MYSTIC FALLS 2017

The rest of the meeting was blurred by her fury, although Elena manage to keep it in check until Enzo left her office so that he could personally call the rest of the investors in order to both dispel the rumours and announce Damon's participation.

"What the hell?" Elena snapped as soon as Enzo shut the door behind him. "What in the goddamn hell did you just do?"

She surged past to the control panel on the nearby credenza and hit the button to close the electronic blinds. She fully intended to scream and rage, and she damn sure didn't want an audience when she did it.

Damon, damn him, was brutally calm. "I'm just making sure that everyone has all the relevant information."

"What does that even mean?"

He moved to the window and stood beside it, looking all power and control, force and motion.

Today, he wore a finely tailored suit, and looked crisp and put together.

Or mostly put together.

And when she glanced down, she saw that his knuckles were raw. Those injuries weren't there last night, and as she stood there, Elena was absolutely certain that she was the reason for them.

She was not entirely sure how that made her feel.

He might be injured, but nothing about this man looked like a victim.

On the contrary, he was a man used to getting what he wanted—and right now, Elena knew that was exactly what he was doing.

"Dunham Lake has a lot of potential," he said, then turned from the window to face her. "It would be silly of me to turn down this project."

"That is a load of crap," Elena retorted. "You turned down the project yesterday without even blinking."

He simply shrugged. "Maybe I wasn't thinking properly."

Elena narrowed her eyes. "And now you are thinking properly? Don't give me that crap, Damon."

"True," he said. "DS Design needs a project like this, and if I do this, it will ultimately be known as a Damon Salvatore project." Damon met her eyes, his expression flat, but the corner of his mouth curved up just enough so that his amusement was plain. "Don't you agree?"

Since he had just tossed her words back in her face, Elena could hardly disagree.

"I'm ready, willing, and able to perform," Damon said. "You need to know that. The only question is whether the specific terms of the deal are acceptable, and I believe that's what you need to work out with me."

It was true. Elena was the one who put together the deal points with Wes, and now she was supposed to do the same with Damon.

How uncanny that she already knew what their sticking point will be. She.

His smile was wide and smug. "If it turns out that we can't come to terms, then it is Gilbert International's loss. But at least I will leave here knowing that you are aware that I was, at least for a time, ready to work on this resort. Enthusiastic, even," he added as he looked her up and down.

Elena felt a rush of sensual pleasure that, God help her, she did not want to feel. She didn't want to surrender. All she wanted to do was run.

She forced herself to stand taller. Straighter. To speak cleanly and crisply despite her frayed nerves. And, yes, despite her own damnable desire. "Why are you doing this?"

"You know why," he said as he strode to her. Elena held her ground, resisting the urge to move backward and clutch the credenza behind her. "Because I want you, Elena."

Damon reached out, then traced his fingertip along her collarbone as she stood stock-still, trying very hard not to shiver from the thrill of his touch.

"I want you naked," he whispered in a voice as tempting as sin. "I want you exposed. I want you open to me. And I think," he added in the kind of voice that would broach no argument, "that you want me, too."

Elena exhaled slowly and force herself to look at him. "Goddamn you, Damon Salvatore."

"I once told you that I'm a man who goes after what he wants, and that is still true. But here's a question for you, Elena. Are you a woman who does the same? You say you want this project, this resort. Prove it. It is here for the taking. Right now, the only obstacle is you."

She said nothing, because if she spoke, she was afraid of what she would say.

His eyes, like blue fire, met hers. "Tonight. Eight o'clock. Be ready for me."

x x x

Elena pulled open the door to the Grill and was immediately accosted by both the aromas of burgers and equally loud music.

"Elena!" Bonnie high-fived her as she slid into the booth across her friend. "Caroline is on her way…there she is!"

Elena turned around and saw her beautiful blonde friend strode towards them.

"Getting a carpark here at peak hour is a nightmare!" Caroline scowled as she took a seat next to Bonnie. "We should find another place for lunch next time."

"But I like the burgers here," Bonnie said.

"Well, I like the milkshakes here too," Caroline said as she plucked the plastic laminated menu out from its position between the napkin holder and the little carousel that held the condiments. She surveyed the offerings. "There are still milkshakes, burgers and chips."

"This place certainly hasn't changed much, has it?" Elena commented. "The Grill looks just like it did when we used to come here back when we were in high school."

"Looks the same." Bonnie glanced around before turning her attention back to the two women. "I hope the burgers still taste delicious."

Elena exchanged a grin with Bonnie and leaned back on her seat. A young man with short curly hair approached them and took their orders.

After the waitress left the table, Caroline glanced around the crowded café. Apparently satisfied that no one could overhear, she leaned across the table and lowered her voice. "Okay. Spill."

"He has agreed."

"What?" Caroline exclaimed.

"He turned up to the office this morning," Bonnie explained. "I was kind of surprised when Enzo told me that Damon wants to be part of the project."

"I thought he would never work for Gilbert International," Caroline said and then she looked at Elena. "You bitch. You told me you didn't sleep with him."

"I didn't. I swear. This one is not about sex. It's about—" Elena cut herself off, then sucked in a deep breath. "Okay, so here was what happened." She gave her friends the rundown, and watched as their eyes got wider and wider.

"That fucking prick," Bonnie hissed.

"He is a jerk," Caroline added.

"I have already called him that," Elena admitted. "And a few other choice names." She sighed "He has trapped me because I can't let the resort go."

Elena squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to cry. Wanting to cry.

And not being able to manage even one tear.

Not even that, Elena thought. Even that one small thing—the release of tears—and she couldn't manage it.

"I don't know what to do," she said, opening her eyes. "I'm lost."

"No." Caroline's face was as fierce as her voice. "No, don't you dare look at it that way. The resort means a lot to you. And so, you are using him. You," she repeated, pointing her fingertip at her. "You are using him. Using him to get what you want."

"Hey, don't you forget your fiancé is Damon Salvatore's best friend," Bonnie said.

"Klaus is his best friend but it doesn't mean I agree with what Damon is doing," Caroline said. "We all know Damon can be so difficult."

Elena gave them a fleeting smile. "Damon is Damon."

"What do you want, Elena?" Bonnie asked.

"The resort," Elena said. "I want the resort. And I'm taking steps."

"Yeah, you are. Just like you took the idea to John in the first place. You are doing what you need to do to get the job done. Your job," Caroline said.

"Yeah," Elena said, liking the way Caroline thought. "But my job is going to keep me pretty much attached to Damon's hip. Tonight," she said. "And then tomorrow, too."

Caroline's brows lifted. "Expecting an all-nighter, are you?"

Elena licked her lips. "Considering Damon's terms, don't you think I should be?"

Caroline winced. "Sorry."

"It is okay. And that wasn't what I meant anyway." She paused for dramatic effect. "We are having after-lunch cocktails with Lockwood Corporation tomorrow afternoon."

"Seriously?"

"Richard Lockwood's secretary called just before lunch and Richard had already asked Damon. Just casual food and drinks," Bonnie explained. "Sort of like a welcome to the project thing by the mayor since Lockwood Corporation is one of the main investors of this project."

"Bonnie is right. It is exactly what I should have expected, because that is the nature of this job. I'm the project manager and our schedule is tight. We are going to be working together pretty intimately." Elena exhaled, because the truth was that when she factored in Damon's ultimatum, there weren't going to be many moments between now and the completion of the project when she was not right there at Damon's side.

"Working with Damon closely," Elena repeated. "I don't think I will look forward to it."

"You can do it, Elena," Bonnie said.

"I'm not so sure myself," Elena said.

Caroline pointed her finger at Elena again. "You can do it, babe. Like I said, you are the one using him. Your resort. Your project."

Elena looked at her friends. "Both of you think I can handle him?"

"Why not?" Bonnie challenged. "You can handle a multi-million-dollar family business. I can't see why you can't handle a man."

"Bonnie is right," Caroline added. "Damon Salvatore is only a man." She made a face. "With pretty blue eyes."

Elena laughed. She couldn't help it. "A man with pretty blue eyes."

"That's right," both of the women concurred.

She drew in a breath, then nodded. "Yeah," she said. "I think I can deal with a man with pretty blue eyes."

x x x

Bonnie and Caroline had offered drinks after work but Elena had declined their offer. She wanted some time alone by herself before meeting Damon.

Now, it was not even seven and Elena was already home, and as she got out of her SUV, she was glad of the extra time. Damon said he would arrive by eight. That gave her almost an hour to chill. And to maybe, hopefully, find some peace with her decision.

After she had her shower, she just stood there in her bedroom, a little at loose ends.

Damon.

He was going to be here shortly. And, yes, Elena might be armed with her plan to use him before he could use her—to treat him just like any of the guys she had meet all these years—but that didn't change the fact that in the end, he would have his hands on hers. His mouth on hers.

And oh, dear God, his cock inside her.

And the sick, horrible truth?

Despite the fact that he had forced her hand and tricked his way into her bed, Elena could not deny that she wanted him there. And she hated herself just a little for that.

Her phone rang, and she was grateful for the distraction. She smiled when she checked the caller ID and saw that it was her mother.

"Hey, mum. How's Hawaii?"

"You should be here with us," her mother said. "This place is absolutely beautiful. You will love it."

Elena smiled. "How's dad? Is he with you now?"

"He is in the shower. But we will go out for dinner tonight. There is a jazz band here at the hotel's bar tonight. We may have a drink there after dinner."

"Sounds like fun," Elena said, meaning it.

"Totally."

Elena was happy for her parents. After Grayson had suffered a massive heart attack five years ago, he had decided to spend more time with his wife. They had been travelling around in the last five years and Elena could tell they were really happy.

"Are you still at working, darling?" Her mother asked. "Don't work too hard."

"No, I'm at home," Elena said. "I'm meeting someone at eight."

"John told me about the whole architect snafu. And how you ended up going to the premiere to meet with Damon Salvatore. And persuade him …"

"Is that what John told you?" Elena asked, all the more mortified that her mother had landed scarily close to the truth.

There was a short silence at the other end.

"Elena," Miranda finally said. "I know it will be hard on you to work with Damon."

"I can deal with him," Elena lied. "It is business, nothing else."

"There are always better choices than Damon Salvatore."

"Mum, you don't know anything about architecture."

"True. There is no doubt Damon is very outstanding in what he does. But because of, uh your relationship with him in the past…"

"I'm capable of dealing with things here."

"You are sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure. mum, I'm not in high school anymore. Or even college, for that matter. I have been getting by out there in the big bad world all on my own for quite a while now."

There was another brief pause.

"You know the complications of having a Salvatore in your life."

Elena sighed. "I know."

"And he is all over the internet this morning. Everyone is talking about his newest "takeover target"."

"Who?"

"Damon Salvatore."

"No, the woman. Who is the newest "takeover target"?"

"Rose Amber."

"The actress?"

"Yeah."

Elena frowned. That was why the brunette on Damon's arm had looked so familiar. She remembered the way they had looked last night, and the way seeing their picture in the paper had felt like a knife twist.

She told herself she was not going to ask—and then of course she did exactly that. "What do you mean the newest "takeover target"?"

"Rumour is they are dating," Miranda said.

"Like, serious dating?" She cringed the second the words left her mouth. She was not with Damon—their absurd arrangement notwithstanding—and she did not intend to be with Damon in the future. So, who he dated was no business of hers. In all the rabid press coverage of his personal life, she had never seen a single piece of information that implied he lived other than alone. She felt unaccountably better now that she had remembered that.

"I don't think so," Miranda said, and Elena was uncomfortably but undeniably relieved. "To be honest, I think she wants the female lead in that movie they are doing about that Santa Fe house he built. You know, the one that had all the gossip after the family moved in. Sex and murder and suicide."

"I know the stories," Elena said. "And I knew that Hollywood's been buzzing about doing a feature film that centres on Damon. But I didn't know it was about that house." Honestly, she wasn't sure why it would be. The whole murder-suicide stuff happened after the project was wrapped and Damon was off to conquer the next mountain of stone and steel. "How the hell could I not have heard that?"

"Why would you?" Miranda asked, which was a good question considering she didn't know that she had followed every bit of Damon Salvatore's trivia over the last ten years.

"I don't think it is public knowledge," her mother continued. "I think they are keeping it pretty close to the vest. I guess Damon was not thrilled. I suspect he was the reason the woman went ape shit."

"The woman?" Her mother had completely lost her.

"In the story. The woman who murdered her sister and then killed herself. It was because of Damon. At least in the script, anyway. Not sure about real life."

Elena realized she had tightened her grip on her phone to the point that it was painful. "Oh, my god," she said, because she could think of nothing else. "Is it true? I mean, what does that mean, 'because of Damon'?"

"Not a clue. But there is another rumour that he beat the first screenwriter. Also unconfirmed," she said, and Elena couldn't help but think about Damon's temper. About the way his knuckles looked so raw today.

"But what I can confirm," Miranda continued, "is that he doesn't want the movie made at all. That I know is true because Alaric Saltzman represents him."

"It sounds like a huge mess," Elena said.

"It is." Another short silence hummed on the line. "That is the reason why I'm worried about you."

"Mum, listen, I really don't—"

"I don't want to intrude on your personal life, but I am your mother."

"I know." Elena sighed. "You got to do what a mum has got to do."

"I think you should assume that nothing has changed with Damon."

"What?"

"Your father and I warned you to stay away from him ten years ago because you could never handle his dark's dealing and secrets."

Elena winced. She had a feeling her mother was right. "I understand, mum."

"Stay away from him, Elena," Miranda said. "He is not the right man for you."

"Did dad know about this?"

"No."

"Please don't tell him, mum," Elena begged. "Trust me, I can deal with this."

"Elena…"

"I know what I'm doing. It is strictly business."

She was not sure how long she stood there with her head full of Damon, her mind spinning in a freakish mix of desire and question, angst and anticipation after she hung up the phone. But there was no way she was obsessing over this for another half an hour, much less another minute. Instead, she opened her wardrobe, trying to find something suitable to wear. If she wanted to win this battle, she had to prepare herself.

Before she could decide what to wear, she heard her doorbell rang. She was not even close to ready for tonight, and she jumped a little, only to sag in relief when she heard her servant Maria calling out, "There is a delivery for you, Miss Gilbert."

Elena opened her door and Maria passed her a box wrapped in plain white paper and topped with a bright red bow.

Under the bow was a tag—and the tag said, Wear Me. From Damon Salvatore.

When she opened the box and peel open the tissue paper, she smiled. There was a beautiful black lace corset dress. And then, she frowned. What was Damon thinking? What was this gift about?

It hit her. She realised exactly what he was trying to do. This was about revenge, after all. About Damon getting payback for what happened ten years ago.

She took a breath, then another, trying to calm down. He wanted to play dirty? Well, screw him.

He wanted to play games, then fine. They would play games.

Elena felt sad when she was changing. Because every moment of every hour she had spent with Damon was burned into her mind. She had clung tight to those memories for ten years, pulling them out to soothe her when she felt lost and alone.

For years, she had been silently grateful to Damon for at least giving her those memories. She had spun their time together into night-time fantasies and daytime dreams. She had made him a hero in her mind.

A knight, a protector. A man willing to make the sacrifice to keep her safe, and he had proven it by walking away when she told him to.

That Damon would never want revenge and he wouldn't try to break her. He was a man worthy of her fantasies.

And he was not the man who was coming to her door tonight.

She needed to remember that, Elena thought. She needed to keep it perfectly clear in her mind that the Damon of today was playing games. And if she wanted to have any chance of surviving this round unscathed, she needed to play, too. More than that, she needed to win.

x x x

Elena was in her bedroom when the doorbell rang promptly at eight.

She had been standing there, her body angled to put the lingerie to best effect as she looked at herself in the mirror.

She started to wear the dress, expecting another ring. An annoyed second try, because how dare she made him wait.

But the next sound was not a ring Instead, it was a sharp rap at her bedroom door, and Elena tensed because just that tiny deviation from the plan was enough to rattle her nerves.

Get it together, Elena. Just keep it together.

"One second," she called, and then she wore the dress slowly. Not because she wanted to make him wait—though that was an unexpected side benefit—but because her hands were shaking just enough to make the task more difficult than it should be.

She took one deep breath followed by another. And then she went to the door.

She stood tall as she pulled it open, because she wanted to look confident. Nonchalant. Like this was just any other date on any other day. But all of her good intentions went to hell the moment she saw him.

Damon was leaning casually against the door frame in khaki slacks and a faded denim button-down. His hair was slicked back from his face, and his eyes were hidden behind aviator style glasses. He hadn't shaved and Elena couldn't help the way her fingers itch to stroke the stubble that made him look even more masculine and delicious.

Without a word, he took off the glasses to reveal eyes that were filled with so much wicked promise it made her aware of how very little she wore beneath this dress.

It was not the reaction Elena wanted—tonight, he was supposed to melt for her, not the other way around. And so, she cocked her head and kept her face blank, the kind of expression she had relied on to get her through so many of the business meetings in the past few years.

"Maria should ask you to wait in the living room."

"I prefer to wait for you here," he said, then stepped past her into her room. As he did, their hands brushed, and although Elena didn't want to feel anything, there was no denying the sparks that this man generated in her. She told herself that was okay. She could use that. She could let her own attraction to him fuel her performance.

And she could let his attraction to her cement his fall.

"The dress looks lovely on you," Damon said, examining her with a look so incendiary it was a wonder her blood didn't boil. "But I knew it would. Black always looks good on you. Sexy and seductive. You probably know that already, right?"

Elena leaned against the wall beside the door, feeling a bit trapped as he stood in front of her, just close enough to be inside her personal space. Just close enough for her to catch his scent.

"Don't tell me you have forgotten how sexy and seductive you are." His words were husky, and as he reached out, she drew in a breath, unprepared for his touch. But it was not her he was reaching for, and when she realized that all he was doing was closing the door, she released a shaky breath—and cursed the wave of disappointment that crashes over her.

"I haven't," he continued, apparently unconcerned that she had yet to say a word. "When we were together, you were always seductive and you knew you were sexy like hell. You knew how to fill my thoughts. You made me hot. You made me need. Open your eyes," he demanded, and she did, surprised to realize that she had shut them in the first place.

He was right there, so close Elena could feel his heat. So near that all she would have to do was lean slightly forward to feel him warm and hard against her.

Elena did the opposite, leaning back, her palms flat against the wall behind her as she desperately wished that she could sink into the wall and simply disappear.

"Tell me you remember, princess. Tell me you remember how it felt."

Elena wanted to stay silent—to prove to him that even though he thought that he took control the moment he walked through her doorway, it wasn't true.

Except, of course, it was. She might have hoped to keep the upper hand, but she should have known better. She knew the man, didn't she? And she knew herself, too.

"Tell me," he repeated.

She tilted her head back and met his eyes. And she gave him the answer he was looking for. "Yes. I remember. And I remember you wanted me."

"I did. I do." His smile was thin and cunning and just a little bit wicked. "Looks like I'm about to get what I want." As gently as a summer breeze, he brushed his fingertip over the swell of her breast.

Elena drew in a breath, determined to fight against the heat that even so simple a touch was fuelling in me.

"I think you are going to get what you want too, princess."

"I want the resort, Damon." She met his eyes, making sure that hers showed nothing but cold calculation. "The resort. And like you, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get exactly what I want."

As far as Elena could tell, her words didn't faze him at all. If anything, he seemed amused. "It is never wise to tease a dragon, princess."

"Stop calling me that."

Damon cocked his head, as if considering. "My rules," he said. "Or had you forgotten already?"

"Dammit, Damon." Elena didn't know why the nickname bothered her when his touch did not. She hated being called princess. She was not a weak little girl needing to be rescued.

She pushed away from the wall and then pushed past him, away from this corner in which he had trapped her and where her face and body revealed far too much.

Elena hurried downstairs and stopped by the front door. She had to get out, not trapped in here with a man she could not deny she wanted. A man whose mere presence made her just a little bit crazy even though she needed to hang on tight to cold rationality.

She heard his footsteps behind her and she was expecting it when he placed his hand on her shoulder. Even so, she closed her eyes as if in defence against the powerful surge of longing that cut through her when he bent his head and kissed the back of her neck.

"Don't," Elena whispered.

"Don't? I believe the terms of my offer were clear." Damon took a step back and his eyes met hers. "So, you tell me. Do we have a deal? Or you want to tell your investors that I'm not your guy, after all?"

"Dammit, Damon. Why are you doing this?"

"You know why."

She shook her head, though that was a lie. Because she did know. It was retribution. It was punishment.

"No? Well then, let me tell you. I'm doing this because I want you to remember." His lips brushed her neck again, then moved up to dance lightly upon the curve of her ear, making her trembled with sensual longing.

"I'm doing this because I want you to understand what you gave up." His hands stroke her shoulders until he reaches the bare skin of her arms. He continued, finally finding her hands and twining his fingers with hers.

"I want you to know the future that you threw away, princess," he said, as he lifted their joined hands to cup them over her breasts.

Elena stiffened, her body a riot of emotions and sensations. She wanted to lash out against him—to tell him to go to hell, because she damn well knew what she had given up. She knew it as well as she knew that she had to. And at the same time, she wanted to melt into him. To let his touch take her all the places that she had imagined over the last ten years. To let him have her so fully and completely.

But that, of course, was impossible.

Most of all, Elena wanted to turn in his arms and kiss him. She wanted the Damon she once had, not the one who stood here today. Not the one who saw only the woman who hurt him, and not the woman who could have fallen in love with him.

And so, Elena did nothing. She just stood there, trying hard to ignore the sensation of her hands upon her body—of his hands upon her own. Trying to breathe. Trying to get centred.

And trying desperately to remember that it had been her plan all along to take charge of this night, and wondering how things could have turned so horribly sideways.

Finally, she pushed her hands back down to herd sides, then force herself to turn around even though he didn't step back. He was so close that their bodies were brushing, and she had to tilt her head back in order to see his face.

"That really is what this is about, isn't it? You just want to punish me."

"Hell yes," he said. "And I think that is what you want, too."

"Excuse me?"

"Maybe you feel guilty about ending it the way you did. Maybe that is why you have agreed to my terms."

"I haven't agreed to anything. You ambushed me."

For a moment, Elena thought she saw compassion in his eyes. Then they went cold again. Good. She wanted them to be ice. She wanted them to freeze her. She didn't want to melt for this man. She didn't want to feel the heat. She didn't want to succumb to the guilt that he was so damn right about.

"I see right through you, princess," he finally said. "And you can play games all you want, but you and I both know that you are fighting. Well, guess what? I am, too. And I'm not accustomed to losing."

Damon reached out and ever so slowly unzipped the dress.

"What are you doing?"

"What you are letting me do."

"I—"

"You can stop me, princess. Just say the word."

Elena licked her lips, but she did not move and she did not protest. She told herself that she could not back down—she could not give up the resort.

But that wasn't the only truth, and she knew it as well as he did

The truth was she wanted this, too. And since she couldn't willingly give it, then she would acquiesce to letting him take it.

"Good girl," he said, as he unzipped her dress to reveal the black lace of the demi-cup bra, the swell of her breasts, and her very erect, very sensitive, nipples.

"Like I said," he murmured, then bent close to take her nipple between his lips. He sucked, drawing it in, then grazing the tender flesh with his teeth and sending coils of red-hot desire spinning though her to throb with violent intensity between her legs. "You want this as much as I do."

"You bastard," she said, and Damon only laughed.

"Princess, you don't even know the half of it."

He returned his mouth to her breast, his lips skimming her cleavage as he moved to find her other nipple. "You taste so good," he murmured, his lips never leaving her skin.

Oh, god.

His teeth nipped her, and Elena arched in pleasure, understanding that this was not just a sensual tease but a silent demand.

She kept her back to the patio door, because what he was doing to her breasts was making her crazy, and she was afraid that if she didn't have that support her legs would simply give out.

When Damon pulled back, removing his mouth from her breast, she had to bite back a whimper of protest.

"Don't fight it, princess," he said. "I see it on your face, in the flush of your skin. Even in your eyes, that you are trying to keep so cool and hard. Don't you know that I see what you want? That I feel what you need?"

Her traitorous body ached with the desire for him to touch her, and she could only stand there frozen, unable and unwilling to give in to his games.

Elena shook her head. "Damon. No."

His jaw tightened. "I want the truth, Elena."

Her name sounded soft on his lips, and she sagged a bit, losing some of her defiance. "The truth is we are not meant to be."

"I don't believe you," he said with more than a little irony in his voice. "You wanted me ten years ago."

"I was eighteen." She shrugged, because there really was no more to say.

"Why?"

"Does it matter?" Elena snapped.

"Why?" he asked again, this time more gently.

"I told you why! We are not meant to be."

It was a lie. But she couldn't tell that to Damon.

Her father had been on the fast track in the political world. It was obvious even back then that he had the charisma, the glibness and the looks required to grab and hold the media's and the public's attention. It was clear that, barring some major disaster, he would go far, maybe all the way to Washington, D.C. But to everyone's surprise, he had pulled out of the race because of ubiquitous personal reasons.

Elena knew the reason. Politics were expensive. All her father required was money. Lots of it. Nobody would have guessed Grayson would have scammed everyone. Together with Logan Fell and Richard Lockwood, these three men had tried to put up a very complicated pyramid scheme. God only knew how they intended to pull it off.

They were so close but things blew up in their face. Grayson was blackmailed and he knew he could not keep it all hushed up. There wasn't any other viable option. It was obvious that Grayson was going down and he knew the campaign was finished, so he was forced to quit the race.

To complicate matters, there were rumours that Giuseppe Salvatore and Mikael Mikaelson were behind the blackmail, threatening Grayson to quit the race. They did not want Grayson to win but his opponent, Pastor Young who would always stand by their side.

Grayson was furious and had demanded Elena to end her relationship with Damon. She couldn't explain the reason to him. She knew him well. Damon would not let it go and find out the truth. She couldn't risk exposing her father's scam. Her father would end up in jail and she couldn't take the chance.

For a moment, Damon said nothing, he simply looked at her. Then he picked her dress up and handed it to her. "Put it on."

"But—" Elena was not sure why she was protesting, she only knew that she was confused. Damon should be furious. But he wasn't.

"It is well after eight," he said, though his voice sounded tired enough that it could be after midnight. "I think it is time I take you to dinner."

x x x

When they had arrived at the restaurant, Elena hadn't known what to expect. Damon's mood had shifted in her house, going from heated demand to practiced politeness, as if they were a couple out on a first date, each being slightly careful around the other.

His choice of restaurant had surprised her as well. They had never gone out for sushi in the past, but she had mentioned once that it was her favourite food. She considered asking if he had come here on purpose, but the truth was she wanted to believe it had been intentional, and didn't want to know if coming here had been little more than a coincidence.

Damon had insisted that they sat next to each other, and so they had both taken a coloured cushion on the side of the table facing the sliding door. Elena kept anticipating his touch, and yet there was none. Instead, he was practiced politeness, asking her about what she had done in the past ten years and how she came to be the project manager for The Resort at Dunham Lake.

And the entire time Elena was going a little bit nuts. He wasn't touching her at all. He was a perfect gentleman. This was, for all intents and purposes, a perfectly lovely date.

It was what she had told herself she wanted—to have Damon back off from his ridiculous game. To simply work with him and not get her head and her emotions all twisted up.

And yet…

And yet there she was, her body primed, her heart skittering with every movement and casual brush of his hand as she wondered if, maybe, he was finally going to touch her.

Nor did it help that she was certain that Damon was intentionally tormenting her. And yet she had no proof whatsoever. His conversation was smooth, his manner polite.

And even so, he was slowly and methodically driving her crazy.

"So, you got the idea for the resort from nothing more than a newspaper article?" he asked.

Elena didn't remember answering, but she must have, because she remembered distinctly that he put his hand on her thigh and started unzipping her dress while she was telling him about the Dunham Lake.

She froze, the words stumbling over her tongue. She had the ridiculous urge to scoot away, but damn, hadn't she been craving this very thing, despite all her good sense and judgement?

She knew she had to fight it. To hide it.

And goddamn him, Elena couldn't deny the fact that the secret pleasure made the sensation of his finger playing with her much more incredible.

"Interesting," Damon urged now as his finger stroke small circles on her clit, making her head spin and her thoughts scatter.

"Damon, I…"

"Tell me," he repeated, and so she did. She told him about the research she did on Dunham Lake and how she acquired the land.

"You sound like a woman who gets what she wants," Damon said.

"I'm."

"So am I," Damon whispered as he thrust three fingers inside her, touching her with his hand, and she writhed against the motion, wanting him to go deeper, trying to feel the brush of his skin against her clit as her thoughts continued to spin and her mind lost focus.

"What is it you want?" Elena gasped, as spirals of pleasure seem to burst around her.

"You," he said. "At my mercy."

And with those four simple words, he withdrew his hand and her pleasure. "I think," he said casually, "that it is time to eat."

Elena was frustrated and antsy and thoroughly pissed off during the meal. He had taken her right to the precipice, then left her dangling, and the more she thought about it, the more she realized that the meal—though it had all her favourite rolls and sashimi—held very little appeal.

There was instead something she wanted much, much more, and she put down her chopsticks and slid her left hand under the table to rest upon his thigh. He glanced sideways at her, but didn't protest. Not even when she slowly eased her hand up, higher and higher until she found his cock, hard and thick beneath his slacks.

Elena smiled, once again feeling powerful and in control as she slowly stroke him, then eased her fingers up to search for his zipper.

"Stop."

His voice was low and simple and he did not look at her.

She found the zipper pull and started to ease it down. "What if I don't want to stop?"

"Then don't." Damon turned now and looked straight at her. There was heat in his expression, and amusement as well. "That is what free will is all about."

"Exactly," she said, happy to have finally turned the tables.

"But if you don't stop, I will."

Elena halted her effort to carefully unzip him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it is up to you. Do you want me to touch you? Stroke you, make you come?"

She did not answer, but she had also stopped moving.

"Do you want pleasure, Elena? Or do you want the more hollow satisfaction of thinking that somehow you have managed to best me, when we both know in the end I will have you naked and open to me, limp and sated. And the more you come in my arms, the sweeter my victory will be."

She swallowed, not entirely certain she could form words right then, even if she had to.

"Surrender, princess, and surrender to me completely. Don't stop, and I will be the only one who gets off for a very, very long time."

Elena believed him. And while she wished she had the strength to follow through and make him come—to sacrifice her own pleasure for the sake of a victory—she just couldn't do it.

She pulled her hand away.

"Good choice," he said, and there was no denying both the heat and the victory in his voice. "I promise, sweetheart, that you won't regret it."

He nodded at the table and she realized that they had finished the meal. "Dessert?"

Elena shook her head.

"No? I want dessert. I just don't want it here." He brushed his finger over her lower lip. "A moment," he said, then stood. He went to the door, slid it open, then signalled for the check.

As he was returning to the table, her phone rang.

"Who's calling?"

She rummaged her my phone. "My mother."

Elena glanced down at the screen and felt the blood drain from her face as she read the text message.

Hey, darling. Your dad is worried about you. We are coming home in three days. Miss you. See you soon.

"Something wrong?"

She realized that she had been staring at the phone for a hell of a lot longer than it took to read one text message.

"I—no. Not a thing. Just give me a sec." She managed a smile as she typed out a response, but was frustrated to see that her hands are shaking.

She forced herself to look up at him, then flashed as bright a smile as she could manage. "So, check all taken care of?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "We can go."

She smiled, trying her best to look normal, and followed him out of the restaurant.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Elena turned to look at him, surprised. "I didn't think that conversation was part of tonight's program." Her words came out harsher than she meant, and she immediately regretted them. Despite everything, there was genuine concern in his voice, she truly didn't mean to be a bitch.

"I'm sorry," she said. "And no. I would rather not talk about it. Really," she added, because the expression on his face suggested that he was going to argue.

Damon nodded reluctantly, and they continued walking in silence. But the odd thing was that she felt a bit better. The night was cool and clear, the air crisped and sweet-smelling. And despite the fact that she hurt him so deeply, the man at her side still cared about her. At least a little.

It was enough to sweep away her anger. And, frankly, tonight she had enough on her mind with Damon. She didn't need her family in her head, too.

Elena frowned as they passed the valet stand. "Aren't you getting your car?"

"Not just yet," Damon said as a liveried doorman greeted them. With Damon's hand pressing gently against the small of her back, they entered the stunning lobby of Mystic Falls Hotel.

"I love this hotel," she said. "I have always liked this hotel."

"I'm glad you like it," Damon says. "I thought we would have a drink here."

"Really?" She looked around for the lobby bar.

"No. Not in the bar." He headed toward the registration counter, and she followed, a little bit curious—and a little bit certain that she knew exactly where this was going.

"Damon Salvatore," he told the girl. "I booked a room this afternoon."

"Of course, Mr. Salvatore." She handed him his key. "Is there anything else you need?"

"I spoke with the sommelier earlier as well. I would like a bottle of the Petrus Pomerol 1998 sent up to the room. Two glasses. And caviar, please."

Her eyes have gone a little wide, and Elena understood why. Her parents had ordered five bottles of that very vintage last Christmas to send as gifts to some of Gilbert International most important clients. Even with her father's wholesale sources, the bottles sold for over a grand each.

"Of course, Mr. Salvatore," she said, apparently remembering herself. "I will have that sent right up."

Up turns out to be the penthouse, and Elena had to admit that even after she had been travelling a bit since she had become the CEO, she had never stayed in such highbrow accommodations. She knew she should play it cool, but she had to confess that she goggled a bit. So much, in fact, that she was still standing near the ornate double doors when the room service waiter knocked. She scrambled out of his way as he wheeled in a small table with the wine, two glasses, and a spectacular selection of caviar. Damon lets the waiter uncorked the wine, but declined his offer to pour. And as soon as the man was gone from the room, he crooked his finger at her.

"Come," he said, and Elena couldn't help but think about how many meanings that simple word had.

"You certainly have a way to impress a woman," She said. "My favourite dinner. A penthouse suite. Caviar. And one of the most expensive bottles of wine in the history of the universe."

"I don't know that it's quite that pricey."

She merely looked dubious.

"Like I said, princess. I want you to remember everything you gave up."

"Dammit, Damon…" She cut off her words.

"No. I don't want to hear that you had to. I don't want to hear that you are sorry."

"No?" She heard the exasperation in her voice. "Then what the hell do you want?"

"I thought I was clear," he said as he poured a glass of wine and strode towards her. He paused just inches away and handed her the wine. She took a sip, barely even noticing the incredible palate. She was too intent on watching Damon to notice something as unimportant as wine.

He was looking at her up and down with the kind of intensity designed to make a woman melt, and it was clear from his expression that while he was hungry, it was not for caviar.

"I want to take you to the edge and back," he said as he unzipped dress. She stood perfectly still as he peeled it off her body. "I want to watch you lose control," he continued, and he unfastened her bra and slowly removed it. "I want to make you come," he said as he eased her out of her shoes and stockings, then unhooked the garter and let it fall to the floor. "And, princess," he added as he hooked his finger in the band of the thong and pulled so hard the elastic snaps, making her flinch, although she did not otherwise move. "I want to make you scream."

He leaned in and kissed her, soft and sweet, like a man seeking sanctuary, and in sharp contrast to the brutality of his words and the way he stripped her from the last of my clothes. "But first things first."

Elena stood there, her mouth tingling from his kiss, not entirely certain what just happened. One moment she was standing there, facing a slow seduction with caviar and wine. The next, she was naked and hot and more turned on than she wanted to be by the wildness of his words.

"With me," he said, then led her into the gorgeously appointed bedroom. It was done in beige and brown, with some cream thrown in, and looked both comfortable and elegant.

Damon nodded towards the bed, and she sat on the edge. He looked at her a moment, as if considering, and though she tried to discern his thoughts, she could not read his face.

He moved to the window and laid his hand flat on the glass. She saw his eyes in the reflection, and she knew that he was looking at her. "I need you to tell me something."

Elena was relieved by his words since now she would perhaps have some clue as to what was going on in his head. "Sure," she said. "Anything."

"Are you still sleeping with him?"

She had been starting to stand, using her arms to help lever her off the foot of the bed. They went limp, and she fell back onto the mattress. She was more confused than angry, and her reply of "Who?" sounded lost and anaemic even to her ears.

He turned his back to the window, his blue eyes now focused intently on her. "Matt Donovan," he said, as if they were discussing the weather. "So, I want to know if you are still sleeping with him."

Now anger launched her to her feet. "Matt? Are you insane? We broke up…"

"You left me." Gone was the calm tone, the bland expression. He was wild now, ferocious as he strode the short distance across the room to stand in front of her.

His anger was no match for hers, though, and their joined fury seemed to fill the room, making the air buzz and pop. All they needed was a lit match, and they would both go up in flames. "Ten years ago, you left me so you could go back to Matt Donovan."

Without thinking, Elena lashed out, slapping him hard across his left cheek. She hoped it hurt. She hoped it brought him to his knees.

Damon grabbed her upper arms, tight enough to bruise, and yanked her towards him. She could see the wildness in him, could feel the tempest building between them. For a moment, she was not sure if he was going to hit her or kiss her, and he better not goddamn did either, because she was as close to losing it right now as he was.

She did nothing, though; she knew better than to poke a wounded animal. And after a moment, he pushed her away. "Damn."

She backed off, breathing hard. She leaned against the bed as she watched him pace the room. Once, twice, until he stopped at the window again. Until he lashed out once more, the force of his hand against the glass making the images in the window shimmer, as if the fury of this one man had upset the balance of the world.

Slowly, very slowly, she walked towards him. She paused behind him, close enough to reach out and touch him, although she did not. "I told you before—I left because I had to."

"You left me. I thought you went straight back into Donovan's arms."

"No. I didn't leave you for Matt, and I swear on my life that I have not slept with him since I broke up with him."

He pulled her to him, the motion so unexpected that she gasped, and as she did, he closed his mouth over hers. The kiss was wild and hard and almost painful. Teeth clashing, mouths burning. It was a claiming, not a kiss. A battle, not a seduction. And when he backed away, Elena was breathing hard, a little bit aroused and a lot lost.

"Damon…"

"Why did you leave me?"

She swallowed. "I have my reasons."

"What reasons?"

She turned away from him, unable to look at him without crying. "Don't ask. Please don't ask."

Damon turned her to face him. "You still care about me, Elena. You still want me. Am I right?"

But she didn't answer. Instead, she pulled her arm free and picked up the dress, ignoring the ripped underwear and not bothering with the bra. "It is late. I need to go."

"You didn't answer my question."

She felt the heat rise in her face. Damn . "I don't owe you any answers."

"Ah. So, I'm right."

She shimmied into her dress without saying a word before retrieving her shoes and walking towards the door. She had to leave right now.

"You still have feelings for me."

She put out her hand and closed her fingers around the doorknob. "Take me home, Damon."

"Fine." He walked past her and opened the door.

The ride back to her house was the longest trip of Elena's life. But she was thankful that Damon hadn't said much.

Damon wheeled the Camaro with grim intent, eyes locked on the road, He wasn't happy with the fact that Elena had refused to tell him the reasons why she had ended their relationship. They would talk more, Damon vowed. He had promised himself that he would take up where they left off. They had too much unfinished business between them. Like the way she flamed in his arms just now, for starters. And the dryness in his throat when he saw her in the black lace corset dress tonight. He wanted to hear her laughter and watch her skin flush with desire again when they made love. Which they would, he swore.

His foot pressed down on the accelerator.