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.

The city whizzed by the car window, rain streaks on glass. Elena sat stiffly, notebook still clutched in her lap as a barrier, although it would do nothing to protect her from Damien's tempest sitting next to her.

He had not spoken a word since their kiss.

He didn't need to. The stillness was nastier-barded, heavy, like the atmosphere just before thunder. His hand rested negligently on the seat between them, his fingers touching the hem of her coat as if daring her to notice.

Her body noticed. So did all the nerves.

"Where are we going?" she finally replied, her voice trembling.

Damien slowly shifted his face, his black eyes locking onto hers. "Does it matter?

"Yes," she said, sharper than she intended.

His mouth curved, not in humor but in something darker, something that told her he enjoyed her defiance. "You're trembling again."

"I told you-it's the cold."

"Still lying."

Her jaw tightened. "You don't know me well enough to call me a liar."

"Fact is," he took a deep breath, his mouth inches from her ear she could sense his warm breath. His fingers brushed the inside of her wrist and a shiver ran through her. "Your body says it all."

She tried to pull away on her wrist, but he held her-not tight, not hurting, but hard enough to make her realize just how quickly he could hold her there.

"Let go," she breathed.

"Say please."

She gasped for air. His voice wasn't teasing. It was a test, testing depth. She hated herself for the flush that danced in her chest.

"Please," she got out.

For what seemed like forever, he held her stretched, his gaze still locked on hers. And then, slowly, deliberately, released her.

But rather than drawing back, he leaned in-his hand brushing the wet hair from her face, his fingers tracing the line of her neck.

Elena tensed, her heart racing.

"You feel that?" Damien breathed, his thumb pressed against the pounding rhythm of her pulse. "Your body betrays you. Every time."

She opened her mouth, a protest upon her breath, but before she could say the words, he was lifting her chin.

The kiss here was not reluctant. It was ravenous, insisting, his mouth taking her in claim. His hand dropped to the back of her neck, holding her in place as if he already possessed her.

She whimpered against his mouth, but the breath to a whimper changed when his other hand slid along her waist, pulling her closer.

The city outside, rain-soaked beyond, the rain, the leather armchair all receded. Damien alone remained. His mouth, his control, the icy way he seemed to know exactly how to unravel her.

His fingers, clever fingers, lay on her breast. She told herself she meant to thrust him away. But instead, her hands wrapped around that fabric of his shirt, holding hard.

He broke away from the kiss for a moment to whisper against her mouth: "You don't want me to stop."

"Yes, I do," she whispered.

"Liar."

His lips touched her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her collarbone where her shirt clung wetly to her skin. Each touch seared, each kiss a command her body obeyed despite her will. She shivered, torn between terror and lust.

"Damien..." Half warning, half entreaty.

He took a step back, dark, unreadable eyes. He simply looked at her for a moment-pink face, trembling lips, the jerky drop and rise of her chest.

Then, with a deliberation that skirted on deadliness, he took a slow breath and said, "Say my name."

She swallowed. "Damien."

A deep growl came out of him, edging towards satisfaction. His hand slid down her side, on her hip, his fingers sinking in possessively.

Her entire body seared. She despised to hate him. She must escape. But she inched forward instead, forehead colliding with his, lips meeting.

And just when she thought he'd consume her whole-when all her fight on the cusp of explosion-he went stiff.

Damien shoved her away with a harsh motion, recoiled in his chair with a sickening smile.

Elena blinked in dismay, her body protesting the lack of his touch. "Why-why'd you stop?"

His gaze burned into hers. "Because control is mine. Not yours."

The car hit slower speed and rode over, coming to a stop at her apartment complex. Elena hadn't even realized they were going home for the entire ride.

"Go inside," Damien told her, his voice unstoppable. "And we'll figure out what you want. Because the next time, Elena.... His eyes fell to her lips.

".there won't be stopping."

She was racing with a heart, trembling legs as she went out into the rain and opened the door. She didn't even look back, though she could feel the burn of his eyes on her until the car melted into the blackness.

And solitary in her apartment, rain pounding against the floor, Elena realized she had ever been so scared-

Or so desperate for his return.

Elena vowed to herself she wouldn't respond to the message. She wouldn't look out the window. She wouldn't-

And she did.

And there he was. Damien. Standing by his car as if staking his claim on it, shadows curled around him, predator at rest. His eyes lit upon hers almost instantly behind the rain-glazed panes. Everything came to a stop.

Come down.

Two words. An invitation.

Her body carried her before her head knew. Her jacket on, keys in her pocket, and she floated towards the scent of wet cement and night danger.

Fog stuck to her eyelashes as she advanced toward him. Her heart pounding so rapidly that she thought he might hear it.

"You shouldn't be here," she panted.

Damien's eyes slid over her lazily, devouring. "And yet, you are."

She thrust her lips forward to speak, but the words fled from her. He closed the space in two strides, his fingers wrapped around her wrist. Not cruel-never rigid-but possessive, as if she was already his.

Her breathing ceased. "Damien-"

Her protest dissolved in his kiss.

This kiss was no different. This wasn't a test, this wasn't foreplay. This was blaze. His lips were hard and commanding, pulling the air from her lungs. Her hands struck his chest in response, but instead of pushing, they slipped over the softness of his shirt and clutched hard to the storm he unleashed.

His flavor hit her-liquor-sour, whiskey-bitter, and a richer, brasher kiss. She whined before she could bite it back, and he latched onto the sound, nipping her more fiercely. His tongue caressed hers, smooth and bold, and she shuddered.

He had the flavor of sin. Of everything she ought to run from and everything she secretly desired.

Her knees buckled and Damien's arm wrapped around her waist, dragging her into the crook of his body. His other hand was deep in her wet hair, tilting her face to bury the kiss deeper, shoving her away so she couldn't breathe.

Her mind was screaming stop, but her body had betrayed her with every shuddering breath, every leaning into his touch.

"Say you don't want this," he snarled into her mouth, voice raspy.

She tried to say something, but words jammed in her throat. His mouth tracked down the line of her jaw, then on, igniting a hunger-unslaked fire running down the back of her neck. She gasped on her breath coarsely when his teeth closed on the flesh, the bite hot with the fire of his tongue.

"Damien." A prayer she did not even know.

His hand fell beneath her coat, down her waist shape, the cotton hump her blouse clung to wet skin. His belly-hand, hard and gripping, pulled her in until she was all of him on her.

Rain wet her clothes, plastered her blouse to her skin, and his hand became more confident, moving up, exploring the underside of the curve of her breast. She quivered at helplessly, fire searing its way through her, every nerve screaming for more.

Her head was thrown back against the cold metal of his vehicle as his lips again possessed hers, tongue piercing with savage ferocity. He kissed her as if he belonged to her, as if she was a puzzle to be unraveled piece by piece.

It was spinning, reeling, terrified.

Her fingers were digging into his shoulders, looking for balance, nails scrabbling into him as if that would contain the storm within her.

He growled softly in the back of his throat, a vibration against her mouth. His hand came lower this time, over the curve of her hip, his fingers pressing hard, pulling her up into him until she felt the unmistakable proof of his hunger.

Her flesh dissolved to water, a traitor. A cry was torn from her lips, taken by his kiss.

And when the world was spinning so madly she would never know herself again, Damien let her go.

Abrupt. Crude.

He backed off, fingers still on her hip, gasping harshly but his eyes flashing and in control. She was trembling, mouth puffed out, breasts rising and falling against her wetted blouse.

"Because." His voice was gruff. "Because I'm not going to lose control like that."

Damien's retort was tracing her bottom lip with his thumb, his black-lit and dark eyes brimming with potential. "Because control is mine, Elena. And when I take you finally." His voice dropped, steel and velvet.

".you'll beg me not to stop."

Her heart pounded, her knees so weak she was afraid she'd fall on her face.

He stepped back from her, standing there trembling in the night air, the memory of his touch seared onto her skin.

The door of the car creaked open. He was there.

And despite all rational thought telling her to climb out, Elena was getting into the car, still shaking at the kiss she had just received, at the way he had undressed her with hands and mouth only.

She knew it then, in a fear of knowing.

Damien would murder her.

And she was going to let him.