by J. Kenner
Morning, however, is a completely different story. I am awakened by the sun streaming in through the open windows. The ocean is just steps away, and even though I know that this is a resort, with the exception of Damien’s voice filtering in from the next room, I can hear nothing that even hints at other people on this island.
Nothing except Jamie’s voice, that is.
Jamie?
I frown and pull on one of the robes that hangs on a hook by my side of the bed, then head out of the bedroom to figure out why my best friend is inside my romantic getaway bungalow.
I realize soon enough that she’s not, of course. Just her voice over a speaker and her face on Damien’s computer screen.
I stand in the doorway, out of view of both of them, and listen as my best friend tells my husband that he’s being an idiot.
“You can’t pay, Damien. You never do that shit.”
“I have my reasons, Jamie.”
“What, you mean Nikki? No way does she want you to pay.”
“Nikki is part of it, yes. But so are you. Have you considered that I don’t want to see that footage of you spread all over the internet?”
I can see her face and the screen, and for a moment she looks touched. But the expression fades quickly. “I can deal,” she says. “Seriously, you think I want that on me, knowing that you’re caving—why you’re caving? Trust me, I can handle it. I mean, dealing with shit like this is practically my hobby.”
“My mind’s made up.”
“You’re an idiot, Damien. I’m allowed to say that now because Nikki’s like my sister, so that makes you like my brother.”
“Fine. As your brother, I’m allowed to hang up on you. And that’s what I’m doing now, Jamie.”
She starts to protest, but he closes the screen. He sits for a moment, and though he doesn’t turn in my direction, he reaches back and holds out his hand to me.
I walk to him and twine my fingers with his. “She’s right, you know,” I say quietly. “You pay to keep the tape from being released, and it’s never going to end.”
“It will end when I find whoever’s behind this,” he says darkly. “And I promise it won’t end well. In the meantime, I will take care of the people I love.” He turns to look at me. “Tell me you understand.”
“I understand,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean I like it. And I hate that it hurts you.”
He stands, then kisses me. “In that case, you know how I feel. Let’s leave it aside for now. I want to enjoy this time with my wife. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Despite the fact that staying in our own private bungalow on our own private beach sounds deliciously romantic, we both want to explore. After all, Damien and I did the private island thing recently. Now we want to check out the spa, the bar, possibly even the tennis court.
“This section of the island is limited to couples and spa guests,” Damien says as we walk down a path that runs along the beach. “It has its own shops, bars, sporting activities. There’s a reef not far offshore. We can go snorkeling later if you’d like.”
“That sounds fun,” I say. “So long as snorkeling doesn’t trump spa’ing.”
“Never,” he promises.
“And that’s why I love you,” I trill.
We spend the rest of the walk making a list of the things we want to do for the rest of the day, and I’ve just added long bubble bath in the Jacuzzi tub when we arrive at the restaurant.
It’s buffet style, and as the hostess leads us to our table, I think of one thing we didn’t factor into our plans. “By the way, when are you meeting the architect?”
“Not sure. I left a message for him this morning, but he hasn’t called back.”
“Probably out snorkeling,” I quip. “Or maybe he’s just having a late breakfast,” I amend, then nod across the room toward the omelet station where a dark-haired man waits in line. “That’s him, isn’t it? That’s Jackson Steele?”
His back is to me, but the commanding presence I’d seen in the photograph is more apparent in real life. It’s a presence I’m intimately familiar with, as Damien has the same air about him.
“That’s him,” Damien confirms. “Come on.”
He’s still in line as we approach, and Damien steps in next to him. “Jackson Steele,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m Damien Stark.”
Steele looks Damien up and down, then his eyes cut to me before returning to Damien. For a moment, I think he’s going to ignore Damien’s offered hand, but then he reaches out and the two men shake. “I know who you are, Stark. I got your message this morning.”
“I was hoping to find some time to talk to you today or tomorrow,” Damien says, and though I can tell that he can’t quite figure this guy out, I’m certain that no one else observing the conversation would be able to tell that he is currently reassessing his approach. “I’ve been a fan of your work for a very long time and I’d like to discuss working with you on a project that I think you’ll find intriguing.”
“I’m flattered. But the truth is I’m not taking meetings this week. I’m on vacation.”
“Understood,” Damien says as the restaurant hostess steps up to him.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says, “but there’s a call for you at the front desk.”
Damien frowns, but excuses himself, saying that he’ll be right back.
I decide to take up the slack. “I hope you consider the project. We’re both very impressed by your work and think you would be an excellent fit.”
“I appreciate that,” he says. “But I’m not sure that Stark International is the place for me. I’m sure you realize that your husband casts a very long shadow.”
“Oh.” I’m trying to decide how to reply to that when Damien returns, apologizing for the interruption.
“I won’t bother you on vacation,” he says to Steele, sliding back into the conversation. “But why don’t I give you a call at your office when I get back to the States?”
“I’m sure that’s not necessary,” Steele says, and though I can’t put my finger on the reason, I feel as though there is something off about the way he says it.
Steele glances toward the line, which has barely moved. “Since we’re all here, why don’t you just go ahead and tell me now.”
As I sigh with relief, hoping that Steele is reconsidering what he’d said to me only moments ago, Damien describes his plan to locate and acquire an entire island that can be developed as a high-end couples’ retreat. “You have a strong vision, Mr. Steele. I’d like to have you join the project at the ground floor. Your finger in every aspect of the project, including the selection of the island. I think it’s an exciting venture, and would add something unique to your portfolio.”
“It would,” Steele says. “But I’m going to have to decline.”
“Are you?” Damien says. “May I ask why?”
“I have my reasons,” he says glancing quickly at me before focusing entirely on Damien. And though they both appear relaxed and at ease, there’s tension in the air.
“A number of reasons, actually,” Steele continues. “But as I told your wife just moments ago, you cast a very long shadow, Mr. Stark. And I don’t want myself or my work to get caught underneath it.”
I expect Damien to argue, so I’m surprised when he nods slowly in acquiescence. “I’m disappointed, but I can respect your reason. If you ever change your mind, the door is open.”
“I don’t foresee that happening,” Steele says. “But I’ve learned to never say never.”
He nods to Damien, then to me. And then he abandons the omelet line just as he reaches the cook.
Damien watches him go, and I watch Damien.
“Interesting,” he says. “Did he say anything else to you?” I shake my head, and he continues, frowning. “I’m usually so certain about people, but I can’t quite get a read on him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure. But I don’t think there’s a middle
ground with Jackson Steele. If I had the chance to get to know him better, I’d either like him or hate him. No ambivalence. No casual association.”
“You’d like him,” I say firmly.
He tilts his head to look at me. “And why do you say that?”
“Because he intrigues you.”
He chuckles. “Maybe he does. Why do you think that is?”
“Because, Mr. Stark, of all the people in the world, Jackson Steele is one of the few who have ever managed to look you in the eye and say no.”
Chapter 10
Damien pampers me thoroughly on our last full day on the island.
We sleep late, then start with breakfast in bed, catered by the extremely efficient room service staff. After that, we move to the spa and a couples’ massage in a cabana by the beach.
Damien disappears while I have a facial and pedicure, but when he returns he leads me to a small sailboat moored at the end of a whitewashed wooden pier. I look around and see no one but us.
He laughs. “Have a little faith. I promise you, I can handle a sailboat.”
“So many hidden talents, Mr. Stark,” I tease as I reach for his hand and let him help me onto the boat.
I know nothing about sailing, but it’s soon clear enough that Damien does. He gets us untied from the dock and maneuvers us away from the island with the same kind of confidence and ease with which he does everything else.
“There’s Steele,” I say, pointing to the shore. I look at the sky. “Sun’s straight overhead. No shadows right now.”
Damien laughs, but after a moment, his expression turns thoughtful.
“Damien?”
He cocks his head and flashes a wry smile. “No shadows,” he says, repeating my words. “Steele doesn’t know the half of it.”
He sounds so distracted that I’m getting a bit concerned. “What are you talking about?”
“Steele doesn’t want to be in my shadow—doesn’t want to ride on my coattails.”
“Right.” I’m still not following him.
“Whoever our blackmailer is wants exactly that. He wants to hide. Wants to stay in the dark, hidden in the shadows, secure in the belief that he knows me so well.” Damien meets my eyes. “So damn certain that now that I’m married, I won’t want a spotlight shining on my wife or her friends. And that I’ll pay to keep all sorts of shit in the shadows.”
“Are you saying you won’t?” My words are tentative; I’m afraid to hope.
“No,” Damien says. “I won’t. I can’t.” I see the worry fill his eyes. “Once I do, it won’t ever stop. Baby, tell me you understand.”
I’m in his arms immediately. “I’ve been telling you that. So has Jamie. No matter what hits the tabloids, we’ll survive.”
He pulls me close and hugs me tight before easing back and then pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’m still going to try to keep it from getting out.”
“How?”
His smile is tight. “I’m going to play a hunch. And then I’m going to negotiate.”
“You mean you’re going to threaten.”
“Sweetheart,” he says. “You know me so well.”
He pulls out his phone.
“What’s the hunch?” I ask before he can dial.
“I’m willing to believe that Douglas isn’t the brains behind this—that man couldn’t find his dick without a woman or a map—but his claim that releasing the tape will destroy him is bullshit. That tape gets out, and suddenly he’s the guy who screwed Nikki Stark’s best friend. That’s worth something to a worm like him.”
“You think someone approached him?”
“I do,” Damien says.
“Who?”
He shakes his head. “I have a few ideas, but no confirmation.”
I swallow, and though I say nothing, my fear is that Damien thinks his father—a man who has about a million recent reasons to hold a grudge—is behind this.
“Will Douglas tell you who it is?” I ask.
“To be honest, I believe Douglas when he says he doesn’t know.”
“So someone approached him anonymously?”
“That’s my guess. Which means that at the very least, Douglas has a way to get a message back to them.” He pulls out his phone. “And I’m going to insist that he deliver mine. That he tell his handler that if Valentine’s Day passes with no photos released to the media, then I will ignore this lapse in judgment on their part. But if a single photo turns up where it doesn’t belong, I will not stop until I’ve made the life of every person involved a complete living hell.
“And then,” he adds, with the scary kind of smile that makes me remember why he does so damn well in the shark-infested waters of corporate America, “I’ll invite law enforcement to the party, just to add a little spice to the mix.”
After Damien puts the fear of god into Douglas, he suggests that we put it away and enjoy the rest of our last day. After all, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, and we’ll know soon enough if it worked.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Mr. Stark. What do you have in mind?”
“Actually,” he says. “I thought I’d teach you a bit about sailing.”
As it turns out, I’m a hopeless student. I’m much more interested in watching Damien move, all masculine and athletic grace. His second item on the agenda, snorkeling, is much more my speed, and I follow him into the warm water as soon as the boat is anchored. The reef is teeming with color and life, and I watch all of it, mesmerized, and then delighted when Damien points out both a manta ray and a sea turtle.
Back on the boat, I sit on the deck, a towel wrapped around me as the sun sinks toward the horizon.
Damien is expertly maneuvering us back to the island, and I feel completely at peace out here on the wide, blue sea. Despite the dicey start to the morning, everything is calm now. We’ve both pushed it aside, I think. Hopefully, there will be no pictures released tomorrow, but if there are, we’ll deal. If there’s one thing I’m certain of, Damien and I can handle pretty much anything so long as we are together.
I’m surprised when he maneuvers the boat past the rental dock from where we’d departed. Instead, he follows the shore, and then brings the boat in to the small dock that extends from our private beach.
“Door-to-door service?”
“Only the best for you,” he answers.
It’s only once I’m off the boat and back at the bungalow that I see how seriously he means those words. The small pool in the bungalow courtyard is filled with floating candles, turning it into a magical fairyland. A bottle of wine is open beside a giant, round lounge chair designed for two. And beside the wine is a plate filled with cheeses and meats and covered with a clear glass lid to protect it from the elements.
Beside the pool, the hot tub bubbles, and I remember what I’d said about wanting to take a bath in the Jacuzzi tub. This, I think, is just as appealing.
“How did you do this?” I ask.
“I believe I’ve mentioned that I have a rather large bank account, which allows me to purchase a surprising variety of goods and services.”
“Must be nice being you,” I tease, then slide into his open arms.
“It’s better now that I have you,” he says, and I almost melt from the depth of emotion that fills his voice.
He tugs me to the lounge chair, and then slowly undresses me before telling me to lay back and close my eyes.
I do, and my reward is Damien’s touch.
I cannot count the different ways that he has touched me since we have been together, but his touch tonight is deceptive, its simplicity hiding a power to drive me over the edge.
All he uses is a finger.
Slowly, he traces his forefinger over my leg, drawing soft patterns. Teasing me behind my knee. Stroking gently up my inner thigh, but not quite high enough. And though I moan a bit and squirm in silent demand, he does not stroke my sex.
Instead, his finger trails only in that soft area between thigh and genitals, but th
at is enough to send tremors running through me, shifting the rest of my body into a state of hyperawareness so that innocent touches are suddenly anything but. Even his finger slowly circling my belly button makes my sex clench with longing.
Featherlight touches continue upward, caressing every inch of me and paying extra attention to my breasts until my nipples are so hard and tight that I have to bite my lower lip so as to not beg him to close his mouth over me and suck my breast until I come.
Finally, that wonderful, damnable finger traces my lower lip, then teases its way inside my mouth. “Suck,” he demands, that one word holding a world of erotic possibilities.
I do, drawing him in, and feeling the shock of sensation travel through me like an electric current that runs from my mouth to my cunt. There is no part of me now that isn’t open to him. Desperate for him.
“Please,” I whisper, and then tremble with need as he stretches out beside me so that his body is pressed against mine and all those erogenous zones that he has created sparkle and fire in anticipation.
“Tell me what you want.”
“You know,” I say. “I want to feel you inside me. Please, oh please, Damien.”
“Anything you want, sweetheart,” he says, slowly rolling onto his back and urging me on top of him. “Anything you need.”
What I need is him. He has ministered to my body for what feels like an eternity and every cell in my skin is humming with desire.
And yet in all that time he has neither penetrated me nor touched my clit. I feel swollen with need, so ready to be filled by my husband that I fear I will go crazy if I don’t have him right this very second.
I move to straddle him even as he moves onto his back. His cock rubs against me, teasing my rear, and I bite my lower lip, wanting everything. Wanting Damien.
Slowly, I rise up on my knees and then lower myself onto him. I gasp as he fills me, then cry out as his hips pivot up even as his hands on my hips push me down so that he fills me hard and fast and completely.
