Chapter 3 The First Spark

She was exiting the gallery when it started raining, but only just. By the time she hit the curb, it was raining in hard, cold sheets. Her thin jacket was clinging to her legs, heels scraping on wet asphalt.

She swore under her breath, attempting to hail a taxi, but every yellow stripe flew by without even the slightest hint of their gaze. The city had taken in all its passengers and stranded her alone, the ink on her notebook already beginning to smudge from careless drips.

It is when the car stopped.

Black, sleek car, tinted windows, engine humming like a wild animal in a cage waiting to be set free. The door had swung open on the inside.

Her breath was trapped.

Damien.

He leaned back against one arm over the leather, wet black hair from rain, the shirt collar still unbuttoned as if he didn't have rules to obey. The streetlamp on the corner cut a diagonal line across his jaw, harsh and merciless.

"Get in," he said.

Elena hesitated, heart hammering against her ribs. "No."

One brow arched slowly. "You'll catch pneumonia out here."

"I'll manage."

His eyes rode her, lingered a moment too long on the crease of her damp blouse, how it clung to her form. Heat swept through her in spite of the chill.

"Elena." His voice dropped, authoritative, almost menacing in its deference. "Get in the car."

His saying it was doing something that it shouldn't. It was the first time he'd ever said it, and it had escaped. possessive.

She swallowed hard against the pull. She had to turn back and go. She should-

Her body did not oblige. Legs getting in front of brain's permission, she got in.

The door slammed shut behind her with a bang, her destiny sealed.

Heat was immediate, the scent of leather and something darker enveloping her. She wriggled, her notebook pressed to her lap as if that would rescue her.

Damien didn't speak at first. He studied her with unnerving patience, his eyes trailing over every inch of her face. She could feel her pulse in her throat, in her wrists, in places she didn't want to admit.

Finally, he said, "You're trembling."

"It's cold," she panted.

"No," he said gently. "That's not it."

Her lips parted in denial, but she could not say it. For he was right.

The silence once more was pulled taut with tension.

And then, with a sudden movement, he put out his hand and brushed back a clenching damp lock of hair from her forehead. His fingers touched hers, a fraction of a second longer than they should.

Elena recoiled, not out of horror, but because the jolt that ran through her with contact against him caused her to blink.

"Don't," she breathed, her voice trembling.

"Don't what?" he growled, his gaze never wavering from hers, a flash of amusement playing at the corner of his mouth as if he already knew.

"Don't touch me."

"Liar."

A single word cut through her defenses, icy and ruthless. He leaned in, close enough she could sense the warmth of his body surround her, his breath mix with hers.

"You don't wince at my touch," Damien whispered. "You wince at the depth to which you crave it."

Her gasps came in and out too quickly, air scorching her lungs.

He was right. And knowing it terrified her more than anything.

"I don't even know you," she breathed.

"You know enough." His voice was final, as if that was all there was to it.

The driver's seat was empty-she hadn't even noticed until then. They were alone. Just the two of them, with rain slamming against the roof like a beat.

Damien's fingers stroked the curve of her jaw again, fingertips along the line of her chin, pushing her face up to meet his. His eyes blazed across hers, hot, as though daring her to let him go.

Every instinct screamed at her to shift. To get this over with. To fight.

But Elena's body again betrayed her, relaxing into touch a little.

That was all he needed.

His lips brushed hers-a breath, a ghostly touch that wove her out of existence. He wasn't kissing her with abandon, not yet. He teased her, faltered, retreated just close enough that she chased what she said she didn't desire.

Her fists were curled in her notebook, knuckles pressed tight with tension, the only thing that kept her anchored to the world as it existed.

"Why are you doing this?" She growled, her voice strained.

"Because I am powerless," Damien admitted, the first crack of vulnerability softening his otherwise cold tone. "And because you don't want me to."

Her heart thudded against her ribs.

The kiss deepened-slow, commanding, dangerous. His lips claimed hers, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, his fingers closing. She cherished the tartness of wine biting on his lips, the power in the way he dominated the second.

And God forgive her soul, she kissed him in return.

The flame increased to something hotter, hotter, devouring fear and reason. For blundering seconds, there were just the two of them-his taste, his scent, his hunger against each shivering defense she'd built.

When he finally let her go, she was panting, stunned.

Damien looked at her, eyes black with things unspoken. And then, gently, with some menace, he whispered:

"This is only the beginning."

The engine of the car roared to life. Elena was instantly awake, realizing she had not even inquired where he was going.

She was sure of only one thing-that she was now in Damien's world.

And she could never go back.