by J. Kenner
Knowing the force of Damien’s will, I’m certain he hadn’t tried too hard, but that was fine with me. We compromised by adding parenting to the mix, explaining to Lara, a very precocious four-year-old, that everybody is entitled to privacy, and that she and her sister aren’t allowed in our room without knocking first. With the exception of a couple of nightmares, she’s never broken the rule. And when she shared the bed with us during those horrible days of Anne’s kidnapping, we of course deferred to modesty and pajamas.
Now, our bossy little girl is instilling the family rule in her little sister, making sure that Anne, now two, is completely with the program. Frankly, it’s both hysterical and adorable. Though I do sometimes wonder when Anne will get to be the bossy one.
As it stands, Anne only lords over Sunshine. Who, thankfully, adores the children and doesn’t scratch and yowl when either of the girls tries to dress her up for tea parties or enlist her in wild games of chase. Instead, she suffers quietly until she’s reached her limit, then goes and hides under the sofa where little arms can’t reach her.
“Good, kitty,” I say now, my words earning a twitch of her whiskers as she undoubtedly wonders what she did to earn such praise. “Let’s go find you something fishy for breakfast.”
Damien was in the process of building this house when we met, and the primary kitchen was supposed to be the one on the first floor. It’s a huge set-up, complete with commercial-grade everything. A Disneyland for culinary types.
In other words, it’s incredible. And we don’t use it at all.
Instead, the real “primary” kitchen is the small and cozy set-up off the third floor open area, just a few short steps from the hall that leads to both the master bedroom and the room that the girls share. This kitchen was meant to be the finishing and serving area for caterers. But despite the limits on its intended use, it’s a fully functional kitchen, complete with a round table that is plenty large enough for a family of four. Five, counting Gregory, who’s been with Damien longer than I have. Officially, Gregory is a combination butler and valet. But he’s more like a house manager and, more recently, he’s added the job of nanny to his portfolio.
Sunshine scratches at the pantry door, and I hurry to catch up, then refill her kibble bowl. She sniffs it, then proceeds to twine through my legs until I’ve opened a can of wet food and put it down next to the apparently subpar dry choice.
Immediately, she ceases loving on me, and I’m released to turn to the second-most important task of the morning: coffee.
Finally set with a steaming cup of black coffee in my hand, I make my way to the girls’ room. Originally intended as a small guest suite, it is accessed from the hallway, and its longest wall abuts the master bedroom’s extremely huge walk-in closet, providing some privacy despite the close proximity.
I pause in the doorway, not terribly surprised when I see that the room’s only occupants are of the stuffed animal variety. I wonder if Damien has taken them down to the beach, or possibly to the tennis court so the girls can chase balls as he gets in a quick workout.
I consider getting my phone from the bedside table and simply calling him, but there’s something so wonderfully sweet about knowing that he’s with his daughters that I don’t want to interrupt.
Instead, I head to the stairs, intending to check the first floor playroom. If I don’t find them there, I’ll go out to the courts. If that doesn’t turn up a sign of my family, I’ll get my phone and map them. Maybe I’ll see that they’ve gone to Upper Crust, and will soon be returning with some sort of wonderfully delicious flaky pastry. A yummy Saturday breakfast before we head out to spend the day with family and friends.
A girl can hope.
But thoughts of melt-in-your mouth goodness are erased as I reach the first floor landing. I’m still yards away from the playroom’s entrance, but I can hear Lara’s high-pitched declaration clear enough, “More glitter, Daddy. Fairies need lots and lots and lots of glitter.”
“Me glitter!” Anne’s still baby-ish voice is surprisingly strong, and I smile as I pick up speed, my bare feet quiet on the cool tile floor.
I round the corner and pause in front of the open double doors of the huge bonus room that now serves as the girls’ playroom. Pure joy courses through me, so fresh and bold it’s a miracle the power of it doesn’t cause the three heads in the room to turn and look my direction.
As if to hold in my own delight, I press my hand over my mouth as I watch Damien, his dark head topped with a Santa hat, drizzle glue onto the single filmy wing I’d managed to construct for Lara.
I’m a lot of things, but crafty isn’t one of them. I’d intended to fight it out with the wire and material to make wing number two before adding the sparkles, but apparently a little girl with a daddy wrapped around her finger had other ideas.
I try to keep my lips pressed together, determined not to make a sound, but so full of joy that a bubble of delicious laughter manages to escape.
Anne squeals and scampers toward me, moving remarkably fast on her chubby toddler legs.
Lara, tall and wiry for her age, beams as she jumps up and down. “Daddy’s making my wings sparkle! Mama, come see, come see.”
“I do see,” I tell her, scooping up Anne and breathing in her baby-scent as Damien stands up then turns to look at me. His Santa hat sits at an angle on his raven-dark hair, and he holds his hands out to his sides, careful not to get glitter and glue on his favorite faded jeans.
I meet those amazing eyes, so uniquely his, and then I melt a little as his lips curve in that familiar, enigmatic grin. “Good morning, Ms. Fairchild,” he says.
“Mrs. Stark,” I counter, feeling the smile tug at my lips. I deposit Anne back on the ground and move toward him. A moment later, my arms are around his waist and my head is tilted back to look up him, so vibrant and perfect and mine.
Things haven’t always been easy, especially this time of year. Between my mother and Damien’s father, who would blame us if we ran screaming from the holidays? But we’ve carved our own way. Made our own world. And now, in the arms of my sparkle-covered husband, I can’t help but think that this moment is just about perfect.
At least until I hear Lara’s sharp cry of, “Nooooo,” followed by Anne’s shrill scream. All underscored by the clatter of bottles and jars and boxes tumbling to the ground along with the now-toppled table that was holding them.
Chapter 2
“Mamamamama! Anne smooshed my wings! She smooshed them!”
Damien winced as his eldest daughter’s shrill cry pierced his eardrum.
“She didn’t mean to, sweetie,” Nikki said, already at the table, her arms reaching out to embrace two very distressed little girls. “She grabbed the tablecloth, but she didn’t know what would happen.”
“But she ruined them.” Lara blinked, clearly trying to hold back tears. Anne made no such attempt. Her little cheeks had turned red, and big crocodile tears spilled down them as she wailed.
“Hush, baby,” Nikki cooed even as she stroked Lara’s hair. Both girls calmed visibly, and Damien breathed in deep, his chest tight. Not out of annoyance from the accident or irritation from the children’s squeals. No, what he felt was pure adoration and respect.
He’d never doubted that Nikki would make a good mother. Maybe someone else would fear that with the complete lack of a role model she’d grown up with, Nikki would have been clueless. But Damien hadn’t doubted. And now his heart filled simply from watching the way she soothed their daughters.
He started to step forward in assistance, but Nikki’s next words both stopped and amused him. “Daddy can fix the wings,” she said. “You know how good Daddy is at fixing things.”
“Not this.” With her little chin shaking, Lara picked up the now-bent wing, which also happened to be covered in glue, bits of craft detritus, and far too much glitter. “You can’t, can you?” She looked up, pulling him into the conversation.
“Hmm.” He eased forward, crouching down in front of
his daughter. “Well, you know, I think you’re right. I don’t think I can.”
“See?” Lara scowled at her mother, her expression so like a vindicated adult that Damien almost laughed. And from the twitch at Nikki’s lips, he assumed she was fighting mirth as well.
“I stand corrected,” Nikki said, her voice high-pitched with amusement. “I truly thought Daddy could do anything.”
“Hmm. Well, what I can do,” he said as he transferred the little girl into his arms, “is make you an even better pair of wings.”
“But that one was the bestest.”
He shook his head. “That was a prototype.”
She blinked at him.
“A tester. Like when you practice writing your alphabet. The more you practice, the better you get.”
“Oh.”
“So tonight, we’ll make you new wings. And the frame will be shaped better and we’ll make sure the glitter goes on just how you want it.”
“And her?” Lara pointed an accusing finger at Anne, who promptly shoved her thumb into her mouth.
He glanced at Nikki. Ideas?
Her answering grin told him she had a plan. “You know Anne loves to be around you and Daddy. So why don’t you think of a way to keep her entertained so she doesn’t accidentally get in the way. Maybe with her own glitter and glue?”
Lara’s lips pursed, her forehead creased with concentration. “I’ll give her custrom paper. So she can make glitter stars.”
“Construction,” Nikki corrected. “And that sounds like a great plan. Don’t you think, Daddy?”
“Best plan I’ve ever heard. Now why don’t you help me clean the mess up while Mommy cleans up your sister. She’s more sparkly than she should be.”
“Sparkee!” Anne cried, thrusting her arms up and giggling, knowing by some childlike intuition that the storm had rolled over.
By the time he and Lara had set the table right and put everything back on top, Anne was tugging on his leg, only a few stray specks of glitter on her nose and in her hair catching in the light.
He squatted down, pulling each girl into a hug, then looked up to see Nikki beaming at him.
“Hello, there,” he said to his wife, then added to the girls, “Should we guess what Mommy’s thinking about?”
“Cookies?” Lara suggested.
“I’m not thinking anything. I’m just soaking up the view.”
“So am I,” he said, his eyes raking over her, enjoying the way the fluffy robe hid the soft curves he knew were underneath.
“Mmm,” she said as she pulled her phone from her pocket and snapped a quick picture. “I know that tone. Behave.”
He widened his eyes and tried to look innocent as he stood. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Nikki shot him an amused grin as she looked at the phone display, her smile growing broader. “This one’s definitely a keeper. The girls are clean now, but you, Mr. Stark, are even more sparkly.”
“Daddy pretty!”
“Can we make stars for the party?” Lara asked. “We can put them on the tree.” Their Christmas tree took up one corner of the third floor open area. They’d decided to place it near the railing so that it was visible from the first floor, which had especially delighted the girls.
“I don’t see why not,” Nikki said. “Every Christmas Eve party should have stars.”
“And since we’re hosting it,” Damien told Lara, “I think we can have as many stars as you want to make.”
“Yay!” Lara bounced and grabbed Anne’s hands and his two daughters morphed into little girl-shaped containers of pure energy.
Nikki moved to his side and they stood there, watching the insanity that was their kids until he heard the soft clearing of a throat behind them and turned to see Gregory.
“Good morning, sir.”
Damien bit back a sigh. He’d long ago given up on trying to convince Gregory to lose the formal touch. “Good morning, Gregory. Did you need me?”
“Actually, I was going to offer to fix the young ladies a snack before you go.”
“That would be fabulous,” Nikki said, indicating her robe with her hand. “I still need to shower and dress. You two behave,” she added, pointing to the girls. She met Damien’s eyes. “You, too.”
“Careful, wife,” he said, making her laugh as she hurried out of the room.
“That’s nice of you to offer,” Damien told Gregory. “But it is your day off.” When Bree, their previous nanny, had left for college in New York over the summer, Gregory had stepped in to fill the nanny gap. Though originally intended as a temporary arrangement, he’d asked to keep the position in addition to his other duties. His own daughter had never had children, and he doted on the girls. But the extra work meant that the poor man surely needed his free days more than ever.
“It’s only for an hour or so while you and Mrs. Stark get ready. And how better to spend my down time than with my two favorite girls?”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Damien admitted as Lara clapped her hands and Anne mumbled something around her thumb that sounded like miss her gee, which Damien interpreted as Mr. G.
“I guess that settles it,” Damien continued, glancing quickly at his watch. “We need to be out the door in an hour if we want to get there on time.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Daddy! Daddy, stay. Wanna make fairy wings for Mr. G.”
“As tempting as that sounds, I need to check in on something at the office. But I’ll be done soon and we’ll go see your cousins, okay?”
“Yay!” Lara started to jump up and down, and after a quick look from Damien to Gregory to Lara, Anne joined in, apparently deciding the craziness was okay.
“And this is where I leave you,” Damien said, then smiled at Gregory’s faux look of horror.
The last thing he heard as he rounded the corner into the hall was Gregory’s suggestion that they go to the kitchen for a snack of apple slices and cheese. A suggestion that was met by applause and giggles.
He’d spoken the truth. He did need to check in at the office. But the person he needed to check in with, Ryan Hunter, was joining them for brunch at his brother’s house.
Which meant that Damien had only one thing on his mind that needed his attention right then. And that thing was Nikki.
As he’d hoped, she was still in the shower. He could hear the water running as he entered the bedroom and turned toward the massive, contemporary-style master bath.
He’d designed it himself, with some input from his architect. Those were the days before he knew his brother Jackson even existed, which was a pity, as Jackson was one of the most skilled architects on the planet. Even so, Damien had to pat himself on the back. This bathroom was a showpiece, designed for decadent comfort.
But the best thing about it right then was the naked woman standing in the slate-tiled shower, the details of her body hidden by the fog on the floor-to-ceiling glass doors.
“Are you just going to stand there looking at me?”
He was already on edge, and her voice, low and sensual, roused him as much as is she were touching him. He stepped the rest of the way inside, then shut the bathroom door and leaned against it.
“Unfortunately, I waited too long. There’s far too much steam to look at you properly.”
“I guess you’ll have to open the door and come in if you want a better view.”
“I guess so.”
She wiped away a tiny bit of fog, then peered at him. “I’m surprised you didn’t think of that yourself. I thought you had a reputation as a problem solver.”
“I do,” he said, pushing away from the door and walking slowly toward her. “Tell me your problems.”
“Well, for starters,” she said, “you’re out there. But I want you in here.”
Chapter 3
I use a washcloth to rub a bigger clear spot on the steamy glass, then I watch as Damien peels off his jeans and t-shirt, leaving him wonderfully, gloriously naked.
<
br /> A former professional athlete, he still stays in incredible shape, and I bite my lower lip as my own body reacts in response to this view. His hard, muscular thighs. Those perfect abs. His upper arms, lean and strong.
A thin strip of hair runs down his abdomen, guiding the way to his cock, already hard. Not surprising, I suppose. I’m already wet, after all. And not just from the shower.
He meets my eyes, and the heat in his slow, almost lazy grin, shoots through me. I press my fingers to my breastbone, then slowly slide my hand down, watching his face as I go lower and lower until my body trembles as I brush my fingertip over my clit before easing my hand lower, only to stop when he softly but firmly says, “No.”
I stop, but keep my hand where it is. “No, Mr. Stark?”
He crosses to the shower door in two long strides, then pulls it open and joins me in the steamy compartment. “No,” he repeats, placing his hand on mine, and then guides both our fingers down until I’m stroking my pussy with him, and he’s thrusting two each of our fingers inside me.
I gasp, overwhelmed by this new sensation.
“No,” he continues, as if my fingers weren’t already deep inside me. As if he hadn’t put them there. “Not without me. Not today. Today, you do what I say.” He steps closer, his erection pressing into my belly. I close my eyes, need crashing over me, making me weak.
Just a few minutes ago, he was gorgeous and sexy in sparkle-covered jeans. Now he has me naked and wet, giving me orders that I know better than to disobey. And damned if I don’t adore both sides—all sides—of this man.
“Lift your arms,” he orders. “And hold on to the pipe.”
In addition to the two rainfall-style heads that extend from the ceiling, the shower has six jets that spray from two adjacent walls as well as one hand-held showerhead.
I follow his instructions and turn my back to three of the jets, then lift my arms to hold tight to the topmost pipe.
“Very nice,” he says, dousing a bath sponge in shower gel and slowly sudsing me up so that I sigh and melt a little under his ministrations.
