It had been a long time since Elena had attended the Founders Party. She made polite introductions; she ate dinner; she applauded the speaker; she conversed when she was required to. But everything paled against her awareness of the man beside her. Even among strangers Damon behaved with courtly manners and easy charm, totally confident of himself.

"Let go dance," Damon said. It wasn't a request. It was a statement.

Elena sat her nearly empty glass on the table and followed him. Dancing with Damon was like making love on a dance floor. He pulled her close to him and led her into a slow, effortless dance. He didn't speak. She couldn't have. The sensations that were emanating from the pit of her stomach and spreading over her body reached her vocal cords, constricted them, and rendered them useless.

The hand that held her to him with fingers spread out wide on her back was like a brand that scorched her skin. Through the sheer fabric of her dress she could feel hard, muscular thighs pressing against her own. The warm breath that fanned her temple was soft and aromatic.

She was too close to him to look up into his face, but she could see the black curls that brushed his collar, and she had a compelling desire to slide her hand toward those curls and caress their black silkiness with her fingertips.

"So how am I doing?" Damon asked after a while.

"What?"

"My dancing."

"So far, all I have been able to tell is that you have good rhythm and you move well. That's all that really matters anyway," she said, smiling into his eyes.

"I have got moves you never know," he teased.

"I don't think I could learn some new moves in one night."

"Of course you can," Damon said, "but you have to learn to relax first."

"Relax?" she repeated. "What makes you think I'm not relax?"

"You are afraid of me." She glanced at him with patent disbelief. "Yes, you are. I make you anxious."

"Don't be silly. I'm not afraid of you," she said dryly.

Definitely time to change the subject, Damon thought.

"Care to show me around?" he asked.

She blinked. "Show you around?"

"You grew up here. You know this town very well. Then by comparison that makes me the newcomer. You should show me around, shouldn't you?"

"Alaric said you would come to Mystic Falls to catch up with him every now and then. You should know Mystic Falls well enough."

"Well, we only go for a drink whenever I come to Mystic Falls. I'm thinking maybe you can drive me around for sight-seeing."

"Sight-seeing?"

"Don't you need to make me feel welcome? You should be nice to me."

She trapped a smile just before it broke across her lips. Give this man an inch and he would take endless miles. He needed no encouragement, not even a simple smile. Elena only wished his charm was easier to ward off.

"Do you always get what you want?" she asked quietly.

"I'm still trying hard to get what I want." His voice was husky and low.

Elena cleared her throat. "I have to work. I can't drive you around for sight-seeing."

"Take a day off."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"Take a day off," he said easily. "We can drive around Mystic Falls in your SUV."

"Look, Mr Salvatore, I have plenty of work to do…"

"I have plenty of work to do as well but I'm still taking a break." He winked at her. "You need to relax and have fun."

"What makes you think I don't have fun?" Elena asked gruffly.

"Do you?"

"Of course I do," she shot back.

He grinned broadly. "Then have fun with me."

Elena glared at him. "Why did you do that?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"You want me."

"More than anything," he stated flatly.

"I have never met anyone so full of themselves. I'm not prepared to be a notch on your busy bedpost," she spitted. "I have a little more self-respect than that."

"I like you, Elena. I want you," he admits. "But I'm not going to force myself on you."

"You don't even know me," she blurted, in a desperate attempt to make him see how crazy this was.

"I know you are impossibly beautiful,' he said softly. "I know what I feel, and I know that you are feeling it too." He crashed his lips against hers, robbing her of breath.

His tongue skimmed her bottom lip, seeking entry, and she didn't deny him. She accepted him into her mouth, their tongues dueling, his mouth hot, his tongue lax but severe. She flung her arms over his shoulders to pull him closer. Every part of him felt perfect. It was everything she had imagined.

A low moan escapes his mouth as both of his hands drift up her back to cup her head, his fingers splayed around the back, the heel of his palms resting on her cheek bones. He broke the kiss and Elena whimpered at the loss. His shoulders were rising and falling with the deep breaths he was struggling to get into his lungs, and he rested his forehead against her with his eyes clenched shut.

"I'm going to get lost in you," he breathed, his hand traveling back down the curve of her spine to the rear of her thigh. He searched her eyes desperately. "There's something here," he whispered. "I'm not imagining it."

"I can't do this," she whispered and pulled out from his grip. "It's not right." She pushed past him.

"Elena! Where are you going?" he shouted after her.

She didn't respond. She kept her pace up and stalked out of the town hall, hearing Damon cursed as she made her escape.

"Elena!" Damon yelled.

Elena ran to the driveway and realised she didn't have her car tonight. Damon had picked her up from her house. Damon walked toward her slowly. Without speaking, he unlocked the door of his Camaro and held it for her. He made no move to touch her. When he had folded himself behind the wheel, he grasped her jaw in his hand to look down at her. She pulled her face from his grip.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly, reaching for her again.

She brushed him off. "I want to go home. Please." She was pleading, and it wasn't the tone Elena was aiming for.

"Okay."

Twenty minutes later they reached the tree-lined drive that led to the Gilbert's family house. Damon walked her to the porch steps and stopped.

"Why did you stop it?" he asked.

"What?" she asked impatiently.

He gritted his teeth. "Why did you run out on me?"

"Because it was a mistake," Elena grated, through equally gritted teeth. Her irritation at his audacity was overpowering the other more unwelcome affect he was having on her.

"It wasn't a mistake, and you know it," he said. "You want me as badly as I want you."

"Good night, Damon." She unlocked the door, got into the house and pushed the door shut, but his hand slammed against the other side to stop it.

"Oh, no you don't." He pushed against her, easily overpowering her, and stepped into the hallway, slamming the door behind him. "Why don't you admit that you like me?"

Elena felt small and weak as he towered over her. She backed away, but he walked forward, keeping the distance between them minimal.

"It's late, Damon. You need to leave."

He stopped his approach, scowling at her. "Stop lying," he snapped. "Quit the bullshit, Elena."

She had no idea what to say to him. He was incredibly thick skinned and obviously use to getting what he wanted.

She turned away to walk up the stairs but before she could make it very far, he was behind her and grabbing at her wrist. She was spun around to face him, the contact putting her on instant red alert. She knew she was on dangerous ground here. Just being near this man turned her into a reckless, irrational fool.

She yanked her wrist from his grip, backing up until her back hit the wall behind her. "Just go, Damon. I'm not interested."

"No!"

"You are, undeniably, the most arrogant arsehole I have ever met. I'm not interested in becoming a sexual conquest."

"Conquest?" he snorted, turning away and commencing pointless pacing. "You actually believe that?"

"Please leave, Damon."

"Okay," he said simply, quitting the marching to hammer her with his stare. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't want to see me again, and I'll go. You'll never have to lay eyes on me again."

Okay, that should be relatively easy, but to Elena's utter shock, the thought of not seeing him again actually sent a nasty ache to her stomach, which was, of course, completely ridiculous. He was a virtual stranger to her, but God he did spark a reaction in her. He made her felt… She was not sure exactly what it was. But even now, when she was raging at his damn nerve, she was fighting to control the unwanted reactions he sparked in her.

When she said nothing, he started advancing towards her, his long, even strides having him directly in front of her in just a few paces. There was barely an inch between them.

"Say it." he breathed.

Elena couldn't get her mouth to function. She was aware of her shallow breathing, pounding heart and a dull throb in her groin. She was alert to similar reactions emanating from him. She could see his heart hammering under his black shirt. She could feel his heavy breath on her face. She couldn't vouch for the throb, but she suspected it was there. The sexual tension ricocheting between their close bodies was tangible.

"You can't, can you?" he whispered.

She couldn't! She was trying. She was trying really hard, but the words wouldn't come out. The proximity of their bodies and him breathing on her was re-establishing all of those incredible feelings.

He placed the tip of his finger on her shoulder, his touch sending an inferno racing through her, and slowly, lightly, he dragged his finger up the column of her neck until it rested at the sensitive pressure point under her ear.

Her heart went into overdrive.

"Don't deny this," he breathed. "Don't deny us, Elena."

She went rigid, pushing herself further into the wall. "Please, leave." She barely got the words out.

"And I told you, look me in the eyes and tell me you don't want me." He stared at her expectantly, like he knew she couldn't say it.

"I don't want you," she murmured, looking straight into his blue pools. It actually caused her physical pain. She was shocked.

He inhaled sharply, looking wounded. "I don't believe you," he said softly.

Elena drew in a deep breath. "You should." She defined the words clearly, and it took every bit of strength she had.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, but Elena was the first to look away. She could think of nothing more to say. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration, cursed and stalked out. When the front door slammed behind him, she allowed air to rush into her lungs as she sagged against the wall.

That was, irrefutably, the most difficult thing she had ever done, which was crazy, because by reason, it should have been the easiest. She couldn't even begin to understand the whys and wherefores of it. His wounded expression when she conformed to his demands to deny that she wanted him had nearly crippled her. She wanted to scream, "I felt it too!" but where would that have got her? She knew exactly where – against the wall with Damon buried deep inside her. And while the thought of that made her shivered with pleasure, it would be a gargantuan mistake. Everything about this man screamed trouble.

Elena shuddered and headed for a shower, contented that she had done the right thing. She had put Damon Salvatore in his place and saved herself another boat load of guilt. She should ignore the painful ache in her gut because acknowledging it would be as good as admitting out loud, to her and Damon, that…yes, she felt it too.