HEIR OF FIRE
CHAPTER TWO
After the Fall
The heat of Damian Thorne’s breath against the nape of her neck arrivedbefore his voice did.
Seraphina stood alone in the narrow elevator of the Chelsea gallerywhere she still, somehow, kept her job. The doors had already closed.She had not pressed a button. Neither had he.
“You’re harder to find than I expected,” he said, low, almostconversational. The words brushed the sensitive skin just below her ear.“Society moves on quickly when a bride is publicly discarded.”
She did not turn. Her reflection in the brushed-steel wall showed awoman who looked composed, even if her pulse had already begun to race.“I didn’t ask to be found.”
“No. But you left the door open.” His hand settled on the wall besideher head, caging her without touching. The scent of cedar and smokefilled the small space. “Three weeks, Seraphina. No calls returned. Noappearances. You’re either licking your wounds or sharpening yourknives.”
She finally looked at him. In the harsh fluorescent light his eyes werenearly black. “Which do you think?”
A slow smile curved his mouth. “Both.”
The three weeks since the gala had been a quiet erasure. Invitationsstopped arriving. Old acquaintances crossed the street when they saw hercoming. Alexander and Isabella’s engagement photos flooded every societypage and Instagram feed. Seraphina had moved through the days like aghost who refused to haunt anyone but herself.
That morning she had spent two hours rearranging a series of abstractcanvases in the main room of the gallery, listening to the owner’spolite but distant small talk. Clients still bought from her—her eye forcomposition had not vanished with her social standing—but theconversations no longer lingered. People were careful not to mentionweddings, or engagements, or the Croft name.
She kept the job because the lease on her apartment was in her namealone and the rent still needed to be paid. She kept the silver pendantbecause it was the only object that still felt real. And every night,alone in the dark, she touched herself to the memory of Damian’s voiceand hated how wet she still became.
Now he was here, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating offhis chest through the thin silk of her blouse.
“I have a proposition,” he said.
“I’m not interested in charity.”
“Good. I don’t give it.” The elevator began to move—he must have presseda floor while she wasn’t looking. “Croft Holdings is bleeding in thelogistics tech sector. They need a partner with deeper pockets andcleaner algorithms. Thorne Dynamics can provide both. I want you at thetable when I make the offer.”
Seraphina’s pulse jumped hard against her throat. “Why me?”
“Because watching Alexander’s face when the woman he discarded walks inas my associate will be the most entertaining thing I’ve done all year.”His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered, then rose again. “And because Iwant to see what you look like when you stop pretending you’re broken.”
The elevator stopped with a soft chime. The doors opened onto theunderground garage. Damian’s black car waited, engine already running,driver nowhere in sight.
“Get in,” he said. “Or don’t. But if you do, understand that I don’tplay soft.”
For a moment she stood on the threshold between the elevator and theconcrete floor of the garage. The city noise filtered down through theramps—distant horns, the low rumble of traffic. She could still walkaway. She could take the stairs, hail a cab, return to the quiet of herapartment and the carefully managed silence she had built.
Instead she stepped forward and opened the passenger door.
She got in.
The moment the door shut, the air inside the car changed. Damian did notstart the engine. He turned toward her, one arm stretched along the backof the seat, the other resting on the console between them. The spacefelt smaller than the elevator had.
“You’ve been touching yourself thinking about me,” he said flatly.
Heat flooded her face and between her legs at the same time. She wantedto deny it. The words stayed locked behind her teeth. “You’re arrogant.”
“I’m accurate.” His eyes held hers without mercy. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
She said nothing. The silence was answer enough. Her own body betrayedher—she could feel the dampness gathering between her thighs, the wayher nipples had tightened against the silk.
Damian’s hand moved. He did not ask permission. He simply reached acrossthe console, caught her wrist in a firm grip, and guided her own fingersto the front of her skirt. “Show me how you do it when you’re alone.”
Seraphina’s breath caught high in her chest. For three long heartbeatsshe considered pulling away, opening the door, walking back into thegarage and the safety of indifference. Then she slid her hand higher,under the hem of the skirt, past the lace edge of her underwear, andtouched the slick, swollen heat that had been waiting for him since thenight of the gala.
A low, rough sound left Damian’s throat. He watched her fingers circleher clit, watched the way her hips shifted restlessly against theleather seat, watched her lips part on a quiet, involuntary moan.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re soaked.”
He leaned in and kissed her—hard, deep, claiming. His tongue swept intoher mouth the same moment his hand covered hers and pressed her fingersharder against her own cunt. She gasped into the kiss. He swallowed thesound and pushed two of her fingers inside her, using her hand like atool, fucking her with her own touch while his mouth owned herscompletely.
The orgasm built fast, sharp, almost violent. She came with a broken cryagainst his lips, thighs shaking, walls clenching around her fingers andhis. Damian held her through it, breathing hard, forehead pressed tohers as if he needed the contact to stay grounded.
When the tremors finally faded he withdrew their joined hands, liftedher wet fingers to his mouth, and slowly licked them clean. His eyesnever left hers.
“Next time,” he said, voice rough with restraint, “it will be my mouth.And you will ask for it.”
Seraphina’s pulse still hammered in her throat and between her legs. Sheshould have been ashamed. She felt only a dark, rising hunger thatrefused to be quieted. Part of her wanted to climb into his lap rightthere and demand more. The larger part—the part that had learned cautionthe hard way—held still.
Damian started the car. The engine purred to life. “There’s a meetingtomorrow at Thorne Tower. Ten a.m. Wear something that makes Alexanderchoke.”
She looked out the window as the city lights began to slide past. “Andif I decide I don’t want your help?”
“Then walk away. But you won’t.” He glanced at her, eyes gleaming withcertainty. “You’re already burning, Seraphina. I’m just the man whoknows how to feed the fire.”
He dropped her off two blocks from her building. She walked the rest ofthe way in the cool night air, the taste of him still on her tongue, theache between her legs a steady reminder. Inside her apartment she poureda glass of water she did not drink and stood at the window looking downat the street.
Her phone rang with an unknown number. She almost ignored it out ofhabit. Then something—instinct, residual adrenaline, the lingering heatof Damian’s mouth—made her answer.
A measured male voice spoke on the other end. “Miss Vale. My name isJulian Voss. I represent the estate of Elias Voss. We need to meet.There is a will that concerns you directly.”
Seraphina’s fingers tightened around the phone until her knuckleswhitened. The silver pendant at her throat suddenly felt heavier. E.V.The letters she had worn for years without understanding.
“When?” she asked, voice steady despite the sudden acceleration of herheart.
“Tomorrow evening. After your meeting with Thorne, I believe. Comealone.”
— End of Chapter Two —