Silent Screams (Hollow #1)

CHAPTER 15

Sunday evening with Harvey was uneventful. He was tired, so I relaxed in front of the TV while it snowed outside.

The guilt hit me massively from seeing him in his chair considering I went riding again. With another man. And I broke my promise—the only true promise I ever made to him.

It’s now Tuesday evening, the first week of February, and I’m still at work.

I’m exhausted, but I shake it off and text Harv to let him know I have a client dinner and I’ll be home later. It adds to the guiltiness I already feel from my time in LA.

I then call an Italian restaurant to have the food delivered here. Must be nice to be Damon Dreygon—they don’t typically deliver.

A woman, Abby Whitmore, is coming soon with her assistant, whom I assume is a young guy, based on our earlier phone call to get their food order.

I’m placing the plates on the table in the boardroom when Damon comes in .

“It’s all ready?” Dark eyes flicker to his watch before his attention lands on me.

I nod, admiring the fit of his shoulders in his black suit, until I notice him placing a wine bottle at the edge of the table.

“Trying to bed an important client?” I hold his gaze, knowing I’m overstepping.

He grabs the bottle and takes a step toward me, then another. The chilled wine bottle touches my fingers, and I grab it, letting the shivers disperse all over.

“I’m trying to get in bed with her father, the CEO.”

I know this. I keep up with his files; it makes drafting my part of the reports a significantly easier task. I also know that winning over Mr. Whitmore as a client for one of his multi-million-dollar businesses most likely means a gentler report.

“So then why am I here?”

His look sends a tingling sensation right to my sex.

“So she behaves. I told her my assistant would be there. Hence why hers will be there too, merely to ensure she doesn’t stroke my cock.”

A strange ferocity blinds me. It’s all I can see. The fury that washes through me is so strong I know I don’t have control over my facial features when Damon smirks a tiny bit.

The thought of any woman touching him—fucking him.

God, no.

I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.

I want it to be me.

I can’t say or do anything. Not right now. I can’t trust what will come out. Instead, I watch him grab the wine bottle from me and pour four glasses.

“I can’t drink. I’m driving,” I say when he’s done and my feet are touching earth again.

He shakes his head. “I’ll drive you back. It’ll be late by the time it’s done.”

“Damon I can drive back home—I’m not a little girl. ”

He gives my body the attention it craves as his eyes catch my black dress. Then my lips to my collarbone, down to my chest. When his gaze reaches my legs, I’m ready to wrap them around his torso.

“I know,” he whispers. “Why are you jealous when you’re the one who’s taken?” He moves in closer, so close I could bottle his dreamy, tasty cologne.

Moments with Damon feel like natural disasters. It’s beautiful yet terrifying and rare, so rare. To feel like this. To come across so many people in your lifetime but to only feel these sparks with very few.

It could be lust. It could be more.

I’m so lost, I don’t know right from wrong. Left from right. I’m moving in closer.

“I’m not jealous—”

“Lies,” he interrupts. “So many lies, Red.” His fingers are skirting my jawline, and goosebumps hoist every hair on my body.

He looks as if he’s about to say something but refrains from doing so.

“What? What were you going to say?”

His stare holds mine before his free hand fingers my hip and squeezes. “Why are you still with him?”

Because I love him.

Because it’s Harvey.

Because loyalty.

“Love and loyalty.” But the words taste bitter on my tongue.

He tsks. “If you loved him, you wouldn’t even be thinking of being this close to me.”

“You’re wrong. I love him, I really do.”

He tilts my head back, his thumb sliding down the front of my throat. I’m gasping for air, for rationalism to save me. For thoughts of Harvey to pull me away.

Except they don’t. Not this time. Not anymore .

“Maybe it’s love. But not the type that sets your skin and soul on fire.” My collarbone is his next victim as he whispers these lies around my ear. “When’s the last time you had sex, Gemma?”

God, the word, coming from his mouth.

I swallow. “A while.”

“Why doesn’t he give you what you want?”

I’m breathless, practically trying to glue my chest to his. He pushes me against the table, sliding one strap off my shoulder. I can feel his erection, desperate, so desperate to be set free. He roughly grips my hip, this time harder.

“I don’t know,” I moan, and I’m angry. “Stop...”

“Stop what? Talking? Stop touching?” His voice is raw and bleeding and hoarse.

“No... no ...” I realize I make no sense when one leg wraps around him and his hand burns my thigh as he slides the dress up.

“You’re making me break my rules... I don’t touch my assistants. Ever. I shouldn’t be fucking touching you, Gemma.” A kiss on my neck.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

One on my collarbone. One closer to my chest.

“Damon...” I’m breathless, and my judgment is too clouded. There’s nothing but him.

“You don’t love him. So why are you still with him?” He’s reaching, reaching for my lips, so close.

Come closer.

He’s going to kiss me.

“What do you know about love?”

He stops abruptly, and my heel hits the floor with a thud. At the same time, the phone rings from my desk, and I can tell by the raging storm that overtakes his face and posture that I said something I shouldn’t have .

I adjust my strap and pull down my dress before I hurry out of the boardroom to pick up the phone.

What the hell did I just do?

You saved yourself from a big mistake, that’s what.

I answer the call and hope that my voice sounds normal unlike the reckless disaster I feel inside. I confirm with the front desk security guard to let the man from the Italian restaurant come up. Once he does, Damon talks with the young man—no doubt they know each other—while I place the food on each of our plates.

I can’t believe we almost kissed. I can’t believe I almost let him. I can’t believe I’m sad we didn’t have the chance to.

What is wrong with me? Think of Harvey! How much this would hurt him.

Though, a small part of me thinks he might not even care anymore.

Ten minutes later, I have to forget all about my predicament because I’m showing Abby and her assistant, Asher, through the boardroom door where our dinner is all set.

Damon’s eyes flicker to mine before settling on the daughter of his potential client. I’m almost livid when she greets him with kisses over his cheeks, her hands all over him.

“Nice to meet you in person.” Asher shakes my hand.

I smile at him. “Likewise.”

Damon and Asher make introductions, and he gives him a pointed look I don’t recognize. Eventually we’re all seated, Damon and me on one side, and our guests across from us.

Damon’s orders.

I’m sure he didn’t want Ms. Whitmore drooling all over him while he ate. Afterward? Maybe. He could be lying when he says I’m here to cockblock him. Maybe he’ll go home with her anyway.

And the thought of them together stirs some jealousy inside of me that I didn’t even know existed .

I try to think of Harv instead but my heart’s not in it. And I can’t force it to be.

That’s the crazy thing about life now, isn’t it? You grow and you change, and sometimes you don’t want to look back. Sometimes you don’t want all the things that used to make your heart sing.

And I feel like the devil’s puppet for even thinking these thoughts. For feeling things for Damon. No matter how small or insignificant they may be.

“Damon—you’re so far away,” Abby teases before clutching onto her wine glass.

I down my glass—the gesture earning a raised brow out of him. I know he’ll want to drive me home anyway and I can’t deny to myself the fact that I want that extra time with him.

Damon refills my glass, and we all dig into our food, Asher and I remaining quiet as Abby and Damon talk business.

“Out of the three businesses that entered the bid to report this project, you’re the most successful one; however, my father is uncertain if your report will benefit our project or prolong it, leading to hefty costs and wasted time.”

Damon goes into his usual speech: If done correctly, all three businesses would evaluate the impacts from an objective perspective. It’s always informal, subjective recommendations that they can do with as they wish.

She rebuts that it doesn’t always work like that with the government; if things go south later on, these reports can be a slap in the face.

They go back and forth, and it’s obvious she’s asking him to tone down the report for the sake of their project.

“The fact that you’re opening up a yoga retreat, with spas, organic foods, and drinks, surrounded by villas and waterfalls, will obviously be less discriminated against, than, say, if you were drilling for oil,” Damon tells her as he cuts through his lasagna.

“I know. Damon, I know. You know what this project means to me. My father won’t accept it unless I pass every loophole. I really need this to happen. And because of the location, we’re aware of the environmental impact. But it’s for the greater good.”

I eat my meatball and a few noodles, staring at Asher, who looks bored out of his mind. He winks at me, returning his gaze back to his dinner when Damon squeezes my knee under the table. His hand then cups my leg, making me sit straighter and finish the rest of my wine.

I must stare at the wall ahead as if I’ve witnessed a crime.

My leg feels scorching hot from the contact, the warmth spreading all over me. My body, it revels at Damon’s touch. But my mind, it worries about being professional and about Abby spreading gossip.

If she sees my expression, she doesn’t comment on it.

What happened? What happened to the Damon who looked ready to murder me when I commented on his love life, to change him into the one now feeling me up?

Is he doing this because of Asher’s wink or to keep Abby away from him?

I’m shoving bread into my mouth, anything to stop myself from fidgeting as he traces his hand up and down my thigh. Relief and grief greet me when he slips his hand away.

I miss the warmth. I miss the tingling sensation it created.

After three bottles of wine, drank mostly by myself and Abby, she decides it’s time to push things to the next level, even with Asher and me in the room.

She leans closer to the table, her cleavage in full view. “Damon, promise you won’t fail me,” she says in a jarring voice, looking desperate.

“I can’t promise that, Abby,” he tells her coldly.

She nods, getting the message, and I’m happy when he doesn’t even look at her chest but instead gives me the most smoldering look any man has ever given me. I feel bold by the gesture alone. Confident .

Like a rebel striking.

Which is why I let my left hand wander underneath the table to squeeze his knee, palming his thigh seductively.

I don’t know why I’m teasing myself. Unless I’ll go through with this, which I know I won’t, then Ms. Whitmore isn’t the only one getting cockblocked tonight.

I’ll need to recharge my vibrator.

Eventually, Asher and Abby leave, and I wonder what Damon said to her on their way out to put a smile on her face.

“Making plans for tonight?” I pry when Damon comes back after sending them off in the elevator.

“Jealous?” he tests me.

I clean up everything, taking the plates to the kitchen. Damon’s simply leaning in the doorway, hands deep in his pockets, watching me put the dinnerware in the dishwasher. It’s a welcome distraction from being alone with him again. Except this time, I’m pretty tipsy and I’m worried about taking things too far. Even if it’s what I crave.

“You’re the one who started touching me after a harmless smile from Asher.”

“Wink. He winked at you.”

I scoff. “Wow, then he must really want to sleep with me. Didn’t even ask for my number.” I can feel his presence behind me.

God, what is it about him? I can feel him everywhere.

In every organ, every vein, every cell. I can’t think of anything besides Damon.

“He didn’t ask because it was obvious I was claiming you when my hand was all over you...” he whispers in my ear, and my eyes close.

I don’t want to see.

Only feel. Feel that high, that rush that being with him provides so immensely.

“So you knew they’d know . . . ”

“I was betting on it.” He kisses my neck.

“Push, pull. Push, pull. Make up your mind, Damon.” My eyes open again, and I close the dishwasher before turning to face him, my back against the kitchen countertop.

I know I’m being hypocritical—I know that—I’m with Harvey and I’m asking Damon to make up his mind as if I’ve been able to do so.

“I know I said we shouldn’t... but I can’t stop myself with you.” He thumbs the back of my ear. This, right here, with him, it’s explosion and a beating heart and sweaty palms.

“That doesn’t mean I want you asking about my past,” he continues.

He’s warning me once more. Warning number two. I wonder how many warnings he’ll need to direct my way before I realize what a mistake this is going to be.

“I’m not a good man, Gemma. And I’m sure as hell not the one you’ll end up happily married to.”

Then who is? Harvey?

He can’t even look me in the eyes three-hundred and fifty days of the year.

“What happened to you?” I ask quietly. It’s so quiet, everyone is gone for the night. It’s past ten o’clock, and I know that I should head home.

“The question is”—he stares into my eyes—“why would a twenty-four-year-old act like she’s stuck in an unmarried relationship rather than leaving it?”

His question hits me like a wall of moving bricks. It has some truth to it—because I’m stuck—and I’m not sure what’s the right way out. It saddens me to think about a future with Harvey that’s similar to our present.

I shake my head, gawking at him.

He probably knows my age from the background check he performed upon hiring me. He’s so gorgeous, no wonder Abby was all over him. He really is a sight to behold .

His hand holds me roughly at my nape, and I want that kiss he almost gave me earlier. I’m not sure that I can do this to Harvey. To myself.

“Can you do this? Just sex? No feelings what... so... ever.” He’s whispering close to my lips, and my head is tilting up despite his grip on my neck.

“Yes...” The word catches in my throat. Unconvincing. At this point I’m not sure if I’m hesitating because of Harv or because I’m afraid I’ll develop feelings for Damon, the man I admire, the man who drives me nuts by day and drives me to the brink of orgasm by night.

My mind is telling me this is a mistake. But my body betrayed me the moment I set eyes on him. The first time I heard his voice. At the first touch from his hands.

There’s something about Damon. I don’t quite know how to explain the hold he has pulling me over to him.

I want more. It wants more.

“Think about it.” He releases me, and I want to cry out in pain, hating the distance he placed between us.

“Be there in a few with her keys,” he says into his phone after answering a call. He ends it just as quickly. “That was my driver.” He answers my unspoken question. “Time to go home.”

I want to protest.

Instead, like always, I shy away from voicing it. I get my purse from my desk and put on my winter coat and over-the-knee boots.

It’s quiet on the way home.

We don’t talk. We don’t touch. We don’t even look at each other.

His proposition flows through my mind as I mentally list the pros and cons.

Most of my cons involve Harvey, safe for my job.

Harvey. Harvey. Harvey.

I want to tell Damon to drop me off one neighborhood away from my house. But I don’t. Because if Harvey’s up, which I doubt, he could see the driver pull up with our van anyway. And doing so would enlarge the lie.

More than lying to Harvey, I’m lying to myself.

About what I want. About whom I want.

“Thanks for the ride.” He nods, and it hits me then that he never asked me about the modified van.

I’m about to leave when he grabs my hand. “Will you think about it?” I can’t get a read on him, on his question. Will I think about having sex with him? More than I usually do every night?

Of course I will.

But we both know this time it’s different. It’s not simply touches and unyielding strokes. It’s real. It’s bringing my fantasies to life. It’s betraying Harv and everything we ever fought for. It’s ruining us. And maybe even me.

Maybe I’ll never be the same person again. Or maybe I’ll be better.

I nod, and he lets go.

I leave him and his car behind, grabbing my car keys from his driver, who wishes me a good night. I thank him, so nervous when I finally step to my front door. Even my fingers tremble as I unlock it.

The house is quiet inside. Unlike my reeling mind.

I head straight to my room to change, deciding to shower in the morning instead. I brush my teeth at lightning speed in the bathroom.

The last thing I want to do is wake up Harvey.

The last thing I want to do is lie.

But isn’t omitting information—feelings—a lie in and of itself?

When I’m ready for bed, I grab my pillow tightly, scrolling through old pictures of Harv and me on my phone.

Once upon a time I truly loved Harvey Stark .

So I go down memory lane. Even though I should be sleeping.

Maybe Harv needs a bit of space before things go back to the way they were between us. But even I know that’s untrue. Even I know years haven’t changed Harvey, and he isn’t about to start loving me again the way he did pre-accident.

I fall asleep, my mind tipping on both sides of the scale, with no decision made.

Everything is black. Dark. Bleak.

There’s a hospital.

And a beautiful angel.