He puts the car in park and smiles at me. "You're welcome," he says, and I think he understands that I'm not just talking about giving me a lift.
I hesitate as I open the passenger side door, but only for an instant. Then I ask, "Will you come in with me?"
I see the hope flare in his blue eyes so like my own. "Of course I will."
We go in together, and just entering the hospital makes me a wreck all over again. Thankfully, Frank takes over, leading us to the maternity ward and then finding a nurse who can get us a status update.
Before she can pull up Syl's chart, however, I see Jackson bounding down the hallway, his face alight with relief and pleasure. I race toward him and he pulls me into a tight hug. "She's fine," he says. "It was close there for a bit, but they're both fine. Sylvia, and our son," he adds with an extra note of pride.
A laugh bubbles out of me and I reach out, automatically squeezing Frank's hand.
"Where's Ronnie?" I ask, thinking that she must be thrilled. Syl and Jackson had decided to wait to learn the baby's sex, but I know that Ronnie was hoping for a baby brother.
"Cass and Siobhan took her to the cafeteria. Sylvia's probably going to be out for a few hours--they gave her some sedatives. And they took the baby to be checked out and then to the nursery. He's doing great. Had a scary couple of minutes, but everything is fine now."
"I'm so glad," I say, as I see Damien hurrying up the corridor. I drop Frank's hand and race to him. "She's okay," I say. "And your nephew is doing just fine, too."
He swings me around, then kisses me, and then captures Jackson in a bear hug. "Congratulations. I got all those messages and was fearing the worst. Sorry I couldn't get here in time."
"You're in plenty of time," Jackson says. "Come on. I'll introduce you to my son."
Frank pats my shoulder. "I'm going to go on now. I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"Can you wait? Not long, I promise. But I'd like to see the baby and talk to Damien, and then maybe we could chat some more?"
I can feel Damien's eyes on me, and I wish I knew what he was thinking. But I want this--I want the chance to talk more with my father.
He hesitates, then nods. "I'll wait."
I halfway expect Frank to offer to walk with us to the nursery, and when he doesn't, I'm relieved that he understands that I need to see Damien by myself.
We go with Jackson, who beams as he points out the six-pound, nine-ounce boy sleeping peacefully in a bassinet. "He's had a busy day," I say.
"And he's absolutely gorgeous," Damien adds.
"He really is," Jackson agrees. "He takes after his mother."
He moves between me and Damien so that he can put an arm around us both. "I love you two," he says. "Stay. Bask in the miracle that is my kid. I'm going to go sit with Syl. I don't want her to wake up without me there."
"We'll be here when she does," Damien promises, and as Jackson walks off, Damien turns to me, but says nothing.
I know what he's thinking.
"I have to believe him, Damien," I say. "I have to believe that he didn't come here to hurt me, but to get to know me. I have to because one day--not now, but someday--I want this." I nod to the tiny sleeping boy in the bassinet. "And I don't think I can do that unless I know--really know--that parents can fix their mistakes. That not every mom and dad will sacrifice their child on the altar of their own self-interest."
"He left you," Damien reminds me. "He just up and walked away."
"I know. And I'll have to deal with that. But he came back--and, Damien, I don't think he came back with an ulterior motive."
I expect him to argue. Or to at least remind me not to get my hopes up. So I'm surprised when he nods. "You may be right."
"Really?"
"Ryan reviewed the hotel's security footage. Someone entered Frank's room. Stayed about three minutes, and left."
"Who?"
"That's what we want to find out. But it's likely that they planted the pictures. Probably someone hired to do it. The real question is who's behind it."
"Ideas?"
"Several," he says, and I nod, thinking of my mother, for one. Was she simply trying to make me think ill of Frank when she told me he'd asked about Damien's fortune? Or was she deliberately planting seeds of doubt that would culminate with the discovery of the photos?
I shake my head, not willing to worry about it right now. I know Ryan and Damien are on it, and that's sufficient for the moment. Instead, I focus on the good news. "This proves Frank's telling the truth."
"It suggests that he probably is," Damien concedes. "But he may be smart. Or working with someone who's smart."
I know what he's thinking. Sofia would have been sneaky enough to have someone plant the evidence on her rather than just bringing it. Like a double-blind, she'd have an out.
I don't think Frank is working with Sofia, and I don't believe Damien does, either. But the point is valid. Con men are clever. They're smart. And they hide in plain sight with the mark of innocence all over them.
But I can't think like that. Not anymore.
"Maybe I'm naive--maybe I'm going to get burned--but I believe he's telling the truth. More than that, I have to believe him. Do you understand?"
Slowly, Damien nods. "I do."
It's all he says, but it doesn't matter; I hear the rest of it. He's still uncertain, but that's okay. He won't let his doubt interfere with me getting to know my father. And eventually, he'll come around to Frank's side.
Or if it turns out that I'm wrong...well, if that's the case then Damien will catch me when I fall. But until then, he's holding the net while I make a huge leap of faith.
I love him for that. And for so very much more.
Chapter 11
Dinner in the hospital cafeteria was a celebratory affair, with me and Damien, Cass and Siobhan, Ryan and Jamie, and Frank all lifting our iced tea and soda glasses and making toast after toast.
Afterward, Damien and I said our goodbyes and promised to get together with Frank in the morning. Right now, it's sufficient that he knows that we believe him. Both me and Damien.
And, as Frank pointed out as we walked him to his car, there's no rush. "I'm in LA for good. This time, I promise I'm not going away."
Now, I'm curled up next to Damien in our bed. It's only eight, but I'm exhausted, and I sigh contentedly as I run my fingers through his chest hair.
"Good day?"
"Exhausting day, but one of the best." I prop myself up on my elbow. "Two new family members. I think that's a record."
I realize as I speak, that I'm already starting to think of Frank as more than blood--as family. A quick stab of fear cuts through me, because there is always the possibility that he's as deceptive a snake as Damien's father.
Right now, though, I have to believe that's not true.
Beside me, Damien's expression darkens. "Damien? What is it?"
"I was thinking of Jackson. What he went through today." He pulls me closer, crushing me against his body so that the vibration of each word rumbles through me. "I couldn't lose you, Nikki," he says with a tight ferocity.
"You won't," I say. "And Sylvia's fine. The baby's fine." I push myself up a bit so that I can see his face. The fear fading to warmth and then to the tiniest of smiles.
"Your face," he says. "The look on your face as you watched that tiny little person."
I say nothing; I can hardly deny having been mesmerized by the little guy.
"Someday you want one." It's not a question, merely a statement of fact.
I prop myself on my elbow. "We've talked about this. I've always wanted one. But our past. Our families. Our issues. My issues." I shake my head, the motion almost like a shudder, and I think of how much I wanted to cut just this morning. "It's always going to be inside me. That urge. Even with you here to help me fight it."
"You think that means you'd be a bad mom?"
I consider the question, because it deserves an honest answer. "No--no, I don't. I guess..." I trail
off with a shake of my head.
"What?"
I draw in a breath as I try to put words to my jumbled thoughts. "It's just that I never thought I'd be ready. I mean, I wanted kids, but in the abstract. In some amorphous future that I couldn't pinpoint. But now--I don't know. It's different because I have a family now."
"And you didn't before," he says, and it's another statement, not a question.
"I didn't," I agree. "I had a mother, but not a family. Now I have you. I have Syl and Jackson and Ronnie and the baby. I have Jamie and Ollie and Evelyn and Blaine and Cass and Siobhan and Lisa and Preston. And now Frank." I meet Damien's eyes. "I really think I have Frank, too."
He smiles, just a little, but enough that I can see the hope in his eyes. And a hint of fear that I'm going to get burned.
Right now, though, I'm not going to worry about that. Because no matter what, the truth is that our family is small, but it's growing. And maybe, I think, as Damien holds me close, his heart beating in time with my own, maybe one day it will grow a little bit more when Damien and I take the leap to that next great adventure.
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed this latest Stark Ever After novella! I absolutely love writing about Nikki and Damien, but as you know, the world of Stark International is growing (have you heard that Dallas Sykes is getting his own trilogy starting in April 2016 with Dirtiest Secret?), and there are only so many hours in the day to put the stories of all the characters I love onto paper.
But the birth of a child is always special, and as a thank-you treat, Deepest Kiss readers can download a free short story centering on Jackson and Sylvia and leading up to the birth of their son (and be one of the first to learn what they named the little guy!).
All you have to do is follow this link to subscribe to my newsletter (I promise not to flood your inbox) and you'll be taken to a special page on my website where you can download the story in the format of your choice. And if you're already a subscriber, never fear! You can follow the link as well to get your copy--and don't worry; you won't end up with duplicate newsletters!
And be sure to check out my website at jkenner.com to make sure you haven't missed any J. Kenner novels or novellas!
Happy reading!
XXOO
JK
It was wrong for us to be together, but it was even harder to be apart . . .
Read on for an extract from the first in J. Kenner's explosive
new S.I.N. series,
Coming soon from
If I could change it, I would. The wanting him. The craving him.
I close my eyes at night and touch myself, imagining it is him. His hands stroking me. His fingers penetrating me.
I do this, and I hate myself. Because my desire isn't warm and soft, but twisted and wild and wrong.
We destroyed each other, he and I. Even now, after so many years, we're still cracked and broken.
And broken we'll remain, because without the other, we can never be whole. And yet we can never be together. Not again. Not like that.
Our desire has teeth, after all. We survived once, just barely.
But push our luck, and it just might swallow us whole....
1
The King of Fuck
Even by Southampton standards, the party at the nine-thousand-square-foot mansion on Meadow Lane reeked of extravagance.
Grammy Award-winning artists performed on an outdoor stage that had been set up on the lush lawn that flowed from the main house to the tennis courts. Celebrities hobnobbed with models who flirted with Wall Street tycoons who discussed stock prices with tech gurus and old-money academics, all while sampling fine scotch and the season's chicest gin. Colored lights illuminated the grotto-style pool, upon which nude models floated lazily on air mattresses, their bodies used by artisan sushi chefs as presentation platters for epicurean delights.
Each female guest received a Hermes Birkin bag and each male received a limited edition Hublot watch, and the exclamations of delight--from both the men and the women--rivaled the boom of the fireworks that exploded over Shinnecock Bay at precisely ten P.M., perfectly timed to distract the guests from the bustle of the staff switching out the dinner buffet for the spread of desserts, coffee, and liqueurs.
No expense had been spared, no desire or craving or indulgence overlooked. Nothing had been left to chance, and every person in attendance agreed that the party was the Must Attend event of the season, if not of the year. Hell, if not of the decade.
Everyone who was anyone was there, under the stars on the four acre lot on Billionaires' Row.
Everyone, that is, except the billionaire who was actually hosting the party. And speculation as to where he was, what he was doing, and who he was doing it with ripped through the well-liquored and gossip-hungry crowd like wildfire in a windstorm.
"No idea where he could have disappeared off to, but I'd bet good money he's not pining away in solitude," said a reed-thin man with salt-and-pepper hair and an expression that suggested disapproval but was most likely envy.
"I swear I came five times," a perky blonde announced to her best friend in the kind of stage whisper designed to attract attention. "The man's a master in bed."
"He's got a shrewd head for business, that one," said a Wall Street trader, "but no sense of propriety where his cock is concerned."
"Oh, honey, no. He's not relationship material." A brunette celebrating a recently inked modeling contract shivered as if reliving a moment of ecstasy. "He's like fine chocolate. Meant to be savored in very limited quantities. But so damn good when you have it."
"More power to him if he can grab that much pussy." A hipster with beard stubble and a man-bun wiped his wire-rimmed glasses clean with his shirttail. "But why the fuck does he have to be so blatant about it?"
"All of my friends have had him." The petite redhead who pulled in a six figure wife bonus smiled slowly, and the flash of her green eyes suggested that she was the cat and he was the delicious cream. "But I'm the only one of us to enjoy a second helping."
"All your friends?"
"How much pussy?"
"At least half the women here tonight. Maybe more."
"Man, don't even ask that. Just trust me. Dallas Sykes is the King of Fuck. You and me? Mere mortals like us can't even compare."
--
Three floors above the partygoers, in a room with a window overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, Dallas Sykes sucked hard on the clit of the lithe blonde who sat on his face and writhed with pre-orgasmic pleasure. The blonde's cries of "yes, yes!" mingled with the throaty moans of delight coming from the curvaceous redhead who straddled his waist while he finger-fucked her hard and deep.
They'd surrendered to him, these women, and the knowledge that they were his tonight--for tenderness, for torment--cut through him. A wicked aphrodisiac with an edge as sharp as steel, and at least as savage.
He was drunk--on sex, on scotch, on submission. And right then, all he wanted was to get lost in pleasure. To let all the rest of the shit just melt away.
"Please." The redhead's muscles clenched tight around his fingers, and a tremor ran through his body, his need for release now so potent that it crossed the line into pain. "I'm so close, Dallas. I want you inside me. Now. Oh, god, please. Now."
He could barely understand her words, lost as they were in the wet sounds of his mouth on the blonde's sweet pussy. But he heard enough, and in one wild, rough movement, he rolled the girl above him to the side, so that she stretched and trembled on the bed, her nipples hard and her pussy slick and open and inviting.
Dallas felt his body tighten with need. With desire. But only for release. He didn't want either of these women. Not really. Their company, yes. The escape they offered, sure. But them?
Neither was the woman he craved. Neither was the girl who had both saved and destroyed him. The woman he wanted.
The woman he could never have.
And so instead he sought pleasure and passion in the violent rapture of hard
, hot sex.
"Sit back," he said to the blonde as he pushed away his dark thoughts and regrets. He reached for the crystal highball glass and downed the last of the Glenmorangie, relishing the way it burned his throat and buzzed his head. "Back against the headboard. Legs spread wide."
She nodded, moving eagerly to obey as he urged the redhead off his waist. "Fuck me," the redhead begged. Her green eyes flashed, her expression pleading. Her lips were swollen, her skin flushed. She smelled of sex, and the scent--so familiar, so dangerous, so goddamned compelling--made him even harder. "I want you to fuck me." Her words were a pout--a plea--and Dallas almost smiled in response.
Almost, but not quite.
Instead he lifted a brow. "Want? Baby, this isn't about what you want. This is about what you need."
"Then I need you to fuck me."
His lips twitched. He liked a woman who knew her own mind, that was for damn sure. And the redhead truly amused him. He'd plucked her from the crowd downstairs because he'd liked the way she'd filled out the flirty black dress that was now crumpled in a heap on his bedroom floor. That, and the fact he happened to know that she had a cousin who worked for a government official in Bogota, and that connection might prove handy one day.
As for the blonde, Dallas had no particular agenda with her. But he appreciated her limber little body and quiet obedience. Right now, she was sitting exactly as he'd told her, her legs wide apart and wonderfully vulnerable. She wasn't moving a muscle, but the beat of her pulse in her throat telegraphed her excitement at least as much as her tight nipples and hot, wet pussy.
He met the redhead's flashing green eyes, then nodded toward the blonde. "You want to get fucked. I want to watch. And I promise you, she wants to do whatever I say. Sounds like a perfect recipe, don't you think?"
The redhead dragged her polished white teeth over her lower lip. "I've never--"
"But you will. Tonight." He met her eyes. "For me."
She licked her lips as he slid off the bed and stood. She was still sitting, her knees pressed into the mattress as she sat back on her heels. He leaned forward, then took her in a long, slow kiss. She tasted of strawberries and innocence. He wanted to devour the first; he wanted to erase the second. "Hook your legs around her waist and kiss her deep. Suck her tits. Touch her however you want to. But she's going to fuck you with her fingers while you and I both imagine it's my cock. And, baby? You're going to come harder for me than you've ever come for anyone."