HOLIDAY ROYALE

by Christine Rimmer

  She sucked in a long breath. “First of all...”

  “Yes?”

  “Oh, Dami. First I really, really need to thank you.”

  “But why?”

  “Oh, please. You know why. For coming to my rescue when I was running out of options and had no idea what I was going to do.”

  He gave her a one-shouldered shrug. “You’ve already thanked me. Repeatedly.”

  “But I can never thank you enough. You came and you helped me with Noah when I couldn’t get through to him and I didn’t see how I ever would.” Her brother had been reluctant to let her go away to fashion school in Manhattan. “I live in New York City now because of you. I live in the greatest old building with the nicest neighbors because of you.” She laid her hand against her upper chest, where the tip of a pale scar was just visible above the neckline of her striped top, which she wore with great panache, along with a short, tight, floral-print skirt, a wide black belt and ankle boots. “Thank you.”

  “You are completely welcome. I’m glad I could help—and you were the driving force in your own liberation. You have to know that. You made it happen.”

  “But I couldn’t have done it without you being willing to fly to California to save me.” Her brother, Noah, owned a large estate in Carpinteria, near Santa Barbara. “You stood up for me with Noah, and you took me away.” She plunked a scrap of paper on the table and pushed it toward him. “This should pay you back, at least a little.”

  He saw that it was a check for a large sum of money and shook his head. “Don’t be absurd. Noah paid for it all.” Her brother had finally seen the light and given her his blessing to follow her dream—along with the all-important backing of his enormous bank account.

  “Dami, you flew me to the East Coast in your own private jet. You leased me my beautiful apartment in your amazing building without asking for a deposit or anything. And I may be way naive, but even I know that my rent is impossibly low.”

  “Put your money away.”

  She drew herself up. “No. I will not. I have my trust fund now and I’m doing fine. I owe you this money, at least.” She’d grown quite stern suddenly.

  And he realized that to continue refusing her in this would only be ungracious. “Fair enough. Consider me repaid in full.”

  A glowing smile bloomed. “Excellent.”

  He transferred the almond brioche to his plate and cast a second dismissive glance at her check. “So, then, was that it—the ‘issue’ that’s been troubling you?” How disappointing, to think her blushes and nervous chatter and unwilling tears came down to a nonexistent debt she felt driven to repay.

  But then she pressed her soft lips together and shook her head.

  Anticipation rose in him again. “So there’s more?”

  She nodded. And then dipped her head and spoke to her half-eaten brioche. “You and your girlfriend, Vesuvia...?”

  V? She wanted to talk about V? Whatever for? He certainly didn’t. But she’d stalled out again. And she was still staring at her plate as though she didn’t have a clue how to go on. Warily, he prompted, “What about Vesuvia?”

  Her brown head shot up and she met his eyes. A tiny gasp escaped her. “I mean, she’s so impossibly beautiful and glamorous and...it seems like she’s always on the cover of my favorite magazines...Vogue and Bazaar and Glamour and Elle.”

  He arched a brow at her and asked in a tone he took care to make lighthearted, “Do you want me to introduce you to V for some reason?” God. He hoped not. But perhaps she had some idea that V might be willing to wear her designs.

  “Introduce me to her? Oh, no. I don’t. Not at all.”

  Relief had him settling more comfortably into his chair. “So, then?”

  “Well, are you, um, still together with her?” The question came out in a breathy rush.

  He was tempted to remind her that his relationship with V was really none of her business. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to do that. He liked Lucy too much and she was far too flustered already. So he said, “No, we’re not seeing each other any longer. I’m afraid it didn’t work out.”

  Lucy stared at him rather piercingly now and he had the oddest sensation of being under interrogation. “So you’re broken up, you and Vesuvia? And you’re not in a relationship with anyone else?”

  He couldn’t help chuckling. “Yes, we are, and no, I’m not—and, Luce, my darling, don’t you think it’s time you told me about this so-urgent issue of yours?”

  She sagged back in the chair with a groan. “Oh, Dami. It’s just... Well, there’s a man. A special man I met.”

  “A man?” He was totally lost now. From V to a special man?

  “Yes. He’s just way hot. He’s an actor. He lives in my building in NoHo— Well, I mean your building. Brandon? Brandon Delaney?” She seemed to be prompting him.

  He shook his head. “No idea.”

  She kept trying. “Blond hair, the most amazing butterscotch eyes...”

  Dami had a property manager and a superintendent for the building and only a vague idea of who lived there. Some of the apartments were co-op, others leased. And butterscotch eyes? Was this a man or a dessert? “I’m afraid I don’t recall this Brandon.”

  “Oh, Dami. He thinks I’m a child, you know? And I’m not a child— Well, yes, okay, I am inexperienced, not to mention naive. I get that. But I’m not stupid. I’ve simply been sick for most of my life and kind of out of the mainstream of things. But not anymore. I’m well and I’m strong and I’m living my dream. And I really, really need to get started on doing the things that normal, healthy women do—now that, at last, I am a normal, healthy woman. Dami, I need to, you know, hook up.”

  He tried not to look as befuddled as he felt. “Hook up.”

  “You know...have sex?”

  “Er, yes. Of course I know.”

  “But see, I feel so awkward and strange about it.” She lifted both hands and pressed them to the sides of her head, as though trying to keep what was inside from escaping. “I mean, I’ve met a few guys in Manhattan this past month and a half.” She let go of her head and waved her slim arms about in her excitement over something of which he still had no clue. “I’ve met a few guys and I’ve tried to picture myself with one of them, but the idea of doing it with any of them just doesn’t feel right—except for with Brandon. I find Brandon extremely attractive and I definitely could get something going with him. But he’s very much about his acting and he’s big on life experience and he won’t hook up with me because he doesn’t have sex with boring, innocent women.”

  Damien’s head was truly spinning. “You...asked this Brandon fellow to...?”

  “Oh, no!” More blushing. “Not straight out, I mean. I don’t know him well enough to ask him straight out.”

  “Oh, of course. I see.” He didn’t, actually. Not in the least.

  “But I did try to kiss him....”

  “And?”

  “He caught my arms and kind of held me, really gently, away from him.”

  “You mean you didn’t kiss him after all?”

  “No. He stopped it before it happened. And he looked in my eyes and told me that it could never work, that I’m so young and inexperienced and I wear my emotions on my sleeve. He said he would never want to hurt me, but of course he would hurt me because I would be in over my head with him. He said he doesn’t, you know, sleep with virgins and that he’s got no time for anything serious right now anyway, because acting is his life.”

  What a fatheaded ass. “You are adorable, Luce, and thoroughly charming. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

  She put one of those flying hands to her heart. “Oh, Dami. See? That’s how you are. Not only have you treated me like someone who matters from the first time I met you. Not only did you come to my rescue and fly me to
Manhattan when I’d almost given up on ever getting there. Somehow you just instantly, always, say the exact thing that I need to hear.”

  He made another stab at finding out where all this was going. “So you came to me for advice, then?” He reached for his coffee cup.

  And Lucy said, “No. Not advice. Sex.”

  He set the cup down sharply. “Say again?”

  “Dami, it’s so simple. I want you to have sex with me. I want you to be my first.”

  Chapter Two

  Damien found himself experiencing the strangest sensation of complete unreality. “Dearest Luce. Did you just ask me to be your lover?”

  She nodded, her shining brown head bouncing up and down as though on a spring. “Oh, yes. Please. I like you, Dami. I truly do. And when I think of having sex with you, it doesn’t seem like it would be too awful—and you are so experienced. I really do need someone who can help me be more sophisticated and you just happen to be about the most sophisticated person I know. And as for having sex with you, well, you seem like you would know what you were doing and I...” The words ran out.

  He started to speak but fell silent when she moaned.

  And then she let out a cry and put her hands to her cheeks as though in an effort to cool her fierce blush. “Oh, God. You should see your face. This is not going well, is it?”

  “Luce, I—”

  Before he could say more, she shoved back her chair and leaped to her feet. “Seriously. I don’t know what I was thinking. This is a bad idea. A really stupid, utterly inane idea. And now you’re going to think I’m such a complete child, a total dork...”

  He got up. “No, I do not think you’re a child. Truly, it’s all right. It’s...”

  But she didn’t stay to hear the rest. She whirled and bolted for the door.

  “Luce!” Dami went after her and managed to catch up with her halfway down the hall to his private foyer. He grabbed her hand. “Wait.”

  She moaned again and tried to pull away. “Let me go.”

  He held on. “Please. Don’t become so worked up. I promise you, you’re neither a child nor a dork. And I’m quite flattered.”

  There was yet another moan. “Oh, no, you’re not.”

  He lifted the hand he’d captured and kissed it lightly. Then he wrapped his other hand around their joined ones. “Listen to me.”

  A little whine escaped her.

  “Tell me you’re listening,” he coaxed.

  “What?” She sagged against the hallway wall, between two handsome nature prints he’d bought at one of his sister Rhia’s charity art auctions. “All right. Yes, I’m listening.”

  “I am flattered.” He tried a hint of a smile and watched her soft lips quiver in reluctant response. “Really, Luce, you are so unpredictable. You know, I find I never know what you might do or say next. But at the same time, at heart you are so wonderfully direct, so honest.”

  “Direct and honest,” she grumbled, but at least she’d stopped trying to make him let go of her hand. “Ugh. So I’m a good person, but I’m not especially exciting—that’s what you’re saying.”

  “No, that is not what I’m saying.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  He moved in a fraction closer, keeping their joined hands between them, connecting them. The scent of soap and cherries was a little stronger now, sweet and tart and so very...clean. “Don’t forget. I said you are unpredictable, too. That makes you exciting.”

  “No....”

  “Yes. It does, I promise you. And may I add that you are also like a breath of fresh air, both bracing and sweet.” He watched her flushed face and thought how very much he liked her, how he’d liked her from the first time he met her, at her brother’s Carpinteria estate when she’d dragged him to her sewing room and showed him several of her creations, after which she’d plunked her portfolio down on the cutting table and started flipping through the pages, chattering nonstop about her ambitions as a fashion designer.

  Now she gazed at him through big eyes full of hope and trust. “Oh, you do know how to dish out the compliments.”

  “It’s easy when I’m only telling the absolute truth.”

  “Oh, right. Sure you are.”

  He turned his mouth down at the corners in a mimic of sadness. “Luce. You wound me.”

  She started to giggle—and then she blinked. “Wait a minute.”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you telling me that, um, you will?”

  Ouch. Leave it to Lucy to cut right to the heart of the matter.

  The thing was, he wanted to tell her yes, that he would be her lover. He truly did. But he was no more a seducer of virgins than Brandon of the butterscotch eyes. He absolutely did find her attractive, but in the way one finds a child attractive, because she was pure and honest, innocent and sweet yet also funny and surprising and perceptive, too. Not to mention splendidly talented. However, he couldn’t quite make himself think of her as a grown woman, as an eligible female he might take to his bed.

  She was watching him suspiciously. “Long silence. I’m taking that for a no.”

  Above all, he did not want to hurt her. “You truly are lovely, Luce. Your shining seal-brown hair, those enormous eyes that tip up so playfully at the corners. That one dimple in your left cheek that’s deeper than the one on the right when you smile....”

  “You’re an absolute genius at making me feel good-looking.”

  “Because you are good-looking.”

  “But you still haven’t answered my question,” she accused. “I’m thinking that’s not a good sign.”

  The solution came to him. “Tell you what.”

  For that he got an eye roll. “Stalling. That’s what you’re doing, right?”

  “Well, yes. I suppose that I am.”

  “Oh, I knew it.” She wrinkled her cute nose at him. But at least she no longer seemed on the verge of shedding more tears.

  He qualified, “However, I am stalling in a good way.”

  “Ha.” She made another attempt to free her hand from his hold.

  He didn’t let go. “Listen. Please.”

  “Fine, fine.” She tipped her head from side to side, her words a singsong. “Go ahead.”

  “We’ll take things a bit slower.”

  That brought a frown to crease her smooth brow. “Slower than what?”

  “You’re here for the holiday weekend.”

  “I am, yes.”

  “We’ll spend the time—or much of it, anyway—in each other’s company.”

  “You mean like we’re dating?”

  “Yes. As though we were dating.”

  “Oh, Dami. I may be naive, but I’m so on to you. I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to let me down easy.”

  She had it right, but he had no intention of admitting that. “Come to the kitchen.” He tugged on her hand again. “We can finish our coffee....” He expected her to require more coaxing and encouragements before she’d agree to sit at the table again and discuss the situation frankly.

  But as she so often did, she surprised him. She said, “Yes. All right.” And she followed him back the way they had come.

  * * *

  In the kitchen, Lucy reclaimed her seat at the table and Dami refreshed their coffee cups before settling opposite her again.

  Lucy watched him. He really was so nice to look at, in his sexy black robe and all, with that slice of sculpted chest on view, with his thick dark hair and his eyes that sometimes seemed the darkest brown and then, in certain lights, a green so deep it was almost black. So different from Brandon, who was clean-cut and outdoorsy with a handsome, open sort of face. Dami exuded power and ease, a hint of danger and strangely, humor and tenderness, too. They called him the Player Prince. Everyone said he’
d been with more women than her big brother, Noah. Which was seriously saying something.

  Noah used to be quite the lady-killer. But in the past year or so, he’d changed. He’d stopped seeing women at all for a while. And then he’d found Dami’s sister Alice. Lucy did adore Alice. Alice was perfect for Noah. Lucy felt real satisfaction knowing that she could strike out on her own and her big brother had someone to love him the way he’d never let himself be loved before. Someone to keep him honest and stand up to him when he got too full of himself.

  “Luce.” Dami was frowning at her. “What are you thinking?”

  She sipped her coffee. “That my brother’s happy with your sister, and I’m really glad about that.” Well, she had been thinking about Noah and Alice—after she’d admired the man across from her in his sexy robe.

  “They are good together,” he agreed.

  She laughed, feeling lighthearted suddenly. Okay, she got the message that Dami wasn’t up for teaching her the ways of love and sex. But at least he hadn’t acted as if he couldn’t wait to get rid of her, the way Brandon had when she’d tried to put a move on him. Dami would still be her friend always—somehow she just knew that—no matter what gauche, immature thing she did or said.

  “What is so humorous?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know. I was really scared to ask you. And now I’ve done it, and...it’s okay. The sky didn’t fall. You didn’t toss me out the door on my butt.”

  “I would never toss you out the door—on your butt or otherwise.”

  “Exactly. I love that about you.”

  He ate a little more of his pastry and then he said thoughtfully, “I do realize I have something of a reputation with women. But even someone like me doesn’t instantly fall into bed with any female who wanders by, no matter how fetching and well dressed she might be.” A wry smile twisted his mouth. “Or at least, I haven’t for the past few years.”

  This was getting interesting. “You’re saying you had a lot of indiscriminate sex when you were younger?”

  “I suppose I did, yes.”

  “You suppose? Oh, come on, Dami. You did or you didn’t.”