by J. Kenner
“You handled it fine. Thank you for telling me.”
Alaine nodded, then turned and took a step toward the corridor leading to the kitchen. He paused, and for a moment he just stood there. Then he seemed to come to a decision.
He turned back around. “Damien … about Germany. After the trial ... I mean, after you went public about what happened to you and Sofia … well….”
He trailed off, then drew a deep breath before beginning again. “Well, the truth is, I had a hard time dealing with that. Which seems ridiculous considering what you had to deal with.” He swallowed, then shoved his hands in the pocket of his chef’s coat. “I should’ve called you. I should’ve been there for you. I know we spoke briefly, but we never really talked. I’m sure you needed a friend, and it should have been me. I was there, after all, back when it was all going down. There, and so damned oblivious.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“No, it wasn’t. But I could have been a better friend once I learned about it.”
“You called me,” Damien said. “You said you were sorry for it. For not knowing it was happening.”
“All true, but one call and no more mentions? I was a shitty friend.”
“No, you weren’t. And it wasn’t something I wanted to talk about anyway.”
“Still….”
“No,” Damien said firmly. “Believe me, you were a rock for both Sofia and me in those years. I told you that before, and I meant it. You were a friend while it was happening, and after … well, after, you were part of the reason we were able to keep going.”
He flashed his friend a grin. “Now get back to work. You only have a week to get ready. And since Nikki and I are already married, it’s your food that’s going to be the real show.”
Alaine chuckled. “You do have a way of calming a man’s nerves.”
“Goodnight, Alaine.”
“I’m so sorry about all of this. Not telling you about the calls right away, and also about someone pretending to be my staff so they could vandalize your home.”
“Don’t worry about it. This wedding doubled as our rehearsal, and now we know that security needs to be seriously beefed up. Which reminds me, I’ll contact you about whatever new security measures will be in place for when you come back next Saturday.”
“Sounds good. I’ll go finish packing up. We’ll be off the property within the hour.”
“Take your time. Do you want to stay for a drink?”
“Thanks, but I’m good. It’s been a long day.”
“That it has,” Damien said, then watched his friend go. He hated not telling him the full truth about the video and the vile texts. This was a man he’d trusted for years, after all. If it were just him, Damien would have told him everything. He believed his gut, and it said Alaine had nothing to do with the damn text and the video.
But it wasn’t just him anymore. It was him and Nikki and two sweet little girls and a baby boy. And it was Bree who’d suffered so much, too. Plus Gregory, who worked in the house and lived on the property, and was older and more vulnerable. An entire household of people who had Damien’s love and were under his protection.
But there was more, too. Another reason he didn’t tell Alaine everything. Because even though he hated to face it, Alaine had been around back then. And maybe, just maybe, he’d had access to Richter’s tapes.
What Damien didn’t—couldn’t—believe, was that his friend had a motive.
Despite the horrible note on the portrait, the entire day had been just about perfect. He’d opened his home so that two people he loved could exchange their wedding vows, he’d mingled with friends and family, he’d watched his kids play with their cousins, and he’d spent some time with his wife, his brother, and their closest friends.
Now, though, he was ready for it to be over, and after he closed the front door behind Jackson and Sylvia, he pulled Nikki closer. “Alone at last,” he said, making her laugh.
“Let’s go check on the kids. Then I think I need to crash. It has definitely been a day.” She squeezed his hand, then led him toward the playroom. They stepped lightly, not wanting to wake anyone, and found Bree sitting up in the alcove at the front of the playroom reading, and all the kids sprawled about on the huge room’s floor.
“They’re sacked out,” Nikki said.
“They should be,” Bree replied. “They all had a busy day.”
“I doubt they’ll wake in the night,” Damien added. “And we have a monitor. You’re welcome to go back to your place.”
She shook her head. “No, I’ll stay here. I’m sure they’ll be fine, but if one of them wakes up confused, I want to be close.”
“You okay watching BB?” Nikki asked. “We can take him back to his room.”
“No, it’s fine. And I think he’s proud to be in with the older kids. I’ve got a blanket and stuff in here. It’s all good, really.”
“Then we’ll leave you to it,” Damien said.
“Syl will be back around ten tomorrow for beach time,” Nikki added. “Can you make sure they’re up by then?”
Bree rolled her eyes. “Have you met your children? They’ll be up long before that.”
“You make a good point,” Nikki said, as Damien laughed, and then steered his wife toward the elevator since it was the fastest way back to their room on the third floor.
“It’s been a day,” Nikki said once they arrived. She tugged him to her, and he simply held her, breathing in the scent of her hair. After a moment, she pulled back, then pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Are you okay?”
He felt himself smile. Such a simple, practical question, but he heard the deeper meaning and felt her love in every syllable. “How could I be anything but with you in my arms?”
He saw pleasure light her face even as she tilted her head sideways and stared him down. “I’m serious, Damien. Tell me what you need.”
“You,” he said. “Always you. Shhh,” he added, pressing his fingertip to her lips before she could protest. “I know what you’re asking,” he continued, leading her to the bed. He climbed on, his back to the headboard as he settled her in his lap. She was on her knees, her legs on either side of him, and the pressure of her body against his cock fueled his growing need. Because when did he ever not need her?
“Damien—”
“When that video showed up,” he began, interrupting her, “I thought I was cursed. I looked back over all the shit’s that happened to me over the years, and for a moment there, I seriously thought that I was really and truly cursed. Born under a bad star. I mean, hell, considering who my father is, that’s not a foolish assumption.”
“You’re not. Of course you’re not.”
“I know,” he said. He kept one hand on her rear, but lifted the other so that he could run his fingers through her soft, blond waves. “I felt that way, but then I thought about you.”
Her eyes widened, but he didn’t give her a chance to respond. “I thought about what’s between us, because it’s rare, Nikki. So goddamn rare. And I realized that I’m not cursed at all. I’m blessed. Maybe overly blessed. Hell, maybe all this shit is the universe’s way of balancing the scales because I have an abundance of good in my life. You, the kids, our friends. You,” he added again, winning him her wide, delighted smile. “And I can handle the shit because I know that’s true. Maybe I forget it sometimes and take it out on a punching bag—”
“—on me,” she said firmly.
“On you,” he conceded with a laugh. “But I know what I have with our family and friends, and despite all the bad that it’s propped up on—my father, Richter, scandal, and all the rest of it—I wouldn’t trade our life for anything.”
“I wouldn’t either,” she said, before he pulled her in for a long slow kiss. The kind that filled him up and made him crave more. But when they broke apart, he saw the shadow in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“I love what you said, and I feel the same way. It’s just that you h
aven’t said everything that’s on your mind.”
He had to fight back a laugh. Dear God, she knew him well. “What haven’t I said?”
“You’re worried. Everything you said is true, but you’re worried.”
He exhaled, then nodded. “It was different before, when it was only the two of us. I had more ego then, too. Thought I could just put my arms around you and keep you safe. Thought my intelligence and my money could battle back anything.” He stroked her hair, his eyes hard on hers. “That changed.”
“Anne.”
He closed his eyes in silent acknowledgment, then opened them again to find her studying him, her expression soft with love.
“You’re not infallible, Damien, and no one expects you to be perfect, least of all me.”
“I used to expect it. And now, whatever rose-colored glasses I wore have been stripped off and ground beneath my heel. We live in a world with dangers I can’t control, and we can’t even hide away in our fortress, because nothing is impenetrable. We have an amazing life, baby, but we’re vulnerable.”
“But we always have been. Nothing’s changed except awareness. That, and the fact that now you care. Before me—before the kids—you just flipped the bird at whatever threats might be looming against you. You don’t do that anymore. And honestly, I think that’s a good thing.”
“A frustrating thing.”
“You? Frustrated that you can’t control the world? I’m shocked.”
Despite himself, he laughed. “Careful, wife. Sarcasm will get you spanked.”
“Oh, well, I’ll definitely be quiet, then,” she retorted, the sarcasm even thicker. He took her by the waist and tossed her back on the bed as she squealed with laughter. Then he rolled her over, landing one sweet spank to her ass before stretching out beside her.
Slowly, he stroked her hair as she turned to meet his eyes. “I will always protect you and the children,” he said. “Everyone under this roof.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?”
“I know that you believe it. I just hope I can live up to it.”
Her brow furrowed. “Do you think we should postpone our ceremony?”
The question cut through him like a knife, and he shook his head. “No.” No way in hell was he sacrificing their special day because some asshole was playing with them. “I have things under control. Everything will be perfect.”
She snuggled closer. “You know what, Mr. Stark? I believe you.”
9
By the time I wake on Sunday, Damien’s side of the bed is already empty. I’m not surprised. Most mornings, the man’s up before dawn, usually to get in a workout before settling in to buy Albania or something.
I roll over, craving the warmth of his sheets, but he’s been up long enough that his side of the bed is cold. I frown and check the clock, only now realizing that it’s almost ten, which means that today is truly a day of miracles, as I don’t think I’ve slept this late since we adopted Lara. How can I with three pint-sized alarm clocks living under the same roof?
I splash some water on my face and brush my teeth, then pull on my favorite two-piece bathing suit. I top it with my ratty University of Texas T-shirt and a pair of terry cloth shorts, then toss some lip balm, sunscreen, and a novel into my tote. I grab a Stark Security ball cap, then head out to take inventory of my family.
I find Damien in the third floor kitchen talking with Ryan and Gregory about plans to increase security around the house and the property in general.
“Jamie’s out by the pool,” Ryan says after I mutter some sort of hello. “She said she’s ready to head down to the beach whenever you and the kids are.”
“And Sylvia’s down in the playroom with the kids,” Damien adds.
“Awesome on both counts,” I say, feeling only a smidgeon of guilt for being the last one up.
“I gave Mrs. Hunter the picnic baskets,” Gregory adds, despite us having repeatedly told him to just call her Jamie.
“You are the best,” I tell him, then drift toward the coffee pot, secure in the knowledge that I don’t have to be part of the conversation I interrupted, because Damien will make sure our metaphorical castle is as impenetrable as the real Buckingham Palace.
I text Jamie that I’m up and will be out soon. She responds that I can take my time, as our patio is only one step down from heaven.
After half a cup of coffee and a piece of toast, I feel alive enough to start the day, and I interrupt the guys just long enough to borrow Damien for a moment.
“You should join us at the beach later,” I tell him after I’ve pulled him out of earshot.
“I need to work on this.”
“Does Ryan know?”
His brow furrows. “Does he know what?”
“That you don’t trust him.”
Frustration flashes in his eyes.
“All I’m saying is that I trust you and you trust Ryan. He’s the best at what he does. Let him do it. You deserve the downtime.”
He sighs, then pulls me close and kisses my forehead, and for a moment, I think I’ve won. “Last night you said you trusted me to keep our family safe.”
“I do. But Ryan —”
“Nikki. Don’t push me. Not on our family’s safety.”
“I don’t like seeing you worried,” I admit, which is true, but not the entire truth. The real truth is that I’m worried, too. But if Damien were to come with us to the beach, I could console myself with the lie that I’m overreacting.
Damien, however, immediately puts that fantasy to rest. “I am worried,” he says. “And you and I both know I have reason to be. I can’t wave a magic wand and make it all better, but I can do this. I can work with Ryan to secure our home so that my wife and our kids and our friends can go enjoy the beach with minimal worry.”
I exhale, defeated. Because he’s right. I can’t just push all of this aside, no matter how much I might like to. No matter how much I know it hurts him to have his past at the epicenter of this new harassment.
“You’re right,” I say, hooking my arms around his waist, then brushing a kiss over his lips. “I’m selfishly wanting to ignore the whole thing. You’re being the strong one and dealing with it, and I love you for it.”
“I love you, too,” he tells me. “Now go have fun. Later tonight you can thank me properly,” he adds, making me laugh even though I’m not at all opposed to that plan.
Moments later, I’m heading to the playroom so I can help Sylvia gather the kids, but she’s already got them suited up and ready. All except for Jeffery.
“He wants to stay here with the guys,” Sylvia tells me.
“Girls have cooties?”
She laughs. “No. He thinks Ryan is cool, and he wants to hang out and help ‘do security.’ His words.”
“Hey,” I say, “under the circumstances, the more help the better.”
We both grin, but there’s an undercurrent of truth there. As much as I wish I could hide behind denial, I want my home secure.
Since the bulk of our beach toys are at the bungalow, we manage to round up the kids and get underway faster than I expected. Ronnie’s our leader and she even takes personal charge of Bradley.
“Gregory packed mimosas, right?” Jamie asks as we follow the kids down the path to the bungalow. “I haven’t poked around in there yet.”
“I’ll fire him if he didn’t,” I say dryly, then add, “He knows you well, James. I have a feeling the baskets are packed with fruity drinks of both the child and adult variety.
“And thank goodness for that,” Sylvia adds. “By the way, Cass texted that she’s running late, but she’ll join us soon.”
“Oh, good,” I say. I met Sylvia’s lifelong BFF years ago, and she fast became one of my favorite people.
“Is Bree coming?” Jamie asks.
“I invited her, but she already had plans.”
“Too bad, but fine. More mimosas for me.”
I laugh, then hurry to catch up with my kids, who have alre
ady reached the bungalow and are bouncing on the patio, urging me to hurry up and get the sand toys and other beach paraphernalia.
Soon enough, we’re all equipped, and we follow the stairs that lead from the huge porch to the beach, then start the process of setting up camp. A couple of small beach tents that resemble lean-tos so that the kids don’t roast despite the sunscreen. A huge mat on which to spread our picnic. Four folding chairs for the adults. And a cart with sand-friendly wheels for every beach toy imaginable.
There’s no lifeguard in this area, but none of the kids actually like to swim in the ocean. I wonder if that will change later as they watch the surfers, but for now they are content to make sand castles, look for shells, and splash in the waves, never wandering out past their knees.
“By the way,” Sylvia says to Jamie, once we’re all settled with our mimosas, “I hope Ryan was okay with leaving Jeffery behind. He said it was fine, but maybe he was just being polite.”
Jamie waves the question away. “No worries at all. Ryan loves it. At first, I thought it might only be babies and toddlers, but lately he’s fascinated with kids who are miniature adults, too.” She makes a face and scowls at me and Sylvia in turn. “I want you to know I personally blame you two.”
“Us?” Sylvia asks as Cass appears around the side of the bungalow.
“Breeding,” Jamie says. “You two are these great success stories. I mean, my God, the pressure.”
There’s humor in her voice, but I know her well enough to hear genuine fear underneath.
“Jamie,” I say gently, but she holds up her hands. “Beach day. My uterus is not even open for discussion.”
“That means we have to talk about Cass,” Sylvia says, smiling as the woman in question starts to settle on the blanket. Pink and blue streaks highlight her dark hair, which is pulled up into a messy bun, and the halter she’s wearing shows off the wildly colorful tattoo of an exotic bird that dominates her arm and shoulder.
“Me?” she asks as I pour a mimosa and pass it to her. “Why me?”
“You’re the only one who’s single,” Sylvia says.
