by Dee Brice
“Señorita TC, you sing like the stones.”
“Do I?” She laughed, for the first time in weeks filled with joy.
“Si. Damian will be very happy.”
“Will he, hombre?”
Looking pleased yet embarrassed, Rogelio nodded. “I think he loves you very much. Almost as much as mi padre—my father loves my mother.”
“Almost as much as we all love you.”
“Abuelo, too?”
“Yes, Rogelio, your grandfather too.”
Rogelio stood and tugged on her hands until she got to her feet.
“I think I will find Grandfather and tell him that I love him.”
“And I think I shall find Damian.”
His hands fisted at his waist, his stance as solid as his hero’s, Rogelio blocked her path. “And you will tell him that you love him?”
“With all my heart.”
* * * * *
When Tiffany sauntered into Emilio’s office wearing a preoccupied expression, Damian’s stomach spurted acid into the region of his heart. Nothing had changed. She still was trapped within herself. If Rogelio could not free her, he feared no one could.
Her head bowed, Tiffany said, “I’d like to talk with you, Damian.”
“Certainly.”
As if not knowing where or how to begin, TC strolled to the window. Picking up a photograph very similar to the one she’d found in the guest room in Torquay, she said, “Now will you tell me whose picture this is?”
“Let it go, Tiffany,” Damian warned, trapping her hand between his and the picture frame he placed face down on Emilio’s desk.
She looked up at him, her expression determined. “No! I won’t let it go. Since I met you, I’ve been lied to too many times. Now, I want the truth and I want it from you.” In a gentler voice she said, “That day…the day we learned each other’s names, you looked as if you hated me. Why?”
Sighing, turning his back to her, he raked his fingers through his hair. His rigid shoulders told her how hard he struggled against telling her. Worse, his body’s stiffness screamed his pain. But at last he said, “Memories. Too damn many bloody memories.”
“Please, Damian. I can only imagine how those memories hurt you but… You need to tell someone and it might as well be me.”
“Right. I do need to tell you.” He faced her. “You have heard the expression ‘an heir and a spare’? Well, I am the spare. My—”
“Surely your parents never made you feel unwanted.”
“Of course not! It is just that Michael, my brother Michael, was the first-born, but only by twenty minutes or so.”
“Twins? My God, you’re a twin?”
“Was. I was a twin. Michael was a brilliant financier. He could have made his fortune on Wall Street or in any banking establishment in the world. Instead he chose to work for Interpol, tracking down money launderers and tax evaders.” Raking his hair again, he gulped. “But he soon got bored with all the plodding paperwork. He wanted to be ‘in on the kill’, was how he put it. In one particular instance, he was in on the kill. He bled to death, cut almost in half by a drug lord’s Uzi.”
“Dear God,” TC whispered, her eyes, her voice clogged with tears.
“I think by now you are aware that Interpol has no direct enforcement jurisdiction. It operates where and when the local authorities allow it and only in matters having international impact.”
“So that’s why Colonel Mendez has remained in charge here in Colombia.”
Damian nodded. “Two years ago, my brother was betrayed by someone in the local police department. Betrayed by a woman he had taken into his arms, into his bed, into his heart.” He glanced at his white-knuckled fists, then back at her. “I dreamed. The night we made love the first time, I dreamed Emerald had shot me to death. Just like that bitch Yulie shot my brother.”
“You thought I was Emerald.”
“You were— You are.”
“Were. Were is the important word here. And Emerald never killed anyone. You know that…don’t you?”
“I know it now,” he said and drew her into his arms.
“Would you mind sitting down? Looking up at you makes me dizzy.”
Feeling off balance, Damian willingly obeyed her request. He seated himself, then found his lap, his arms, his heart filled with vibrant woman.
“I love you, Damian, Ian—whoever the devil you are,” she said, her kisses all over his face wreaking havoc with other parts of his anatomy.
“And I love you, Tiffany Hunter.”
Eyes glowing like the emerald cabochon in Isabella’s Belt, his ladylove said, “My name isn’t Hunter.”
“It will be,” Damian promised, then kissed her to seal the promise. “I think I shall ask Nadim to stand up for me.”
“Not,” Tiffany said, then grinned impishly. “On second thought, go ahead.”
“Who will you ask?”
Her fingers tracing erotic patterns over his chest, she said, “I never had a girlfriend. Esmé came close, but… Anyway, other than you, there’s only one person I’ve felt close to since this whole thing started.”
“The sales clerk in Bogotá?” Damian said, his eyes tilted heavenward in fervent supplication. “Please, do not tell me it is—”
“But of course it is. Who else? Damian, darling, will you please, please, please,” she pleaded between kisses, “give me Nick’s telephone number.”
“A Man of Honor?” Damian groaned, wondering how his somewhat staid family would react to this eccentricity.
“A Man of Honor is all the rage in the colonies,” Tiffany assured him between renewed kisses.
“Is it now?” he said, a heartbeat later recognizing her turn of phrase as a joke. Squeezing her to him until she gasped in protest, he threw back his head and let laughter claim him. “Dios, I love you, woman.”
“I shall delight in hearing that every day for the rest of my life.”
“Indeed you shall, Tiffany darling.” Long moments later Damian said softly, “Tell me about William.”
Tiffany realized she was free, finally, of Charles Cartierri’s machinations and could tell Damian the truth about her husband. “He was my best friend. When he caught me stealing, he went to Sir James—to my father—and told him. James told Charles that, since I was a minor, he could be held responsible for what I had done. Charles agreed that I should be employed by Bijoux to recover property claimed to have been stolen. William and I became a team, until he got too sick, too weak.” She gasped, drawing in more air and the courage to continue. “Even then, his mind functioned brilliantly. He used to devise little ‘capers’ for Jerry and me to solve.” She laughed, then said wryly, “I was better at the game than Jerry was, and I basked in William’s approval. I gloated, delighted that I had beaten William’s lover, that there was one area of William’s life Jerry could share only vicariously. Poor Jerry. I treated him abominably, but his love for William proved more tolerant than mine.”
“Then Jerry didn’t leave because of you.”
“William sent him away. He didn’t want Jerry to have to watch him die.”
“But he let you watch him,” Damian said, his voice rough with anger.
“He tried to send me away, but I wouldn’t let him.” She shrugged. “I had nowhere to go anyway. And no one should have to die alone.”
Damian sighed. “I know a deathbed vigil is the custom of many cultures, but I sometimes wonder… I think I might prefer to die alone, rather than see your dear sweet face veiled by sorrow.”
“Oh, Damian,” she whispered, then kissed him tenderly. “We’ll have a rich, full, long life together. And when we die, we’ll have eternity.” He grinned. “What are you thinking?”
“I think I shall enjoy that very much.”
“Enjoy what?”
“Chasing you around heaven in our all together. You know, naked. Speaking of which…” He waggled his eyebrows and smiled at her lasciviously. “I think we should retire.”
�
��But I just woke up a little while ago,” Tiffany protested when he stood with her in his arms.
“Who said anything about sleeping?”
“And all this time I’ve taken you for a literal-minded man.”
“Mmm. It has been some time since you have taken me at all.”
“We’ll have to remedy that, won’t we?” She fluttered her eyelashes then, feeling silly, laughed.
“Precisely what I had in mind.”
* * * * *
Reaching the top of the staircase on her own feet, Tiffany headed toward her room. Damian tugged her toward the guest wing.
“I thought Esmeralda consigned you to the cellar.”
“She did. Since you and I have reconciled, I am free to use my own room.” His unabashed grin told Tiffany he’d been in his own room all along.
“Since we reconciled just now, how would she know?”
Damian tapped the side of his nose. “Like cops, godmothers know these things intuitively.”
“Ah.” When Damian opened the door to his room Tiffany said, “Oh my. Godsons lead a pampered life.”
Against the far wall stood an enormous bed, its sheets and blankets already turned down. To Tiffany’s right a cozy fire burned, inviting occupants to linger on the sofa facing it. A champagne bucket sat on the coffee table, a bottle and long-stemmed flutes already chilling.
“Pretty sure of yourself, huh?”
“Very hopeful. I prayed Rogelio would make you see reason.”
“I’ve been a bitch, I know.”
“Not exactly a bitch, but very nearly. You have been…difficult.” Taking her hand, he led her inside and then closed the door. “Would you like some champagne now?”
Feeling a little shy, she nodded. While Damian opened the champagne, she wandered the room, touching knick-knacks, smelling roses that gave the large room a homey feel.
“There’s something that’s been puzzling me,” she said, sitting on the sofa and taking a full champagne flute from Damian’s hand. He settled at her side, then drew her to him, making her assume she should ask her question. “How did you know I’d gone to Cartagena?”
He chuckled. “Thank God, Nick has a flypaper mind for trivia. He recalled you saying limousines are the safest mode of transportation. We contacted the concierge and learned that you or your stepmother had booked a car and driver to take you to Cartagena.”
Tiffany hmphed. “Another benefit of working with Interpol. You got the answer with a snap of your fingers.” Sighing, she added, “And I’m grateful. If you hadn’t been there when…”
He kissed her, his lips gentle. Easing back, he raised his glass. “To our future. To our very long, very happy future. We have earned it.”
The certainty in his voice, in his mesmerizing eyes eased the doubt in her soul. She clinked her flute with his, then sipped, her gaze never leaving his.
He put their glasses on the coffee table. “I have a question for you.”
“Shoot, er, ask it.”
“Do you like your hair pulled back so tightly? It looks as if it hurts.”
Tiffany pulled the rubber band out of her hair. “It does hurt. I should pick up some of those—”
He ran his fingers through her hair. “I like your hair like this. All wild, as if we have just made love.” Twining a curl around his fingers, he drew her face to his. “I like its scent and its softness. When it is free like this, I like seeing it move when you walk. Most of all, I like seeing it spread across my pillows, feeling it flow over my skin when you move above me.”
His words, his eyes, told her everything that was in his heart. She touched his face. Her fingers shaking, she unbuttoned his shirt, then slid it off his shoulders.
He scooped her onto his lap. Tonguing the valley between her breasts, he unfastened her halter-top, then cupped her breasts. Her nipples pearled against his palms. She wiggled her bottom and felt his already hard cock get even harder.
“We should wait,” Damian murmured against her arched throat.
“W-wait?”
“Until we are married.”
She grabbed his ears and pulled his face to hers. “It feels like a year since we made love. I’m not waiting—”
He carried her to the bed. Both of them laughing, he tossed her on it, following her down. “I have dreamed of you here.”
“I’ve wanted to be here.” His gaze locked with hers, he traced her hairline, her eyebrows, her lips. “Damian.”
“I refuse to rush, querida. I want to sip you like fine wine.” He nipped her lower lip, then kissed her gently.
Tiny bursts of excitement and need surged through her like champagne bubbles rising in a flute. She shifted, rubbing her swollen breasts and aching nipples against his warm chest. Her nipples were so sensitive, so needy, his heat spread from them to her pussy. She could feel her labia swell, moistened by her own juices.
“C-can’t we hurry now? Take our time later?”
Chuckling, he shook his head and teased one nipple with his clever tongue.
She growled and ground her hips against his groin. His cock pulsed against her belly. Satisfied his arousal matched her own, she snaked her hand between their bodies and curled her fingers around it. She’d drive him as crazy with need as she was.
He caught her wrist. His grip firm, he dragged her hand over her head. Through the lust buzzing in her ears, she heard the unmistakable click of locking handcuffs.
“Damian!” she protested, a nervous laugh escaping her lips before she could hold it back.
“I knew these would serve a noble purpose,” he said, fastening her other hand to the headboard. Resting on his haunches, he raked her body with predatory eyes.
Tiffany pulled against the restraints, only now realizing they were padded with something soft. So, he didn’t intend to hurt her.
“Is this payback for what I did to you in Bogotá?”
“Dios, no.” Standing, he stripped off his jeans. His cock waved at her before standing at attention against his belly. “I knew you would be difficult, Tiffany. As I said before, I refuse to rush.”
She glared at him. He laughed as if he knew the secret thrill being helpless gave her. As if her swollen breasts and turgid nipples hadn’t already betrayed her need!
He knelt on the bed, then straddled her thighs. As if sensing its goal was near, his cock twitched. She licked her lips, taunting him. Reminding him how his cock felt when she took it in her mouth and licked and sucked him to ecstasy.
He grinned. “Next time,” he said, making her wonder if he talked to her or to his cock. Unfastening her shorts, he pulled them and her thong off. Throwing them over his shoulder, he said, “Perfect.”
That predatory gaze swept over her again. Embarrassment made her fight the cuffs so she could cover her breasts and mons. Need made her spread her legs, an open invitation for him to take her. Now!
Ignoring the blatant lure, he clamped his hands around her left foot. His thumbs dug gently into her arch. “Do you know that your feet connect to every erogenous zone in your body?”
“N-no.” But wherever his fingers massaged her foot, heat built in her body. She felt as if she would explode if he didn’t bury himself in her. “Dear God,” she moaned, feeling tingles of pleasure and need everywhere.
He kissed her toes, laved between them, then licked his way up her legs to the apex of her thighs. Her pussy throbbed. She felt her clit swell like his cock, begging him to kiss it. Rub it. Lick and suck it.
He nuzzled it with his nose. “Sweet. You smell so sweet. So ready,” he murmured.
Groaning, Tiffany arched her hips. She craved his mouth on her clit, his tongue in her pussy.
He spread her curls, but only blew on her needy clit. Touched it with the tip of his tongue. Her fingers clutched at empty air. Her toes curled into the bedding before she drew her feet up and down his legs. Her hips surged against his face. At last…dear God, at last he sucked the nub into his mouth and eased his finger inside her. And found that litt
le button that drove her to the edge.
“Come for me, querida. Let me taste your sweet juices.”
Her climax tore through her. He drove his tongue deep into her pulsing core, making her scream his name. Over and over, until—replete—she looked down her body and found him grinning up at her. Were she less euphoric, she’d scold him for that male smugness shining in his dark eyes. Instead, she pulled against the cuffs and said, “If you free me, I’ll return the favor.”
He slid up her body to kiss her thoroughly. She tasted her cum on his tongue and marveled at it. Unembarrassed, she mated her tongue with his, sucking her own elusive essence from it.
“I do not have to free you to fuck your luscious mouth,” he said at last.
Acknowledging that truth, she nodded. But when he slid to his side, she looked down at his fully erect cock and swallowed a gulp of fear. If she couldn’t use her hands to control his thrusts, she could choke on his enormous cock.
A gentle tug on her nipple brought her gaze to his face.
“I would miss having your hands on my balls when I come.”
“Hmmm.” His fingers wandering over her breasts distracted her. The familiar ache, the need, the craving built once more. “Damian,” she moaned.
“I have often wondered if I could make you come just by touching your nipples.”
“S-sometimes I think I can come when you just look at me,” she admitted, feeling heat renew need. “I want you in me.”
“Soon,” he promised, continuing to caress her breasts. He cupped them one at a time. His fingers circled her areolas, then gently pinched the rigid points he’d made of her nipples. Longing for those clever fingers deep inside it, her pussy wept.
His eyes never leaving hers, he continued his sweet assault on her breasts. She fought the rising need inside her, but her body conspired with his gently marauding fingers.
“No,” she moaned as she shook her head in denial of what was happening to her body. Her hips ground against his leg. Powerless even to close her eyes so he wouldn’t see her climax overtake her, she felt it sweep through her—a tsunami drowning her in pleasure. “Wanton. You’ve made me a wanton.”
Chuckling, he produced a key from under the pillows, then freed her hands. Intending to cuff him to the bed, she grabbed his wrist.
