My (Mostly) Secret Baby - Penelope Bloom Page 0,27

and leaving smears of red in the wake of their taillights.

I stood just inside the lobby of the building, waiting for it to magically stop or maybe just calm down enough that I wasn’t afraid of being swept into a sewer grate.

“You’re still here?” Asked a deep voice from behind me.

Damon was walking out of the building with his hand in his pocket and a jacket slung over his shoulder. Late night or not, he looked as composed and gorgeous as ever. He even smelled delicious, which was impossible to ignore in the tight confines of the little glass box we were standing in beside the doors.

“As long as Mother Nature violently pisses all over the street, yeah.”

Damon looked like he was debating something internally, then he sighed. “Come on.”

“No.”

“I’m not asking.”

“And I’m not on the clock. So, no. I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, and I try very hard to make sure you and everyone else continues thinking that. But this asshole would rather not have to find a new personal assistant in the morning. If I let you go out there yourself, chances are you’ll get mugged or run over by a car.”

I sighed. “You’re so considerate it hurts.”

“Are you going to come with me willingly, or do I need to carry you over my shoulder again?”

I squinted. “Again?”

“Your legs stop working when you get drunk enough, it seems. So what’s it going to be, Tinkerbell?”

I crossed my arms but started walking with him. “Why did you take me home when I got drunk, anyway?”

Damon gestured for me to head back inside the building, toward the stairs leading to the basement parking garage. It made me realize he hadn’t happened to pass me on his way out. He’d been heading to the garage when he spotted me over here and came out of his way for me. I wished I wasn’t silly enough for that to make butterflies explode in my stomach.

I followed him to the staircase, even though I was deathly afraid of tall staircases. I could always imagine looking up to see a shadowy head pop out from several flights above, followed by hurried footsteps and heavy breathing.

Ugh. My overactive imagination was not my friend at night.

I had to admit I did feel safer with Damon around. At least this way, I already knew where the most evil thing in the vicinity was.

We entered into a mostly empty parking garage before he decided to answer. I’d noticed he had a habit of waiting irritatingly long to reply or talk, as if long stretches of silence and the uncomfortable tension it caused were no bother to him.

“I didn’t trust Mace with you.”

“So, what, you were protecting my virginity?”

He chuckled, as if that was a rich joke. The vague implication that he knew damn well I wasn’t a virgin reminded me of exactly how he knew that. Pleasant pulses of heat passed from my chest to my lower stomach. It reminded me how good it had felt to have him take me from behind—and how strong his hands had felt on my hips.

Stop that, Chelsea. Bad, bad girl.

That seemed like another life now. Another Damon. Still an asshole, but he had at least been an asshole who was attracted to me. I guess that wasn’t a huge plus on the redemption scale, but it was something.

“Mace has a reputation.”

“And you don’t?”

He paused outside a dark, expensive looking luxury car. “I learned a few hard lessons about what happens to people who mix business with pleasure. So, no. The only reputation I have now is of being the prick you don’t want to get stuck in an elevator with.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but yeah, I can see that. You do smell.”

He turned sharply. “What?”

I laughed in surprise to see how vulnerable he looked. “It was a joke. You don’t smell. I mean, bad, at least… What cologne do you use anyway?”

Damon composed himself quickly, and he also chose not to reply to my question as he sat down behind the wheel.

I got in the car, smirking a little. “Why is it you want people to hate you, exactly?”

“I never asked anyone to hate me.” Damon started the car and began driving. “I don’t want to confuse them. I’m their boss. Not a friend. Not a romantic partner. Nothing.”

“No wonder you’re such a source of joy and happiness.”

Damon let out a little grunt of amusement. “I enjoy my work.”

“Is that why you stay late so