Lucy could not deny she felt a little ache in her heart right then to go home to the big house in Carpinteria that Hannah would have all done up for the holidays, to be with them—Alice and Hannah and even her bossy big brother. She longed suddenly to ride Dammerlicht, a steady-natured, smart Hanoverian, her favorite in her brother’s fine stable of beautiful horses. She yearned to watch the sun set over the Pacific.
But no. She’d made her decision and she was sticking with it. “I’m spending my holiday right here in Manhattan, Viv. It’s my first year on my own.”
Viviana waved a heavily veined, beautifully manicured hand. “Pah. I’ve been on my own for almost twenty years now. My girls keep after me to move near one of them. They think I’m too old to be taking care of myself. But this is home. I love New York and I’m an independent soul. I keep busy and I’m happy with my life. But for Christmas, being alone sucks.”
An hour later, Viv gave her a plateful of sugar cookies and she returned to her apartment.
She got out one of her sketchbooks and sat in the corner chair in her bedroom. With the plate of cookies in reach, she got to work on some ideas she had for Alice’s wedding dress, which was to be totally Alice: dramatic and daring, with a very low back framed in lace, snugly fitted past the hips, flaring out to an ocean of lace and tulle.
An hour flew by. She sketched and munched cookies and the dress took shape. And then the buzzer downstairs rang. It was Tabby, running over on her break to pick up her dress. Lucy gave it to her, along with a couple of cookies. They chatted for a few minutes. Tabby grabbed her in a hug and was gone.
Lucy went back to work. About a half an hour later she glanced up and saw the moving haze of white out the window.
Snow.
Real snow this time, the flakes so thick and white, like a moving veil softly obscuring the buildings across the street. Perfect. Beautiful. Her first snowy Christmastime in all of her life.
If only Dami...
She cut off the thought. He wasn’t there. He wouldn’t be there. And she was going to be absolutely fine with that. She had a good life, damn it. A life that she’d fought for, a life in an exciting city where she was already making friends. A life that was just right for her. She didn’t need the Player Prince at her side to make it all complete.
Someone knocked at the door.
Lucy tossed her sketchbook on the bed. It had to be someone in the building—Ed, the super, or maybe Ed’s wife, Marie, or Viv. Anyone else would have to ring the buzzer downstairs first. To be on the safe side, she checked the peephole before pulling the door wide.
And her heart stopped dead in her chest at what she saw.
Dami.
Dami in New York. At her door.
Dami, looking like every woman’s dream man, tall and dark and so very sexy in that smooth and smoldering way he had—and not only that. So much more than that.
Dami, her friend, who always stepped up when she needed him. The person she most wanted to talk to, to laugh with, to share the snow out the window with, to hold hands with....
Dami.
Oh, God. Dami. For real.
Lucy whipped off the chain, yanked back the security bolt and flung the door wide.
Chapter Ten
The door swung back and Lucy flew at him, calling his name. “Dami!”
He opened his arms and she threw herself at him, jumping up, landing against him with a happy laugh, wrapping her arms and legs around him. She smelled of vanilla and apples and something else, something he’d missed way too much, something that was simply her. “Luce.” Her name escaped him in a strange rumble, surprising him with its rawness, sounding like hunger. Like not-so-carefully controlled desire.
Lucy was Lucy, all gushing, gleeful chatter. “Dami, Dami, Dami. I can’t believe you’re here. I wished and wished you might come. And poof, like a dream. Here you are. It’s snowing and it’s Christmas. And you came.”
“Luce.” Heat coiled in his belly, flared across his skin. He was all too aware of the press of her soft breasts to his chest, of those slim legs gripping around him....
And not only that. So much more. He drank in the sight of her, that glowing smile, the sparkle in her soft brown eyes.
Alive, that was it. Lucy was fully engaged, completely alive. Full of light, like her name. She pushed back every shadow, wiped out all cynicism. She made it impossible to be disinterested or disillusioned. She made everything fresh and new.
He should be ashamed, and he knew it, to have agreed to relieve her of her innocence in the first place. And then to have gone ahead and done just that.
And now to be showing up on her doorstep in the burning hope that maybe she would allow him to do it again.
And again.
She tipped her mouth up to him. “Dami...” Breathless. Hopeful. So damned sweet.
He couldn’t resist—and who was he fooling? No one. He had no intention of resisting.
He cradled the back of her head, his fingers sliding into her shining silky hair. “Luce.” He took her mouth.
She made a soft, yearning little sound as his tongue invaded the warmth and wetness beyond her lips. And then she tightened her arms and legs around him and kissed him back, with no coyness and no hesitation, with complete abandon.
He kissed her harder, deeper, needing the taste of her, needing to fill himself up with the sweetness of her.
And they couldn’t go on like this here on the landing. Anyone might wander by.
The door was open behind her. He continued to plunder her mouth as he crossed the threshold with her all wrapped around him, her hands sifting in his hair, her thighs pressing him tight, her kiss as open and eager as her sweet face, her willing heart.
He swung the door shut with his heel. Laughing a little against his mouth, she instructed, “Wait. Back up.” He did, and she reached out behind him and engaged the lock. “That way.” She kissed the words onto his mouth and pointed over her shoulder down a windowless hallway.
He took her to the bedroom at the front of the apartment. Outside the arched windows that faced the street, snow was falling, thick and steady, reflecting light, filling the room with a silvery glow. The space was crowded with furniture—sewing machines, a wide table, adjustable dressmaker forms. Weaving his way to the bed took some doing, and she didn’t help a lot—she was kissing him so hard and deep, moving against him, arousing him, making soft hungry sounds that thoroughly distracted him.
A good thing he was determined. He skirted the second dressmaker form and he was at the bed at last. Easing his fingers under her thighs, he peeled her away from him and gently laid her down.
She stared up at him, softly smiling, eyes wide and so bright, as he undressed her with the ease and swiftness born of years of undressing women. She wore black leggings, a big green sweater that went halfway down her slim thighs and thick socks. He had all that off of her in no time. Underneath, her bra was red lace and her little satin panties were pink. He rolled her over and unhooked the bra and whipped it away.
“Dami...” She rolled onto her back again, laughing a little. Incomparable. Everything about her—the complete lack of pretense or artifice, the small slanted white scars on her rib cage and the longer one, pale as milk, that ran straight down between her breasts. She had no shyness about those scars, no embarrassment. She made them beautiful by her complete acceptance of them.
He bent close, kissed the long one that bisected her above her heart. “You are like no one else I’ve ever known.”
She wrapped her arms around his head, pulled him closer. The scent of her claimed him. “I hope that’s good,” she whispered.
“It is very good,” he replied against her skin.
“Dami.” She held him closer. “I have missed you so....”
He clasped her arms and gently pee
led them away so that he could straighten and get out of his own clothes. That took even less time than getting rid of hers.
She reached for him again. “Please. Come down to me. Let me hold you.”
He grabbed the condoms he’d stuck in a pocket and set them on the nightstand. Then he joined her on the bed.
She wrapped herself around him again. It felt so good, her flesh to his, the scent of her gone musky now, sweeter even than before.
He kissed her some more—starting with her mouth and then moving on, tracing the shape of her jaw with his tongue, trailing his lips down her throat into the warm dip where her collarbones met.
And lower.
He lavished attention on her breasts and her belly, then settled in between her thighs, easing her legs over his shoulders, guiding her knees wider to claim better access. She clutched his head and moaned broken encouragements as he kissed her long and slow and deep. He caressed her with his fingers at the same time, enjoying the feel of her as well as the taste, his mind a hot whirl of excitement and lust for her. At the same time, he remembered to be careful with her, to gauge her readiness. Her body was still new to this, inexperienced, in need of gentle handling.
New but so eager. She was a natural to loving.
It didn’t take her long to reach the peak. He felt the quick, hot flutter of her climax against his tongue and she held him tightly to her, crying out, then whispering his name. Her body lifted, bowing up. He stayed with her, kept on kissing her, pressing his tongue at her core, his hands beneath her, cradling her, lifting her closer to his eager mouth.
She shuddered, cried out again and then, with a sigh, went loose. For a little while, he rested his head on her belly and she gently stroked his hair.
In time he rose above her again. Gathering her close to him, he settled her head against his shoulder.
She sighed and whispered, “I want you, Dami....”
“Shh.” He kissed her temple.
But she pushed up on an elbow and met his eyes. “I want all of you.” Her upper lip was damp with sweat.
He took her face between his hands, pulled her closer and kissed her. “Soon,” he said against her mouth. “Shh...” He stroked the short wisps of chestnut hair back from her damp forehead.
“Now,” she argued, catching his lower lip between her pretty teeth, biting down a little so that the fine ache of wanting her intensified and he groaned. And then, more firmly, she commanded, “Now.”
Who was he to refuse her? Whatever she wanted, he would make sure that she had.
She watched him, her hair a wild tousle of short curls, her eyes low and lazy, looking equally satisfied and determined, as he took one of the condoms from the table by the bed. He had it out of its wrapper and on him in a quick well-practiced series of actions—and carefully, too, so as not to rupture or tear it.
She put her hand to his cheek then, urging him down to her until his mouth settled on hers and they shared another long, sweet kiss.
And what a kiss. She did learn fast. Kissing her now, it was hard to remember how very innocent she had been such a short time ago. This kiss was a woman’s kiss, a kiss she took, a kiss she owned. And while she kissed him, she was moving under him, her hands all over him, urging him to cover her.
He gave her what she wanted, burning to have her, impatient as any green kid by then. She made him so hot and needy. She stole his jaded, world-weary nature, gave him back all this urgency, this greed, this heated, hungry tenderness.
He settled above her and she opened to accept him. He tried to go slow, to be careful, be mindful.
But there was no mindfulness for him with her. There was only the welcoming wet heat of her, only her soft hands all over him, pulling him down to her.
Into her.
She took him, she owned him, she moved beneath him and he was the one following, giving back what she gave to him, taking her cues and answering in kind without conscious thought, without calculation. His mind was a whirl of impressions and images. And all of them were of her.
Lucy, too thin, too pale the first time he saw her, running down the steps at her brother’s house, her smile blooming in greeting for him, a stranger. Lucy in his arms for a dance that same night, the tip of the scar between her breasts fresher, deep pink. Lucy in her workroom at the house in California, her head bent over a sewing machine, feeding bright fabric under the humming, swift needle....
And Lucy now, beneath him, flushed, sure, powerful.
He gave himself up to her. She took him and she opened him and she turned him inside out.
* * *
A little while later he made a quick trip to the loo to dispose of the condom. He returned to her and gathered her close and they lay on the bed in the silvery light from the big window, naked, together, watching the snow come down. Her fat orange cat jumped up in the window and watched the snow with them.
He felt content in a way he hadn’t for a single day since she left him alone in Montedoro. She was so easy to be with. It had always been that way between them: comfortable. Right. He’d feared that having sex with her would ruin the easiness.
So far it hadn’t. Maybe he’d get lucky after all. This new hunger they had for each other would run its course and they would still have their friendship.
God. He hoped so.
He stroked her hair and ran a finger up and down her arm.
She sighed. “That was so good. Oh, Dami, about sex? Seriously, I had no idea what I was missing. And I’m so glad I decided to learn from the best.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “No regrets, then?”
“None. And it’s not only the sex, Dami. It’s...this. You and me, alone, just being together. This is so good.”
He pressed a kiss against her hair, breathing in the womanly scent of her. “Better than good.”
She lifted up enough to look down at him and meet his eyes. “So tell me. I have to know. How long are you here for? Are you staying upstairs? You weren’t wearing a coat, which I’m guessing means you went up to your apartment first.... And what are you here for? Business? Where’s your bodyguard? When did you get here? Oh, Dami, how I have missed you.”
He chuckled. “I missed you, too.” Far too much. “And do you really expect me to remember all those questions?”
She kissed his shoulder. “Try.”
That made him smile. “Fair enough, then. I’ll be here through the first part of next week, at least. Yes, I’m staying upstairs. I have some meetings, a project in the works.”
“What—?”
He stopped her next question with a finger to her mouth. “Wait until I answer the ones you already asked.” She pressed her lips together and nodded in a promise of silence—one he knew she couldn’t keep. He said, “Quentin, my bodyguard, is now in his room off my apartment. He’s not happy that I refused to let him come down here with me so he could check your rooms for threats.”
“Oh, right. I could be planning to kidnap you and hold you for ransom.”
“Exactly. You could be a very dangerous woman.”
“I could chain you to my bed and never let you go.”
He lifted his head long enough to kiss the tip of her nose. “It’s an intriguing idea, one we should discuss in depth later.”
She put on a shocked expression. “Oh, now I get it. You’re the one who’s dangerous.”
“Didn’t I warn you about that?”
“You did. I didn’t listen—and I’m so glad I didn’t.”
He caught her chin. “Kiss me.” She lowered those soft, warm lips to his in a brushing kiss that ended too soon. He stared up at her and stroked her velvety cheek. “You are dangerous,” he whispered.
And she giggled. “I guess you needed Quentin here after all.”
“No, I didn’t. He’d have gone around o
pening your cabinets and peering in your closets. I didn’t want that for our reunion.”
She kissed his shoulder. “Our reunion. I like it.”
Damien did, too. Far too much. “Where was I? Ah. I arrived here only a little while before I knocked on your door. I went to my apartment, had my driver drop my bags in the foyer and took off my coat while Quentin went up and down the stairs checking for potential threats. Then I sent him to his room and came to find you. Next question?”
“What is the project you’re here about?”
“Prepare to be fascinated,” he said wryly. “Mass-transit apps.”
“Like HopStop? GPS for a subway or bus system, showing you where to get on and get off and change buses to get where you’re going?”
“Exactly. We want that for Montedoro. Rule was dealing with it and he had meetings set up here in New York for Monday and Tuesday of next week. But he had a scheduling conflict. I stepped up and volunteered to fill in for him.” It sounded perfectly reasonable. But it wasn’t the whole truth. He’d wanted to see her again, couldn’t stop thinking about her. The transit-app project? Just an excuse.
She kissed him, her hand at his cheek, caressing. “How long will you be here?”
“Until the middle of next week, Wednesday or Thursday....”
“Will you have meetings every day?” She actually blushed. “And yes, I am working you totally, trying to find out how much of your time I can expect to monopolize.”
Good. She wanted what he wanted. More of this, the two of them. More time together. More sex. More...everything.
HOLIDAY ROYALE Page 13
