quick text to Mia, telling her to call me in five. She hits thumbs-up on my message.
Carter’s looking at me, his head tilted. Crap. I’ve totally been ignoring him. I clear my throat. “Want a beer?”
A slow smile pulls at his lips. “Yeah, I could use something to loosen up a bit.”
That’s the last thing I want to do, but I just need to stall for the next few minutes, and this mistake will be over. Plus, I doubt he thinks we were just going to bang the second he got here. I grab his beer from the fridge, the steel can cool against my palm, and pass it to him.
“Aren’t you going to have one?” he asks.
The whole atmosphere is off, and it’s obvious even to him. He’s no doubt wondering why I invited him here. He steps toward me, closing the distance until his toes reach mine.
“You don’t need to be nervous. Forget about the hockey stuff. I’m just a regular guy.” He says it so sure of himself that I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes.
Of course he thinks I’m intimidated by his “greatness.” I swear, it’s a miracle my friends ended up with the guys they did. He tries to move in closer, and I shift back. This can’t wait until Mia calls. I need him to go now.
The loud bang of my door slamming open has me jumping out of my skin. A cold chill runs through me at the sight of Damon standing in the doorway, eyes narrowed on where Carter’s hand is on my waist. He’s so livid it’s wafting off him in waves. I finally see the darkness people talk about. His features are cut in cold, vicious lines as he stalks toward us.
“Have you grown tired of living, Carter? I can fix that for you,” Damon asks him, his voice barely above a whisper, somehow making it worse.
Carter rocks back on his heels and lifts his hands. He still seems too casual for this situation, and I briefly wonder if he didn’t catch on to Damon’s meaning. Because watching Damon approach us like we’re his prey makes it really apparent that he’s not joking.
“You should go,” I tell Carter and nudge him toward the door.
He looks back at me, confused. “Really?”
Idiot… “Yes…sorry. I’ll text you later.”
“No.” Damon’s voice is a firm demand. “You won’t.”
He grabs Carter by the collar, and his eyes finally flash with the fear I’d expected to see. Damon drags him through my apartment like Carter’s not an over two-hundred-pound NHL player. Carter struggles against his hold until Damon has him bent over my balcony railing, and then he’s begging him not to let go.
I should be scared, terrified, but seeing Damon like this has my thighs rubbing together and my pulse racing in my ears. There’s something sick and broken inside me that loves the way he’s handling my date.
Carter yells, and my mind snaps back in place. “Don’t kill him!”
Damon looks back at me, head tilted. “Only because you asked.”
He slams the patio door shut and locks Carter outside. All of Damon’s attention is focused on me. His shoulders rigid, dark eyes narrowed, as he eats the space between us. Rationally, I know I should run. That nothing in this scenario is right. So why is my blood heating, my heart racing, and every fiber of my being coming alive at the way he stalks toward me?
I take a tentative step back, and he shakes his head, clicking his tongue. I freeze in place, not daring to disobey him.
A realization lands on me like a rock. I wanted him to show up. I wanted him to be jealous, and now I’m thrilled that he’s here. He wants to marry me, and I want him to prove it’s not just a game. He says I’m the one he wants, but I need him to prove it.
There’s a wildness inside of him as he closes the distance between us. His fingers aren’t gentle as they wrap around my chin and direct my gaze to his.
“This is a dangerous game, Little Nymph,” he warns, voice low, and a tremble runs through me.
