Chapter Ten: A Birthmark and a Whisper.
Later that afternoon, Eric appeared in the hallway outside the bedroom.
"Sir," he said carefully. "We're due back in California tonight. Your aunt's birthday celebration is already underway."
Damian looked over his shoulder at Ana's sleeping form.
"I'm not leaving her like this."
Eric hesitated. "Understood."
"But, you can't keep dodging your father's calls forever," he added gently. "He's already called six times."
Right on cue, the phone on the counter began to buzz again Joseph Lopez.
Damian sighed. "You take it."
Eric picked up.
"Sir," he said. "Apologies for the delay. Mr. Damien's absence at the party was, personal."
Joseph's voice was a deep baritone on the other end. "Personal?"
"Yes, sir. He's fallen in love. Quite suddenly."
There was silence.
Then; laughter. Loud, surprised, delighted laughter.
"Well, I'll be damned," Joseph said. "And here I thought the boy was either allergic to women or secretly gay."
Eric didn't comment.
Joseph continued, still chuckling. "So he's in love, huh? That's good. Very good. It's about time. Tell him he has my blessing and tell him to bring the girl home. I want to meet the mystery woman."
The fever hadn't subsided yet.
Damian sat beside the bed, watching the beads of sweat shimmer across Tyler's brow. Her skin was flushed, her breathing shallow. She stirred repeatedly in her sleep and it was obvious she was being hunted in her sleep, her lips parting from time to time.
She mumur inaudible words repeatedly, her brow nitted as she frowns non stop, at some point she was even crying in her sleep.
Damien could see how restless she was in her sleep, and he began to wonder what could be so serious that troubles her this much, that she can barely have a proper rest; for the first time in his life he seemed genuinely worried for someone.
He decided to take proper care of her first, he believes when he shows her how much he is willing to sacrifice to make the relationship works, she would eventually lay it all on the ground. He seriously hopes that she drops that burden, since it was way too obvious how humongous it is.
He reached for a cloth, but paused.
"She needs a proper bath," he muttered to himself.
Without hesitation, he moved gently like he was handling something made of glass.
"Tyler," he whispered, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. "Come on we need to cool you down."
Her eyes fluttered open for a second clouded, unfocused but she let him help her up. Her body sagged into his arms, pliant and warm as he carried her toward the bathroom.
The bathroom filled with soft light and the faint sound of running water. Damian turned on the tap, adjusting the temperature until it was perfectly cool. Steam rose and swirled as he filled the wide tub halfway.
He set her gently on the edge, his touch firm but careful, then dipped a soft towel into the water and began running it slowly across her skin, shoulders, arms, the back of her neck.
Her breath hitched softly under his hand.
When he reached her spine, she leaned forward instinctively, and he caught her, holding her steady.
"I've got you," he murmured.
He moved methodically, never lingering too long, never crossing a line. And when he was done, he wrapped her in a thick towel, cradled her again, and carried her back into the room.
He pulled open one of his drawers and found a clean, oversized shirt, charcoal gray, soft as silk. It was the kind of shirt that made a man look rugged, but made a woman look like the center of the universe.
He slipped it gently over her.
It draped over her curves in all the right ways, stopping mid-thigh, clinging softly to her damp skin.
He exhaled.
God, she looked beautiful.
He swallowed hard, jaw tightening as he stared at her for a moment too long.
Not now. She's not well.
He helped her back into bed, lifting the covers. But just before he could tuck her in, her leg shifted and the hem of the shirt rose slightly.
His breath caught.
There it was again.
That birthmark.
A single teardrop shape on her upper thigh just visible beneath the fold of the fabric.
He stared.
Something about it disturbed him.
Not the mark itself but the way it felt familiar. Like it didn't belong to a stranger. Like he'd seen it before somewhere important.
His jaw clenched.
He turned away quickly, pretending to adjust the pillow.
She was halfway asleep when he leaned closer. His voice was barely a whisper, almost as if he didn't mean to speak aloud at all.
"Tyler, I can't leave you like this," he said. "But I have things I need to take care of back home."
A pause.
"Will you come with me to California? My dad would also like to meet you."
She heard it.
Through the haze of fever and dreams, she heard it and something inside her bloomed like wildflowers after a drought.
Her fingers twitched.
Then, slowly, she turned.
And before he could move back, she reached up, took his face in both hands and kissed him.
Hard.
It wasn't careful or polite or sweet.
It was desperate.
Like her soul was collapsing into his mouth, and only he could hold it together. She kissed him with everything inside her the fear, the gratitude, the ache of being seen. It was fire and softness and longing all wrapped into one.
And for a moment he kissed her back.
Damian's hand slid into her hair. His breath matched hers. His body leaned into hers, against the softness of the shirt he'd just helped her into.
But then, he stopped.
He pulled back, gently.
"No," he whispered. "You're not well. You need to rest."
She looked up at him, breathless and glassy-eyed.
"We have a long trip to catch," he added softly, brushing his thumb across her cheek. "Get better first, then kiss me like that again."
And she blushes so hard that her cuteness made Damien feel good in ways he couldn't explain.
He felt aroused in ways that surprised him, just watching her shy feature, she was indeed something, she gets to the core of his being with our trying so much, he was absolutely certain he had just found the one. And even though he would want her to kiss him like that again, he had,
kissed her forehead instead.
Tucked her in.
Then turned off the lights, letting the silence hold the rest.