The walk back to the East Wing was a blur of friction and urgency.
Damien didn't let go of her waist. He kept her pulled flush against his side, his hand sliding down to grip her hip, his fingers digging into the gold fabric of her dress.
Suddenly, he stopped. He couldn't wait for the privacy of the bedroom. He spun her around, pressing her back against the tapestry-covered wall of the dimly lit corridor.
"You," he rasped, his eyes dark and dilated. "You are dangerous."
"I thought we established that," Aria panted, her hands clutching the lapels of his tuxedo jacket.
"No," Damien shook his head, leaning down to bite the sensitive cord of her neck. "I knew you were smart. I knew you were vicious. I didn't know you could dismantle a hundred-year-old trust in three minutes without breaking a sweat."
