Sofia's fingers were white, stiff from the cold and the lingering tremors of her breakdown. She fumbled with the first button, but her coordination was gone. The small pearl disc slipped from her wet grip over and over.
She let out a small, frustrated sob, her head dropping forward. She felt pathetic—exposed, shivering, and unable to even dress herself under his predatory watch.
Damien watched her struggle, his pulse thrumming in his throat. He saw the way her fingers shook, the way her soft, rounded shoulders rose and fell with her ragged breaths. He couldn't stay by the fire any longer. The distance was a lie.
He crossed the room in three long strides.
Sofia gasped, flinching back, but she hit the wall behind her. Damien didn't tower over her with anger this time; he stepped into her space, his heat radiating off him like a furnace.
"Hold still," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.
