How was I supposed to reconcile all these different sides to him? Circus trainer, prison guard, concierge at a nudist resort, gypsy showman. Damn, this guy was confusing.
Surprising was a better word.
"What about you?" Damian asked. "Tell me about your family."
"My parents are divorced. Bitterly divorced. Holidays are lots of fun, with my parents griping at each other and my grandmother smacking her spoon on the table to make everyone shut up. Last Thanksgiving, Mom threw a big lump of mashed potatoes at Dad."
Damian's face went blank. He just looked at me like that for a long time.
Finally, he took his feet off the table and sat forward. "Christ, Heidi, I'm sorry. That must be awful. And here I was telling you how awesome my family is."
"I'm glad you have parents like that. And I don't need any sympathy. I'm used to Mom and Dad acting that way. They got divorced when I was ten."
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
"Only child."
He watched me with a strange expression that I couldn't figure out. Pity? Sympathy? Disgust? I had no idea.
Damian got up and walked to the bed, sitting down near my feet. "I think I'm starting to understand you—your behavior, anyway. You've got scars, don't you? Lots of them, I'd say."
"Yeah. Doesn't everybody?"
"Most people don't have as many as you seem to." He patted my leg. "Scoot over. I'd like to sit next to you if that's okay."
"Um, sure." I scooted over to make room for him.
Damian sat beside me, though not touching me. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you seem like you could use a hug."
How did he know that? Because yeah, a hug would've been awesome. But I shouldn't let him do that. He might get the wrong idea—or I might. Sitting this close to him, I started to feel warm again, but not in the comforting way I'd experienced earlier. I felt warm in a completely different way, one that skirted dangerously close to desire.
"Guess that's a no to the hug," Damian said, not sounding annoyed, just mildly disappointed.
"Actually, a hug would be nice." Why had I said that? My mouth insisted on telling him the truth, even while I tried to deny it in my own mind.
He draped an arm across my shoulders, tugging me closer until I could've rested my cheek on his shoulder if I'd wanted. God, did I want to, but I fought the urge. Fought it like crazy. He smelled good, like woodsy cologne or potpourri or something.
Damian stroked my upper arm with his fingertips.
I couldn't stop myself. I rested my cheek on his shoulder.
We sat there like that for several minutes, not speaking, just enjoying the easy intimacy of the moment. I'd told him about my family. Ollie didn't know about that. Even my ex, the one I'd gone back to over and over despite his cheating, never met my parents or asked me about them. So I never told him. But today, I'd needed to tell Damian.
He cleared his throat. "Sorry to cut this short, but I need to do my job for a while. I'd much rather stay here with you, but…"
"I get it. You can leave, it's fine." I lifted my head to look at him. "Besides, I've got those jams you gave me, the ones you promised will make me feel better."
"Guaranteed to lift your spirits."
We gazed into each other's eyes. It wasn't a conscious decision on my part, and I didn't think it was for him either. Our gazes gravitated to each other all on their own, like our subconscious minds craved the connection. He still had his arm around me. I was still leaning into him. Our faces hovered a foot apart at most, and suddenly, I needed to be closer, needed to feel his lips on mine.
I couldn't make myself move or speak. Just as well since Ireallyshouldn't kiss him.
But God, I wanted to.
Damian slanted his head down, leaning in a touch, bringing his mouth to within millimeters of mine. His breaths ghosted over my lips, tantalizing my skin with a sultry warmth. I couldn't tear my focus away from his eyes, couldn't catch my breath, couldn't make myself pull away.
"I want to kiss you," he murmured. "But only if you want it too."