Ceara D'Arcy had wanted Damon Bennett the first time she'd laid eyes on him. He was a cellist with the Philharmonic and she had been the featured soloist. But when they'd met she had been unable to pursue her feelings as he was married and she was in a committed relationship. But now? Things were different. They were both single and against her better judgment, she'd invited him over.
When Ceara heard the bell she almost flew to the door to open it. But she didn't want to seem too eager. And yet how on earth was she supposed to hide it? After their first date she'd been unable to think of anything but Damon.
Opening the door, she saw him standing there with an enormous bouquet of flowers in his hands. The white roses with red tips were winking at her from his arms. "Damon! You shouldn't have!" she said, acting like a little girl receiving her first party dress. She took the roses and kissed his cheeks, first one then the other, excitedly.
Damon was gorgeous, practically perfect, in fact. His unruly, short, black hair fell into his eyes, eyes so stunning they seemed to almost glow. They were ice blue and framed in a brown rim, and they were hypnotic in a way Ceara could hardly describe to her friends. They sucked her in, seemed to see straight into her very core, and then devour her at the same time. And his smile? It was a crooked, lazy smile that always touched his eyes and sent chills through her body.
As he let her kiss his stubbly cheeks, he slid his hands around her tiny waist and pulled her close to him, wanting to feel the contact of a firm, yet soft body against his own. She was in amazing shape, of course, but she was also round where a woman should be round and soft where a woman should be soft. The idea that he would soon be able to get his hands on those places made him slightly dizzy. “Mmm, but I did have to. Though I couldn’t find a rose that surpassed your loveliness. I did try,” he said smiling back at her, that cock-sure smile on his face once again.
She let him pull her close and her heart jumped several times, finally lodging itself firmly in her throat. Being that close to him was like being set on fire. And yet she couldn't say anything. Not yet. She just wasn't sure all of this was real. So much had happened to her since moving from Ireland, and her faith in love had been shattered so many times. And him? He'd lost the only woman he'd ever loved and had had to endure it all through the bloody newspapers. She'd read all about his tragedy. And even then her heart had broken just a little for him.
The embrace lingered for an eternity that Ceara didn't want to give up. For this one brief moment, she felt complete, whole; as if the part of her that had been missing was found. Yet she worried that this moment was fleeting. She feared that it was wholly one sided and that thought, the thought of having her heart broken again, made her finally pull away. Smiling, though, she looked at him. "Come inside while I put these in some water?" she asked, knowing that this would be the first time he'd been inside her apartment. It unnerved her a little to be honest. This place was her sanctuary and no one had ever been inside but her. And yet, asking him in was also the most natural thing in the world.
He let go of her reluctantly and crossed over the threshold of her townhouse, noting immediately how beautifully she’d had it furnished. It seemed as though beauty followed her wherever she went, but he thought it was perhaps her own beauty that made other things seem more delightful in her presence. He watched the way she walked, the swing of her hips, the way the soft tendrils of her upswept hair danced on her neck and shoulders, and he longed to touch that hair, to kiss that neck and caress those shoulders. He followed her inside as if pulled by an invisible cord that lead straight to the core of her sensual power. “You’re home is just as beautiful as it’s owner,” he said, his voice already husky with desire. He was unsure of her motive for inviting him over; thinking it was too late for dinner but never too early for…other things.
Every touch sent her senses soaring and she couldn't help pressing closer to him. She could barely stand up on her own, feeling her knees going rubbery the longer she stood there. Her body was reacting of its own accord and she couldn't control anything. She'd love nothing more than to let him devour her, but her prim Irish pride was trying to get hold of her brain. And her brain was losing. Her own traitorous hands betrayed her as they slid up the cotton sleeves covering his well-toned arms and she could feel the shift and tension in his arms as he held her. She’d never noticed how erotic the movement of a man’s muscles could be until that very moment. She gasped feeling the state of his arousal through his jeans. “Damon, I…” she said before his lips cut her off with a searing kiss.
A true connection had been formed after their first date, and while Ceara's subconscious was worried that she'd created it from thin air, her soul knew differently. Damon spoke to her on a level that no man, woman or child had ever achieved. It was not planned or manufactured. It just was. Ceara wondered if this connection had always been there or was it new? Had they both ignored it when they'd worked together before? Had their connection gotten lost because of previous circumstances? It was something her mind was going to ponder long after the lights had gone out, when sleep once again eluded her. She couldn't help these thoughts from streaking across her mind as she walked into the kitchen, smiling. "Thank you, though I can't take credit. The place came furnished. I only asked for a sort of style, and a designer did the rest." Reaching up, she took a lead crystal vase down from a cupboard and began to arrange the flowers he'd brought her. Every moment or so she'd stop and inhale the heady fragrance of a flower, closing her eyes momentarily.
He watched her from the doorway, the way her delicate hands moved and arranged the flowers, almost caressing the fragile buds as if they would break at any moment. In his head flashes of those hands on his heated flesh danced before his eyes as he yearned to find out what how those fingertips would feel dancing over his body. Unable to control himself any longer, he silently crossed behind her and slid his hand over her shoulder, first up to her snowy-skinned neck and then down her arm, the warmth of her skin seeping into his fingers and making him more aroused than a single touch should. He turned her towards him, locking eyes with her. Leaning forward, his lips brushed her cheek leading a path to her ear. “You have no idea how enticing you are, pet,” he whispered, his voice ghosting her flesh and making the wispy loose hairs on her neck swirl on her skin. Leaning forward he took one of the roses from the vase and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply as she had, his eyes never leaving hers.
Her reverie was cut short by the sensation of energy passing through her entire body as Damon's hand slid to her neck. She'd been caught in a vulnerable and highly intimate moment and Damon's touch did not violate it, but heightened it; made it more intimate than she could possibly have imagined. He seemed to fill up the whole room even though he was mere inches from her. She could feel his breath near her, fluttering over her skin in soft puffs. She watched him as he held the rose under his nose and inhaled deeply, never taking his eyes from hers. Without blinking, for fear the electricity between them would disappear like rain in the desert, she too breathed in the scent of the single rose in his hand. It was more sensuous and more personal than anything she'd ever done and she could not help the flush that crept up from her heaving breast to tint her cheeks pink. She watched the way his fingers brushed the soft petals of the rose and the fleeting thought about how those fingers would feel on her skin made her blush deepen.
There was no mistaking that blush and it made Damon smile. He thought of her writhing beneath him, her whole body flushed with need, as he explored her thoroughly. He took the rose and swept the soft flower over her glossed lips the imprint of her lips imbedded on the petals. The rose slid down her cheek, over her neck and stopped to play over her collarbone. He could see her breath coming in silent, needy gasps and it pleased him beyond measure. His other hand caressed the skin of her arm, feeling every hair stand on end as he passed over it. She was kindling, waiting to ignite and she had no idea of the power she held. Especially over him.
Wanting. It charged the air like a flame to a fuse. Desire so thick Ceara held her breath for fear of choking on it. Her body was alive with sensations that threatened to overwhelm her. She felt the heat from his body mingle with hers as he inched ever closer. As her eyes closed, trying to savor the moment, she heard a breathy moan and wondered where it had come from, not realizing it had escaped her own lips. She was desperate to touch him, to express through flesh what he was doing to her. But she couldn't will herself to move. She was breathing hard, like she'd just gone for a run and her knees were moments away from buckling. She wanted to touch the hand that gracefully caressed her arm, but she knew that one touch would ignite a wild fire that would burn out of control and couldn't be stopped. And she worried that neither of them was quite ready for that just yet. At least she feared she wasn't.
Oh, Damon was ready for it. He’d been ready for it for a long time; he just chose to ignore it. He’d wanted to bed Ceara the first time he’d seen her, but sadly they had not been in situations that permitted them to be anything but colleagues. She’d had a boyfriend and he’d been good and married. And Damon, while morally lenient in some ways, was not big on infidelity. So he’d watched from afar. And when she’d come back into his life, both of them heart broken and needy, he’d made his move. And that move had brought him here, right now, to this moment in time. Hearing soft moans from parted lips, he could tell her very being cried out for him. And he planned to take it. He planned to take her.
Laying the rose down on the counter he slid his hand to her hip, his fingertips pressing just so moving her body towards him with a silent command. She opened her eyes, feeling betrayed by her own body lustily obeying his unspoken order. Her blatant want had him aroused to the point of distraction. He edged her body flush against his, never once taking his eyes from her. His hands were splayed along her back making the skin under her shirt so hot it almost burned.