Chapter 107 'Work'
A firm chest.
Strong arms.
Damien.
But instead, her hand brushed against cool, untouched sheets. Jasmine frowned slightly in her sleep and shifted again, reaching farther across the mattress.
Still nothing.
Her eyes slowly opened. For a moment she simply lay there, staring at the empty space beside her.
The indentation in the pillow was faint, almost nonexistent.
The covers were barely disturbed.
She blinked once, confusion settling over her features. “Damien…?” she murmured groggily.
No answer.
Jasmine pushed herself upright, the blanket sliding down around her waist as she looked around the quiet bedroom.
The room was empty.
Her brows knitted together as she tried to piece together the memory of the night before.
She remembered falling asleep waiting for him.
Then…
Her lips parted slightly.
She remembered him.
Sitting beside her.
Touching her face.
Kissing her temple.
Had that actually happened?
Or had she been dreaming?
Jasmine rubbed her eyes lightly, still half lost in sleep. “Maybe I imagined it…” she muttered softly to herself.
With a small sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Damien’s oversized shirt—the one she had fallen asleep in—hung loosely around her thighs as she stretched.
The cool marble floor met her bare feet as she padded toward the bathroom.
The door was closed.
Jasmine knocked twice gently.
“Damien?”
Silence.
She waited a moment before pushing the door open. The bathroom was empty, the lights were off, the shower dry.
Her confusion deepened. “Okay…” she murmured, stepping back into the bedroom. She ran a hand through her slightly messy hair before walking toward the hallway.
There was one more place he might be.
Damien’s office.The door was slightly ajar when she reached it. Jasmine pushed it open carefully.
And there he was.
Damien Blackwood—one of the most powerful men in New York—was sprawled awkwardly across the dark wood desk like someone who had simply collapsed there.
His suit jacket had been discarded over the back of the chair. His blue t-shirt was wrinkled.
One arm was folded beneath his head while the other rested loosely across the desk.
His dark hair had become a complete bird’s nest overnight, strands sticking out in every direction.
His lips were slightly parted.
Eyes closed.
Completely asleep.
Jasmine blinked. Then a soft scoff escaped her lips, followed by a small amused smile. “Did he really sleep here?” she whispered.
The sight was oddly adorable.
This intimidating man—who could command boardrooms and terrify competitors—had apparently fallen asleep like a college student pulling an all-nighter.
Quietly, Jasmine stepped into the office.
Her footsteps were light against the wooden floor as she walked around the desk.
Up close, she could see the faint crease between his brows even in sleep. One side of his face rested against the back of his hand, his cheek slightly squished from the position. Jasmine leaned forward, resting one hand lightly on the desk as she studied him.
God, he looked exhausted.
But also… ridiculously handsome.
She bit her lip as a giggle slipped out of her.
“Your hair is a disaster,” she whispered fondly.
Carefully, she reached forward and used her fingers to brush some of the messy strands away from his face. His hair was soft beneath her touch. Once the strands were moved aside, Jasmine’s hand lingered.
Her thumb slowly came up to rest against his cheek. She gently caressed the warm skin there.
“Damien…” she murmured softly.
Her thumb brushed across his cheek again.
Slow.
Tender.
His brows twitched slightly.
Then he stirred.
A faint groan left him as his eyes slowly blinked open. For a second his gaze was unfocused, still caught somewhere between sleep and reality.
Then he saw her.
Jasmine.
Leaning beside him.
Smiling softly.
His eyes widened slightly.
“Jasmine…” He pushed himself upright quickly, wincing as the sudden movement sent a sharp ache through his neck. “I—” he rubbed his face, trying to shake off the sleep. “I’m sorry.”
His voice was rough from exhaustion. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.”
Jasmine straightened, leaning lightly against the edge of the desk with her arms crossed.
“It’s fine,” she said with a small shrug.
Her smile was easy.
“You had a lot of work to do.”
The words made guilt twist sharply in Damien’s chest.
Work.
If only she knew.
He looked away briefly, unable to meet her eyes.
“Yeah,” he muttered quietly. “Work.”
As he shifted again, a sudden throb pulsed through his temple. Damien winced slightly, pressing his fingers against the side of his head. His neck protested too, stiff from sleeping in such an awkward position.
Jasmine immediately noticed.
“Headache?” she asked gently.
“And neck,” he admitted.
“Sleeping on desks will do that.”
She pushed herself off the desk and stepped closer. “Well,” she said lightly, rolling up the sleeves of the shirt she was wearing. “I can help with that.”
Damien looked up.
“With what?”
“Your neck,” she said, gesturing behind him. “Sit back.”
There was a moment of hesitation.
Then Damien turned the chair slightly and leaned back. “Alright,” he said quietly.
“And thank you.” Jasmine moved behind him, placing her hands gently on his shoulders.
Her fingers pressed softly into the tense muscles at the base of his neck.
Damien let out a slow breath as the tension began to ease beneath her touch.
JASMINE
Running my fingers slowly through his hair, I smiled to myself, savoring the soft, silky feel of the dark strands slipping between my fingers.
Damon slept peacefully in my arms.
His head rested heavily against my chest, nestled comfortably against my breasts as though he had always belonged there. His long body stretched out between my legs, his arm wrapped firmly around my waist even in sleep, holding me close like he feared I might disappear if he loosened his grip.
I leaned back against the mountain of pillows propped behind my upper back, the arrangement allowing me to see the television clearly across the room. The movie played quietly, soft light flickering across the bedroom walls, but my attention barely remained on it.