by J. Kenner
Her phone rang before he could respond, and he was grateful.
“Do you need to take it?”
“It’s Frank,” she said, referring to her father. She slid the phone unanswered into the back pocket of her jeans. “It’s fine.”
Damien stayed quiet, studying her. For most of her life, Nikki hadn’t known her father. And though there’d been some suspicion as to his motives when he’d stepped back into her life recently, he’d proven to be a genuinely good man.
A travel photographer, he’d been away during the kidnapping. And though she’d said nothing, Damien was certain it bothered Nikki that he hadn’t rushed home when he’d learned of their tragedy.
“Talk to me,” he said gently.
“It’s just—”
“Daddy!” Lara called. “Come here, Daddy! Come see!”
“Just a minute, sweetie!”
“It’s not important.”
“Yes,” he said. “I think it is.”
Her smile was thin. “Comparatively, it’s not. Your daughter needs her daddy now.” She tilted her head. “Go on. I’m fine.”
He went reluctantly, but his heart ached. Because he was afraid that Nikki needed her father, too. But that somehow she’d lost him all over again.
He tried not to worry as he went to Lara, then followed her around the back of the guest house where they’d seen a bunny a few days before. This time, however, there were no signs of rabbits, and he took the two disappointed little girls back to the playscape, assuring them that the bunnies were probably off somewhere. Maybe in their warren watching Puppies!
Lara rolled her eyes. “Bunnies don’t watch movies, Daddy.”
“Learn something new every day.” He kissed his daughter and looked for Nikki, but only found Bree on her patio.
“She said to tell you she went to the bungalow.”
“Is she calling Frank?”
Bree just shook her head. “Not sure.”
He considered giving her space, but that didn’t sit well. And after asking Bree to watch the girls, he headed down the path to the beachfront bungalow he’d built for her after she’d complained that the only flaw of the Malibu house was that it didn’t have easy access to the beach.
He found her in their bedroom standing in front of their newest art acquisition. Another Blaine original, in much the style of the portrait the artist had painted of Nikki.
Whereas that one was bright and vibrant, though, this painting had a sadder, more subdued feel. The color scheme was mostly blue, unlike the vibrant reds and sensual blacks and grays that dominated much of Blaine’s earlier work. In the painting, the woman was bound to a chair, and though her sex was hidden in shadows, her legs were spread wide, giving the painting a raw, edgy quality rather than a more sensual eroticism.
They’d found the painting in a gallery, and he’d touched her secretly as they looked at it. Teased her. She’d melted in his arms, and he’d bought the painting because he wanted that memory, always.
In deference to the children, it now lived in a shuttered frame, revealed only when the kids weren’t in the room.
“It’s so melancholy,” Nikki said as Damien came up behind her, sliding his hands around her waist much as he’d done that day in the Beverly Hills gallery. “I think he misses her.”
“Who?” he asked, assuming that the her was the woman in the portrait.
“Evelyn,” Nikki said. “Blaine’s paintings have become more melancholy. And even though I’m not sure they’ve officially broken up, I also don’t think they’re together anymore.”
“No,” Damien agreed. “I don’t either.”
“There was a pretty significant age difference between them. Blaine’s what? Mid-thirties. And Evelyn’s got twenty years on him?”
“About that,” Damien agreed.
Nikki nodded, still not turning around. “They were good together, but I never really saw them as long term. Maybe Blaine did, though. Maybe that’s why his new paintings are melancholy.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps he’s just an artist working on his style. Either way, Evelyn deserves a partner. Someone who’s here for her. Blaine’s spending most of his time exhibiting in Asia these days.”
“I’d fantasized that maybe she’d get together with my dad.”
“They might,” Damien agreed. “I know they’ve been spending a lot of time together.”
She turned in his arms, pressing her face against his chest. “I called Evelyn. I don’t think—I don’t think it’s going to work out.”
He frowned, confused, then took a step back. He used his finger to tilt her chin up so that he could look in her eyes. “What’s going on?”
“He called her from Stockholm a few days ago. Long after I left the message telling him what happened. About Anne,” she added unnecessarily. “He told her why he hadn’t rushed right back.”
There was a harsh lilt to her voice, and he stiffened, fearing the worst.
“Why?”
“Because he was scared.” The words were full of disgust and disappointment. And heartache, too.
“Oh, baby.”
“Scared? He was scared? What kind of bullshit is that?” She drew in a breath. “That’s what Evelyn told him. I didn’t even get the chance. I guess he was too scared to call me and own up.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Considering his own father, he’d been leery when Frank turned up. But the kind photographer had won him over. Now, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a goddamn epidemic. God knows he hoped not. Neither Frank nor Jeremiah were the kind of father that Damien wanted to be.
“Evelyn was here for us,” Nikki said. “It was hard and it was horrible, but she was here, right in the thick of it. And she’s not even my mother. Or yours. But my real dad—a man who actually took the time to seek me out—he just couldn’t be bothered because he was scared. Like our life is a fucking Disney park and he only wanted to ride the carousel. Not leap onto the Tower of Terror.”
He held her by the shoulders, pushing her gently back so that he could see her face. “He screwed up, baby. I won’t argue. But it’s hard being a parent. And he’s pretty new to the job.”
“So are you. You haven’t screwed up.”
He wasn’t entirely certain that was true.
“And you would never bolt if one of your kids was in pain,” she added.
“No. I wouldn’t.”
“Yeah, well, he’s done it to me twice. First by leaving back when I was little. And now by staying away when I needed him.” A single tear trickled down her cheek. “He could have helped, Damien. But he didn’t even try.”
He sighed, wishing he had the words to make it better for her. “I won’t defend him. But I will say that you need to talk to him.”
Her eyes flashed. “Why the hell should I?”
“If I screwed up, would you tell Anne and Lara to turn their backs? To not talk to me?”
“You wouldn’t do—”
“Wouldn’t screw up? I hope you’re right, but it’s happened once or twice.”
That earned him a tiny smile.
“Just talk to him, baby. He’s not your mother. He’s trying. Or at least he was. Talk to him and find out why he stayed away. Was he uncomfortable? Unsure what to do or what to say? Afraid of making a misstep?”
She wiped her eyes, then studied his face. “You haven’t screwed up, you know. You’re an incredible father.”
He hadn’t even realized he was carrying that fear, but her words released it, tossing away the weight of his own doubts as if they were as negligible as cotton fluff.
“You’re amazing,” he said.
“That’s why we’re so good together,” she said. “Because I think the exact same thing about you.”
She turned and leaned against him, and he put his arm around her as they looked at the painting. “I’m glad we bought it,” he said. “And not just to memorialize one wicked afternoon in an art gallery.”
“You have other wick
ed memories of this painting?”
He chuckled. “Not this one. But it occurs to me that the first time I kissed you we were surrounded by Blaine originals.”
“That’s true. You told me you were going to kiss me that night, and then you did. I’ve always been impressed by a man who keeps his word.”
“We were on a velvet bench, hidden in an alcove. And I’d been fantasizing about that kiss ever since I met a woman with a fascination for cheesecake at a pageant in Dallas.”
“And it only took six years,” she teased. “You don’t move very fast, do you, Mr. Stark?”
“Some things are worth waiting for.”
“Like that kiss?”
“It was magical,” he told her, then bent his head to hers and kissed her softly and sweetly. “It’s even better now.”
She sighed happily, and he was struck by the reality that she was truly his. Maybe there really was magic in the world.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“That people who say that love at first sight is a myth are both foolish and sad. I loved you from the moment I saw you, and though I don’t know how it’s possible, I love you more each day. You fill me up, Nikki. You make me feel as though I own the world and everything in it.”
Her smile bloomed. “Well, you pretty much do.”
“Ah, but you are more precious to me than rubies, and nothing I own or desire can compare to you.”
“You better be careful,” she said, wrapping herself in his embrace. “Otherwise, you’re going to end up spending the whole rest of the day between my legs.”
“Trust me, Mrs. Stark, I’d have no objections at all.”
Chapter Ten
“It’s weird going back today.”
Nikki’s words filtered through the hall to Damien as he moved from the bedroom toward the kitchen. But she wasn’t speaking to him. Instead, she was talking with Bree, who was back on nanny duty.
“I guess it would be,” he heard Bree reply. “Just take it slow. And it’s Friday, so that’s a good way to ease in. Take care of what needs to be handled, then take the weekend to regroup. Start fresh next week.”
“You’re very wise,” Nikki said, and Damien heard the tease in her voice.
“It’s true,” he said as he came into the kitchen, delighting in the squeals of greeting from his two little girls at the table with their nanny. Nikki stood at the counter, and he let his gaze slide over her, reveling in the way her smile brightened the morning. Then he turned his attention to Bree and the girls. “So what do you three have planned for the day?”
“Puppies!” Anne said, making Bree laugh and Lara roll her eyes.
“Not puppies, silly,” Lara said. “Puppets.”
“We’re going to put together the puppet theater,” Bree explained, referring to the birthday present from Jamie and Ryan. “And then I thought we’d make some paper-mache puppet heads and use scrap material to make their clothes. My mom and I used to do that.”
“Sounds messy,” Nikki said. “Try not to paper-mache the entire playroom.”
“We’ll do our best,” Bree said, obviously fighting a smile. “Won’t we, girls?”
“Puppies!” Anne said again, to which Lara responded with her hands on her hips and a shake of her head, looking so damn adult that Damien had to turn away so she wouldn’t see him laugh.
“We should go,” Nikki said, kissing each girl in turn. “I want to pop into Upper Crust and get some treats for the office.”
“Good idea.” He grabbed his watch from where he’d left it on the pass-through bar, then cursed as he glanced at the display.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. Just missed a call.” He flashed her a heated look. “Probably came in while we were showering. A small price to pay.”
“True enough. I missed one, too. Guess we really are diving back into the deep end of the work pool.”
He pulled out his phone and frowned at the display, then looked back up at Nikki. “Who called you?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t recognize the number and there was no voicemail. Why?”
He turned his phone so that she could see the display. “Sofia.”
“Oh.” She snagged her phone off the charging stand on the counter, then passed it to him. “She’s not programmed into mine. Is that her number?”
He glanced down, and Nikki must have read his expression, because she said, “Guess she really wanted to get in touch with us. Did she leave you a message?”
“None,” he said. “But she knows I’ll recognize the number. Presumably, she’s expecting me to call back.”
“I guess you can call her back from the car.”
He almost laughed at her pageant perfect expression, but he knew better. Whatever detente she and Sofia had reached since Sofia’s apology and Lara’s adoption, it was a tenuous one.
“It’ll be easier to just wait and call her from the office,” he said. “You ready to go?”
Her eyes darted to the kids, and for a moment, he thought she was going to shake her head and tell him she’d changed her mind. That she wanted to spend one more day at home and start fresh at the office on Monday.
But then she squared her shoulders, grabbed her leather tote, and nodded firmly. “Absolutely, I am.”
After hugs and sloppy kisses, they finally found their way into the elevator and then down to the underground walkway that led from the house to the garage, one of his favorite features of the property.
Nikki called it the Bat Cave, and he supposed she had a point. Damien had always loved cars—their sleek beauty. The power of a well-built engine. As a teen on the tennis circuit, he’d had to limit his fascination to behind the wheel. But once he’d left the sport, he’d had the time to indulge his passion. There’d been little time in the early days, of course. Building an empire was a twenty-four/seven endeavor. But he stole hours here and there, relieving the stress and pressure of the world he was creating by re-creating something of beauty from the past.
Now, years later, he had an impressive collection, both of cars he’d bought outright because they appealed to him, and of cars he’d rebuilt himself, taking deep satisfaction in the meticulous process of restoration. And he kept all of them in a twenty-car underground parking garage camouflaged to look like part of the Malibu hills.
“Boys with their toys.”
He glanced at his wife, and she laughed.
“I’m talking about the rapturous expression on your face.”
“Well, it’s a rapturous room.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like I said…”
He pressed a hand against her back, guiding her toward the eighth row and the Rolls Royce Phantom he’d restored a few years ago. “If I recall, you’ve gotten some enjoyment out of my toys, too.”
“All of them,” she said, sidling up to him, then kissing him lightly as her hand cupped his balls.
“Careful, Ms. Fairchild.”
“Or what, Mr. Stark? You’ll make me late for work? I own the company, remember?”
“True enough. My wife is a badass in the business world.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
He watched, amused, as she turned around, scanning the cavernous garage. Then she moved away, following the line of cars slowly, her gaze taking them all in.
“Something on your mind?” he asked.
“This one.” She stopped at the driver’s side door of his shiny red Bugatti Veyron. The very car he’d driven on their first date. Or, rather, he’d driven it to the airport so that they could fly to Santa Barbara for lunch. And it wasn’t so much a date as a step in the negotiations of the terms for her portrait. Either way, he’d been hard from the moment she’d burst into his office, ready to spit fire. But the real heat came later when he held her in his arms and knew that he would never let her go.
“Yes,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “This one is perfect.”
“Definitely.” Considering the rawness in her voice,
he was certain that her thoughts tracked his own, and it took all his willpower not to bend her over the polished rear of the car and fuck her hard and fast, just to claim her once again.
“Damien?”
He saw the flush on her skin, her nipples hard beneath the thin silk top. Her lips were parted, and her chest rose and fell with her breathing.
He met her eyes, his brow rising in question.
“Yes” was all she said, but it was enough. He held out his hand, and she walked to him, slipping out of her heels as she did. She wore no stockings, and was now barefoot on the polished concrete floor that Edward kept pristine.
He turned her in his arms so that his erection was pressed against her back as he slid his hands down over her hips, then along her thighs to the hem of her pencil skirt. He started to ease it up, but she stopped him by cupping her hand over his. “No. Take it off.”
He said nothing, but moved his fingers to quickly unfasten the button at the back, then ease down the zipper. Tucking his thumbs under the waistband, he shimmied it down over her hips, leaving her clad below the waist in only a pair of black panties with a lace back.
Slowly, he stroked his hand over the lace, following the curve of her ass. “Do you like that?”
“Yes,” she murmured.
“Good. Take them off.”
She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “Take them off for me.”
“With pleasure.”
With pleasure. The words seemed to hang in the air as if their shared passion had conjured them.
With Nikki, everything was with pleasure, and his entire body burned with the truth of that. Every breath he drew. Every touch of his skin against hers. Every look, every whisper, every touch.
Every atom within him hummed and swirled with only one purpose—Nikki. She was light and love and romance and candles. She was sex and sin and pain and longing.
She was his, goddammit, and in that moment he was pretty damn sure he’d die if he couldn’t sink himself inside of her. If he couldn’t feel her arching back, pressing her ass against him and silently forcing him to go deeper, to make the connection stronger.
