by Raquel Belle
“Oh, next week? I get that much time? You must be in love with me, Amante.” She paused, her brows raised and her lips in an adorable pout. He found her thinking face too cute and was again irritated with himself. “That is how you say lover, isn’t it?”
Keeping his smile away was futile. It started with a twitch of his lips, then a slow curve that blossomed into a full-blown grin. It happened all the time with her, no matter how hard he tried to fight it.
“By god, he’s smiling. He’s human after all, ladies and gentlemen.”
He snagged her wrist and pulled her across his chest. “Has anyone ever told you that talk way too much in the morning? It’s annoying.”
“Then kick me out of your bed …,” she said.
His eyes dropped to her mouth. Those pink lips had slid over his dick just last night. The memory gave him the boner of the century. He couldn’t believe that after more than one night with Abby, he wasn’t bored. He craved more. “Not just yet.” Bunching her hair in his fist, he forced her closer to demand a kiss. As always, she melted into him with one of those breathy little moans that he loved to hear. By the time he released her, his body was on fire, eager for the satisfaction that only she could give. His erection pressed into her stomach but she pulled away.
“Tell me more about you, Damian.”
He glanced down at his jutting erection and back at her in disbelief. “Right now? Are you serious?” When she nodded solemnly, he groaned.
“You haven’t even told me exactly what it is that you do.”
“That’s basic information you can find online.”
Abby huffed. “Okay, never mind that. How did you get your start? How did you become so successful?”
“By working hard. Share that with all the kids.”
“Damian.”
“Abby ...”
“You’re deliberately being difficult.”
“Yes, because I don’t like being interrogated.”
“What, have you been arrested before or something?” she asked.
Well, that was random. His suspicion rose. Or, maybe her question wasn’t so random. He slowly sat up, his expression dark, causing Abby to clamp her mouth shut. She seemed afraid. Good. She should be. “I’m starting to think you’re fishing for information about me for nefarious reasons.”
Her eyes widened to saucers. “W-what …? No, I ... Why would you think that?” Lifting the sheet to cover her naked body, she angled her chin defiantly. “Are you always this paranoid?”
“Cautious, not paranoid. I don’t trust so easily, Abby, and with good reason. So, why all the questions all of the sudden?”
She swallowed, averting her gaze. He watched her like a hawk observing prey. “I like you.” The words that were barely audible.
“Excuse me?”
“I said, I like you … You’re not as awful as everyone says.”
“Thanks …,” he said.
Abby turned to him. “Maybe I am fishing for information, but it’s only because you’re a mystery to me, and I’d feel more comfortable knowing who I’m sleeping with.”
“All you need to know is that I can make you scream and come like …”
“No need to finish.” She shoved a hand though her hair, her movement agitated. “I honestly just wanted to know a little more about you. Now, I feel like an idiot. Obviously, we’re just ... having sex.”
“What’s so wrong with that?”
She lowered her head to conceal whatever emotion flickered in her eyes. “Absolutely nothing. I just thought ...”
“Thought what?” His lips formed a thin line. “That I like you enough to spill my guts, share my darkest secrets? Rumor has it that I drove your daddy to kill himself, Abby. And it's no secret that I hate your family. Why would you delude yourself into thinking I like you that much to share even the slightest detail of my life?” He’d lashed out unnecessarily, he knew. But what she was making him feel was frightening, and he had to put a stop to it. She’d quickly become an addiction…and if he didn’t try to end things soon, he might never be able to.
Abby’s sharp intake of breath and trembling lips brought on his first wave of guilt. He expected her to lash out with nasty words of her own. He supposed that was what he wanted her to do to make him feel less like a jerk.
She scooted out of bed and scampered to the bathroom. He winced when the door slammed, and then he slowly sat up. He wiped a hand over his face, wanting so badly to not feel like an asshole. He’d let many women loose with harsher words. So why did he have the urge to pound on the bathroom door to check on Abby?
He moved to get up but paused. What would he say to her? If he knocked, and she opened the door in tears, he’d have no idea how to handle the situation. “You could try apologizing,” he told himself quietly. Had he been so out of touch that he’d forgotten simple social niceties such as issuing an apology?
Still, he didn’t knock on the door. When he got up, he marched out of the bedroom, instead. Maybe it was best if he gave her space and apologized when she decided to come out of the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, he still sat in the kitchen, waiting for Abby so that he could pour her a cup of coffee as a peace offering. Damian scowled, hating that he’d hurt her feelings so much that she might never show her face. Just as he got up to make sure she was still alive upstairs, footsteps were heard coming down the stairs.
“About damn time.” He’d waited so long he had almost forgotten the apology he had rehearsed. Abby didn’t come looking for him as he’d expected. Instead, he heard the front door open and close. “What the hell?”
Damian hurried to the living room and spotted red curls flying in the wind as Abby marched down the driveway. He flung the door open. “Abby, where the hell do you think you’re going? Get back here!” To his irritation and disbelief, she didn’t acknowledge him. When was the last time anyone openly defied him? He’d forgotten what it was like to not have his own way.
Unwilling to let her get away, he stepped outside, shirtless and shoeless. The freezing wind and the flurry of snowflakes that hit his skin made him swear more than he’d ever sworn before. “Damn it!” Without much thought, he took off after her. The picture he made hopping over the snow-covered ground barefoot while cursing up a storm would probably give him a good chuckle later. For the time being, he was livid. She was teetering carefully down the driveway in her heels, so he was able to catch her before she reached the gate.
“What are you going to do, Abby, climb over the gate?” he asked. “You need me to open it.” She swung around to face him, unadulterated rage burning in her eyes. It was the fact that they also glistened with tears that got to him the most.
“Then open it,” she said.
“No. Get back inside.”
“You can only get away with dishing out orders in the bedroom, Amante. Try it in the real world, and you’ll get slapped.”
Despite freezing his ass off, Damian felt amusement flood him. Feisty, passionate, and comedic—that was Abby. In only a short time with her, he found it disheartening to imagine not being around her. Her either walking out of his life or being thrown out was inevitable. Right?
“Quit threatening me and get back inside so we can talk, Querida.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said. “I’m leaving. Open the goddamn gate or so help me …” Her surprised squeal probably disturbed the entire neighborhood, but he could care less, as he dipped and hoisted her over one shoulder.
“Put me down … What the hell, you ... you ... troglodyte.”
Damian let out a rumble of laughter. “Only you can insult me so creatively, Querida.”
Abby let out a growl but had no choice except to quit squirming and battering him with her purse until he made it inside and dumped her on the couch.
“I’m sorry for acting like a caveman,” he said, “but, in case you didn’t notice, I was standing in the snow without much on. I wasn’t going to risk frostbite just to stand there and argue with you.�
�
Abby scrambled to her feet. She straightened her coat and shoved her hair out of her face. “I hope your dick froze off. It would please me immensely.”
For the second time that morning, Damian found himself roaring. “How will I go back to my dull mornings without you, Abby?” He moved to block her path when she aimed for the door. He grasped her chin. “And don’t act like you wouldn’t miss that particular appendage if it froze off.”
She pulled out of his grasp and harrumphed, but her cheeks burned scarlet. “I hate you.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. What I said about not liking you …”
A bitter, humorless laugh interrupted. “You think I’m hurt because of that? Get over yourself, Damian. I’m hurt over the way you so callously brought up my dead father. You might have hated him, but he meant everything to me.” Her voice cracked, and her shoulders slumped. “I’ll never get to tell him how much ...” She trailed off and a stream of tears that he was sure she’d tried to keep at bay, ran down her cheek.
Damian took a step back as he had a flash of his teenage self, tears running down his face at his father’s funeral. He was sure he’d looked as forlorn, as lost and defeated as Abby did. He’d hated Caleb, but he didn’t hate his daughter—as much as he wanted to. Maybe he’d been a bit too cruel. Swallowing, he made an attempt to reach for her hand, but she pulled away.
“Open the damn gate so I can go home,” she said. “I’m not interested in any discussion right now.”
With a single nod, he suppressed his need to talk. “I’ll take you home.”
Chapter Fourteen
Abby
Exactly two days passed without Abby hearing from or seeing Damian. She hated that she was counting. It had also been two days since she broke the news to her mother that she no longer wanted any part of their ludicrous revenge scheme. Well, she hadn’t told her that in person. Like a coward, she’d waited for a time that she knew her mother wouldn’t answer her phone to call and leave a lengthy message.
She just couldn’t continue without destroying herself. After the things Damian said about her father, she’d lost it. The man hated her family, and he had proudly verbalized that he led her father to his death. He’d even implied that he had no feelings for her, and there she was, in bed with him. Revenge scheme or not, Abby had hated herself too much in that moment. However, it was the reality of what she felt waking up beside Damian that morning and the mornings before that had sent her over the edge, along with the pain of him mentioning her father. She’d liked waking up beside him.
By the time her third night sleeping with him rolled around, she hadn’t even had revenge on her mind. She hadn’t gotten up in the middle of the night to make an attempt to learn his secrets. No, she’d lost herself in enjoying those steamy nights with him. They were unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. The things that man made her feel both physically and emotionally was incredible. He was so passionate, so charming, so surprisingly easy to be around. Abby had fallen into the illusion that they were a couple. Then, to hear him say such vile things about her family had been like being doused with ice water.
Keeping her composure had been impossible and instead of standing her ground like she always did, she’d fled. After rushing off to the bathroom, she’d spent minutes over the toilet heaving and choking on her self-loathing. Then, she’d cried because crying always eased a bit of the heavy burden she’d been feeling lately. When Damian left her that morning, a part of her never wanted to see him again, while the sick part of her hoped to see him soon.
Abby let out a long hiss of breath. She was a mess.
Hopefully, a day to herself would make her feel better even if it was only temporary. She was locked in her apartment, alone with only her canvas and paintbrushes. Painting was a sort of therapy for her ever since she discovered her love for art. A sad smile stretched her mouth, as she reminisced about her father pushing her to show the world her paintings. He’d been encouraging her to do so since she was a teenager, and she still hadn’t mustered the courage to come out of the closet with her art. She’d stick to her job, working with and around other artists’ work.
Abby leaned back to look at the portrait she was working on. It was a scene of her favorite pastime—lounging on the sofa in her father’s office while he sat behind his desk. “This one is for you, Daddy,” she said, quietly. He would have loved it. Of course, he loved everything she painted, or so he’d claimed. Abby laughed aloud, the sound filling her small apartment. She was sure her father lied about liking some of her earlier work.
Her peace was soon interrupted by her cell ringing on the coffee table. “Damn, I forgot to turn it off.”
Determined to ignore it, Abby lifted her paintbrush as she examined her work so far. The phone rang again, and she groaned. Her curiosity overwhelmed her need for peace. To her dismay, it was her mother. Figuring she may as well take the harsh words and get it over with, she answered. “Mother …”
“Abigail.” There was no mistaking the note of disappointment adding steel to Celeste’s tone.
Getting up from in front of her easel, Abby paced to the window to peer outside. “I thought you would have called sooner. I didn’t think you would wait an entire day before lecturing me over that message I left.”
There was a brief pause. Abby braced herself for the onslaught of hurtful words. “What do you mean you’re done?”
“Just that, Mother. I’m no longer a part of your ridiculous revenge scheme. I can’t do it. Maybe Elaina can do what I couldn’t.” She certainly had the heart or lack thereof, to get such a grisly task done. “Why didn’t you have Elaina carry out the charade from the beginning?”
Celeste could be heard taking a deep breath. “Because she and Coldwell have a history,” she said. “He wants nothing to do with her.”
History? Abby stood taller as an absurd wave of jealousy surged through her. She’d suspected something happened between Damian and Elaina. The thought of him in bed with Elaina, making her feel everything he made Abby feel was sickening. She wanted to throw something. Preferably at Damian’s head. She wasn’t supposed to care what he did or who he did it with, but she couldn’t help it.
“I suspected as much,” she said. “Look, Mother, I tried. I couldn’t find anything on Damian.”
“There is something there,” Celeste said. “A man like him has to have a closet full of skeletons. We only have a matter of weeks left, Abigail, before we’re out on the street with nothing to our names.”
Abby’s brows shot up. Only Celeste and Elaina would be out on the street in a matter of weeks. Wyatt would be back at school, nice and cozy in his dorm, which she could continue paying for, and she would be fine because she actually worked for a living. “I’m sorry, Mother ... Maybe you can meet up with Damian yourself and ... grovel. He isn’t as heartless as you made him out to be.” Despite the way he treated her a couple of mornings ago, Damian had been kind of sweet otherwise.
“Abigail, I’m your mother. You’ll do as I say.”
Abby hadn't meant to allow her burst of laughter to escape, but there was no holding it back. “When have I ever done what you’ve told me to do? Except for the one time where I agreed to help you blackmail someone. A lapse in judgment on my part ...”
“Damian Coldwell killed your father.”
Abby sighed. “Unless you have proof that Coldwell wrapped the rope around Daddy’s neck and hung him in his closet, don’t give me that. I’m tired of hearing it—the rumors. What is the actual truth?” Abby was getting agitated. If Celeste continued to push, she’d have to hang up before she did something that she’d avoided for years—severely disrespect her mother. Celeste would deserve it, but Abby’s father would turn over in his grave.
Celeste sighed. “Sit down.”
“I am sitting.”
“You’re pacing. That’s what you do when you’re upset or nervous.”
Abby stopped her march in front of th
e window with a small smile. “I’m surprised you know that.”
“We rarely see eye to eye but you are my daughter, Abby.”
“You just called me Abby.”
“I’m well aware. Your father started calling you that when you were a baby. I always preferred Abigail. It means father’s joy. Caleb was so excited to have another girl after Elaina. He had the notion that if Elaina was just like me, you’d be just like him, and he wasn’t wrong.” Celeste laughed.
Stunned, Abby dropped onto the couch and pulled the phone away from her ear to gape at it. Did her mother just laugh? Celeste’s tone was almost warm as she continued. “You’re so much like him that it used to frighten me at times. Admittedly, there was a point where I was a tad jealous of how close you two were. I always thought both of my girls would look up to their mother, but you never quite looked at me the way you looked at your father, Abby.”
Abby was at a loss for words. Years of being at odds with her mother allowed suspicion to worm into her mind. Celeste was being too nice and gentle all of a sudden. “Are you being nice to get me to agree to continue with the whole Damian debacle? I told you, I’m no longer interested in seducing him.”
“But you already have, my dear.”
“You assume I’ve managed to get into bed with him already?” Abby nibbled her lower lip and looked skyward. She was alone in her apartment. There were no eyes on her yet. She blushed profusely at the memory of all she and Damian had done. She’d gotten into his bed alright, and various other places in his house.
“If you hadn’t, he wouldn’t have stopped by yesterday looking for you.”
“What? He ... me? Are you sure?” Why wouldn’t he have called? Not that she was all that eager to hear from him. Or maybe she was. Abby didn’t know what was going on with her jumbled emotions.
“You’ve got him right where we want him. That’s why I was so confused by your message. My god, Abigail ... You haven't gone and developed feelings for the man, have you?”
