by Katie Ford
“And I had a great time,” I continue on. “I drank all the liquor until I felt like my head was bursting with the alcohol. I gorged myself on steak until I was sick.”
“And then what?” Jed frowns.
I swallow hard. “In the morning, as you can well imagine, I had the hangover of a lifetime. I got up and walked outside with my sunglasses on and my head thumping. Hell, I think I was probably still drunk. But I felt great. I was going to walk to a real estate broker and have someone pick out a fully furnished penthouse for me. It didn’t matter that I no longer had assets. I was going to get everything on credit, and get my life back together.”
“And you settled for this?” Jed jokes as he gestures around my log cabin. “I can’t say I see the appeal, man, but you do you.”
“No,” I say firmly. “That’s not what happened. I was standing outside the real estate office when I saw someone point their finger right at me and scream, ‘That’s Damien Evercore! He was in prison!’”
“Jesus, man,” Jed says. He shakes his head. “What the fuck are the odds of that even happening?”
“I don’t know, but they did,” I growl. “And that ruined it for me. I knew that I’d never be able to go anywhere in town again without someone recognizing me. They might not point at me and laugh or stare, but they’d know. Every time, someone would point and laugh with disgust, thinking that I’d betrayed my best friend and embezzled money from our company.”
“Except that’s not what happened,” Jed replies. “You’re innocent, Damien. I know that you are.”
“Yeah. You and who else?”
Jed is silent. He gets to his feet and shakes his head before collecting his sheaf of paperwork from my lap. “Look,” he says. “I know it’s rough. And you’ve done a really good job of dealing with this. But things will be different now – no one is going to look at you and think you’re a criminal.”
“No one ever believes it when a convict has a felony overturned,” I say bitterly. “They’re just going to think I have a hotshot lawyer who got me off the hook by making a deal somehow.”
Jed puffs his chest out. “And you do,” he says. “I am that hotshot lawyer. But they’re not going to keep thinking that way. You can get back into the business world, Damien. And I encourage you to do so. You were a brilliant businessman, and I don’t think that part of your life is over yet. You’re young yet – you’re what, forty-three?”
“Forty-five,” I growl. “And that part of my life has been over for a long time.”
Jed is silent as he puts his muddy Gucci loafers back on his feet and stands up. He brushes his hands off on his thighs and shakes his head. I can tell he’s holding back, but I’m fine with that. I don’t need my fancy lawyer trying to convince me of anything at the moment – especially the idea of returning to the cruel world which so bitterly betrayed me.
“Okay,” Jed says with resignation. He tucks his briefcase under his arm. “I can see your mind is made up. But let me file that appeal anyway, okay? I just want to see how it will go.”
The bitter taste seeps into my mouth again and I’m glad my stomach is empty so there’s nothing left to vomit.
“Yeah. Whatever,” I say. “Do what you want.”
I watch Jed leave from my chair. As the sound of his Mercedes fades into the distance, I close my eyes and think of Emma. Thoughts of her have become a sanctuary for me, a place where the real world with all of its troubles doesn’t exist.
God, Emma.
She can never know about this.
No matter what.
Because if my sweet girl knows that I’m a convicted felon, she’ll run screaming … and I’ll only have myself to blame.
Chapter Eleven
Emma
It feels like finals week is taking forever. I’m totally sleep deprived and crazy, even though I haven’t been studying nearly as much as I should.
It’s because I’ve been spending so much time with Damien, holed up in the woods.
“Do you want seconds?”
Damien grins as he stands there with a giant plate of cheeseburgers. They’re bloody and dripping grease and they smell almost too good to take.
“Oh, yes,” I say happily. I take another bun from the package on the table and rip it open. Damien expertly places two patties on top and I squish the bun down until grease oozes onto my plate.
“Good,” Damien says. “These are never good leftover.” He helps himself to a single burger, then sits down and watches as I take my first bite. I can feel juice oozing down my chin and I flush hotly, but Damien reaches over and wipes my chin with a napkin.
“I take it you liked your present,” I say shyly as I look over at the big basket I brought.
Damien nods. “It was thoughtful of you.”
“I would go crazy if I had to live without all of my favorite snack foods for years,” I say as I take another huge bite. Like everything Damien makes, the cheeseburgers are perfect. They’re exactly medium-rare, just like I like them. And the smoked gouda I brought from town tastes excellent with the charred meat.
“I’ve managed to survive without fancy cheese,” Damien says dryly. “But thank you anyways.” He takes a huge bite and wipes his beard with a napkin. I can’t be sure, but it looks as though he’s started to groom a little more carefully since we first met. He’s been trimming his beard nearly every day and his hair is pulled back into a sexy man bun. I want to take it down and run my fingers through it.
Ever since I got here, I’ve been itching to touch Damien. We’ve developed a kind of routine – or I’ve begun initiating one, and he hasn’t stopped me yet. Every three or four days, I come by his cabin. At first it was just for dinner, some sexy times, and then goodbye. I’d always be home in bed by midnight or one. But the last time I was here, I spent the night. There was dinner, conversation, love-making, more love-making, and then before I knew it, I’d fallen asleep in his arms. Plus, he didn’t wake me. Instead, the next morning I woke up, tousled and dazed, only to be treated to a delicious breakfast of pancakes.
So yeah, I’m not sure where this is going, but the path seems promising. It’s intoxicating and thrilling and magical. I’ve never spent time with a man like Damien before. He’s so intelligent and charismatic and charming, at least once you make it past the gruff exterior.
I adore everything about him.
I’m just worried that he sees me as a silly girl, or someone who isn’t worth his time in the long run. He’s probably just wasting time with me. Heck, he’s probably just flattered that he met someone who likes his cooking so much.
“You know, I do really miss Doritos,” Damien muses thoughtfully. He gives me a sly glance. “Maybe the next time you come over, you could bring some of those. Nacho not Cool Ranch, if you don’t mind, sweetheart.”
I have to clamp my lips together so my bite of burger doesn’t fall out on my plate. He wants to see me again?
And bring Doritos, of all things? I smile while rolling my eyes.
“Oh, um, yeah, I can do that,” I guffaw. With a sassy smile, I wolf down my burger. I don’t want Damien to think I don’t like his cooking after all.
The man looks pleased.
“Cool.” Damien finishes his food and clears his plate. Without asking, he takes mine too and rinses both in the sink. My face is still hot and flushed from his casual comment. I don’t get it – when we first met, he did everything in his power to push me away. But now he’s asking me to bring him snack foods from the outside world? It’s just too funny.
Damien puts the rinsed plates on a small rack and turns out the kitchen light. He jerks his head to the side, indicating that he wants me to follow him into the living room. I get to my feet and pad slowly behind him. He settles down on the couch.
Damien pats the leather next to him. “Emma, come sit,” he commands in a low voice that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I nod. I can’t disobey him – it’s like everything he says is God’s word
. Taking a deep breath, I settle down next to him on the couch. I don’t know what he has in mind. His blue eyes are always so intense that I have trouble reading them.
To my surprise, Damien puts his arm around my shoulders. My head falls against his chest until I find that perfect hollow just below his collarbone that feels like it was made for me. When I feel Damien’s rough fingers stroking my hair, a shudder of pleasure runs down my spine and my pussy tingles. Any moment now, I know he’s going to put his mouth to mine and kiss me.
But he doesn’t. He keeps stroking my hair, brushing his fingertips from the top of my scalp to the nape of my neck. It feels so good that I close my eyes and curl closer to him. He smells like wood smoke and sweat, but in a clean way, and the scent is as intoxicating as a big glass of wine. Whenever Damien and I are apart, I miss his scent most of all.
“That feels so good,” I murmur sleepily. I put an arm around Damien’s muscular chest and pull myself closer, throwing one of my legs over his lap. He puts his free hand on my thigh and kneads the skin gently. I’m surprised – I’d expected him to attack me with wild lust by now.
But somehow, this snuggling feels almost more intimate than sex. I can feel my body growing weightless with exhaustion and I don’t even realize it when I drift off in Damien’s arms.
“Emma, wake up.”
“Huh?” My mind is foggy and I’m so comfortable – I don’t want to move from this warm, safe nest. I’m wrapped up in blankets but when I reach for Damien, the other side of the bed is empty. My eyes flash open and I see the alpha standing by the side of the bed. Sunlight is streaming in through the windows and my limbs are stiff.
Looking down, I realize that I must have fallen asleep in my clothes.
“Shit,” I mutter as I sit up and stretch. “What time is it?”
“It’s after eleven-thirty,” Damien says. His voice is low and humorless but a smirk stretches across his face. “You must have been really tired.”
“I was in a food coma,” I joke as I roll over and climb out of bed. My clothes are rumpled and my mouth tastes horrible. Covering my lips with both hands, I stumble into the bathroom and rinse my mouth out with water. I splash some on my face, too. My skin is puffy and I know my hair looks terrible, but thankfully Damien doesn’t have a mirror.
When I get back to the bedroom, it’s empty. Damien has pulled the blankets up and I yawn again as I walk into the living room. There’s a heavenly smell coming from the kitchen and I moan softly as I realize Damien’s making bacon and eggs.
I walk into the kitchen and sit down at the table. The wood is smooth and polished, and I like to think of Damien building this table himself. His hands are so scarred and calloused that I know it must have taken a huge effort.
Damien slides a plate in front of me heaped with bacon and fried eggs. The yolks are runny and perfect, and I break a piece of bacon in half to dip in the creamy yellow goodness.
“How are you such an amazing cook?” I grouse as I slice into my eggs with a fork and take a bite. “And while I’m at it, I need to bring you some ketchup from the outside world,” I add. “Or do you have some lurking around somewhere?”
Damien snorts. “That stuff is full of sugar, but go ahead,” he says. “If you like it, I should keep it on hand.”
For the second time in twenty-four hours, I feel my heart leap into my throat. What the heck is he doing, making all of these comments? It’s like he actually wants me around?
I take a long time over my breakfast until every slice of bacon is eaten and every egg is demolished. When I’m done, I get up with my plate in hand, but Damien takes it from me.
“You should put your shoes on,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll be missed at home. You’ve been gone more than a day.”
Guilt flashes over me when I think of my mom, but then I remember the sound of my father’s cruel laughter and the guilt immediately fades. Ugh. Home.
Still, Damien is right. Besides, I can’t hang around his little cabin all day. I’d surely get in the way of whatever he has to do, whether it’s chopping wood, hauling water, or shooting wild animals. I have no idea where he gets his money, but he seems well-supplied with food stuffs and firewood somehow.
“Yeah. You’re right, I should go,” I say. I reluctantly get to my feet and wash my hands at the sink. My stomach is stuffed full of breakfast and I feel more content than I have in a long time, but that sweet happiness is tempered with dread.
Because I don’t want to go home. Not now, and not ever. I want to stay in the woods with Damien and hide from society. Aside from my mother and Lacey, I don’t even have any friends. Why the heck would I want to go back out there where there’s crime and poverty, not to mention the daily trauma of my dad beating on my mom in little ways?
At first, I thought that it was weird how Damien prefers the company of leaves and trees to people, but now I think that I’m starting to understand.
“Are you okay?”
Damien’s voice jolts me out of my head and I look up and blink to see him standing there with a frown on his handsome face.
“Yeah.” I shake my head and shrug. “I think I’m just tired.”
Damien nods. “Come on,” he says. “I’ll walk you back.”
We walk through the woods in silence. Now that I’m not lost and terrified on my own, I can understand why Damien likes it so much back here. The scenery really is beautiful. It’s so serene and peaceful. And I’m getting better with directions, too. At first I was so confused. But now I can listen to the sound of the wind and the rush of the falls and actually know where I am. Who woulda thunk? Emma Hadley, who was once afraid of her own shadow, is now confident enough to walk in the forest alone.
When we get the fork in the road that leads to town, I turn to Damien with a heavy heart. Everything in my body is screaming for him – I want to throw my arms around his neck and never let go.
“You sure you won’t come with me?” I joke.
Damien narrows his eyes. “No,” he growls. “That isn’t an option.”
“I know,” I say weakly. “I was just kidding.”
“See you, Emma,” Damien says. He turns to leave and my heart lurches in my chest.
“I’ll bring Doritos next time!” I call to his departing back. “And ketchup!”
Damien doesn’t turn around, but something tells me that he’s smiling as he walks away.
The long walk back home doesn’t bother me as much this time. Despite the huge meals that I’m eating with Damien, I can tell that all of this exercise is starting to pay off. I’m still plump, but I can tell that I’m getting stronger. And who knows, maybe being strong and healthy is more important than being skinny.
Like I could ever be skinny, anyway.
By the time I get home, it’s early afternoon. Perfect. My mother usually takes her disco naps in the early afternoon to prep for her night life of charity balls and gallery openings, and my father is usually in his office or out of the house.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I step into the foyer and find it quiet. Good. Now I can go upstairs and get a shower before anyone—
“Emma.”
The sound of my name makes me leap into the air and gasp. Whirling around, I see my father standing there. For once, he’s smiling. The smile doesn’t look normal on him, though, and for a moment I think it’s because he’s usually frowning.
Then I realize that his eyes are still ice cold despite his upturned lips.
“Hi, Daddy,” I say nervously. “What’s up? You’re not usually home right now. Are you sick?”
