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When the conversation had turned towards Damon’s father her heart had vaulted out of her chest. It had been such an unguarded moment on his part, a raw glimpse of his hurt, and what made Carrie feel absolutely wretched was the sense that Damon didn’t lift that curtain very often. But he had let her peek behind it and see his vulnerability, all the while unaware that she was the daughter of the man whose betrayal had kick-started the tragedy.
If he learned who she was now, he would surely consider it a deception of the cruellest kind. And she wouldn’t blame him.
She had deceived him. She hadn’t told the truth.
With agonising tears pressing against the backs of her eyes, Carrie knew there was only one thing she could do now—leave.
Allowing herself no time to change her mind, and hoping that if she moved quickly enough she could slip away undetected whilst Damon was still engaged in his conversation, she began to move through the shadows of the garden, hurriedly slipping along the pathways bordered by manicured shrubs and trees.
‘Carrie!’
She heard the shout of her name over the cacophony of the party, but she kept moving her feet, kept her eyes forward though her heart jolted. She would be able to go faster if she wasn’t navigating the ground in five-inch heels, but to stop and take her shoes off would take too much time, and right now she just needed to get away without facing Damon.
Relief raced through her as she realised she was drawing near to a set of steps that would take her to an exit point, but then a figure leapt down in front of her, landing with an agile crouch before straightening to his impeccable full height.
‘Damon!’ Carrie gasped, looking from him up to the level he had jumped from and feeling her heart catch. ‘Are you crazy? You could have broken something,’ she admonished, whilst her eyes tracked quickly over his athletic body, checking for any sign of injury.
He dismissed her concern with a careless slice of his hand through the air, surveying her with dark-eyed bewilderment. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I have a...’ But a suitable fib would not rise to her lips and she ended up shaking her head. ‘I need to leave.’
‘Are you unwell?’ His eyes scanned her face, seeking a clue as to what had changed in the space of a few minutes. ‘Has something happened?’
‘No. I just... I can’t stay.’
He said nothing, but his penetrating stare seemed to reach inside her and grasp at her heart, and with that single look the emotion filling up her body grew bigger somehow, and much less easy to contain.
Before she could stop them, words were tumbling from her lips. ‘I shouldn’t have come here tonight, Damon, okay? I shouldn’t have... I... I’m sorry, but this was a mistake. And now I need to leave.’
Ignoring the shadow that scudded across his expression like a cloud, Carrie moved to sidestep him. But Damon anticipated her evasion and moved quickly, blocking her path with an outstretched arm.
She froze, her heart flailing as she realised she was effectively trapped.
‘There is someone else?’ he asked roughly, his warm and soft breath hitting the sensitive skin of her ear and making her think of that briefest of kisses.
It had been no more than a graze, but it had sent feeling trickling all the way down to the tops of her toes and the tips of her fingers. And she wanted to experience it all over again.
‘No.’ She wished it was that simple. ‘But that doesn’t change anything.’
She summoned just enough courage to raise her face and meet his gaze, and did her best to inject into her voice a conviction that she didn’t feel.
‘Whatever this is between us, it can’t happen. It can’t go beyond now, tonight. It should never have started in the first place. So, please, just let me go.’
‘No,’ he answered, with so much determined power surging into his eyes it was like a fireworks display. ‘Not until you give me the real reason you’re running away from this.’
CHAPTER TWO
THISWASITTHEN,Carrie thought, feeling unsteady as Damon’s demand for an answer hung in the taut air between them. The perfect moment to tell him.
She gathered a breath, already knowing what she needed to say.
My father is Sterling Randolph.
That was it. Five small words.
Yet as hard as she tried she couldn’t make the words form. Couldn’t make her lips move. Because she knew that once she spoke those words aloud to him there could be no going back, and she was terrified of seeing that beautiful gaze, now fixed on her with such heat and passion, turn arctic with the loathing that she knew ran through his veins.
Because without a shadow of doubt she knew that once he learned who her father was her name would, yet again, be the only thing about her that mattered.
