Raw Heat

  “Same thing you’re probably doing. Checking on Mom.”

  “Why don’t you leave her alone? She’s tired. She needs sleep.”

  “She didn’t need it while you were here?”

  “I don’t tax her like the emotional vampire that you are.” Although she probably had today.

  “Emma, get the fuck off my case. I’m sorry that things didn’t work out like we planned them to.”

  “Oh, you’re sorry. You’re not the one who—” Shaking her head, she gave up and snatched her car door open, throwing her purse inside. “Never mind. Just stay away from me. And don’t you dare pump her for money.”

  “I’m getting about fucking sick of you accusing me of that.”

  “Yeah, well, past behavior is the best predictor of future behavior.”

  “What are you, my fucking psychiatrist now?”

  “You need one, Benjamin. A good one. You need lots and lots of intensive therapy, but you listen to me right now. I’m about to be gone for a while. I’ll be with Damien, and then he’s taking me to Vegas for several days, so—Benjamin!” She’d practically seen the slot reels rolling and the dollar signs flashing in his eyes when she mentioned Las Vegas.

  “What?”

  “You’re damn sure not going, so forget it.”

  “I didn’t say anything about going.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “Emma, there has to be some way we can get you out of this. I’ve been trying to come up with something. If we put our heads together—”

  “It’s too late for that. Damien would never go for it. We’re accepting the loss with good grace and moving on, something you never learned how to do. And when I get that money, that’s the end of me helping you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, never ever ever ever ever.”

  “I mean it!”

  “All right!” He practically roared it in her face. Her mother probably heard it. Neighbors probably heard it. Emma glared at him, fuming, nostrils flaring, her pulse raging in her ears. Slowly, he began to back down, like a race car gradually coming out of the red. “Sorry.”

  “You’re always sorry about something. I’d better not hear of you giving them trouble while I’m gone.”

  That would be a problem, she thought as she got into her car and watched Ben disappear inside her parents’ house. It had reached a point where Emma wasn’t sure if her parents would admit to her that they were helping him. She hadn’t gotten that promise from her mother. She’d gotten the usual line, the usual excuse, and sooner or later Nancy would stop talking to her about Ben at all. It had reached that point before. Emma had no doubt it could go there again.

  “Jesus Christ,” she muttered as she cranked her car. She was mad all over again at Ben, at Damien, even a little bit at her parents, but how fucked up was it that she almost couldn’t wait to escape from her life for a while?

  Chapter Nine

  Something was wrong with her, and he knew it the moment she settled into the passenger seat, hugging her little dog to her chest. She looked lost, worn down and broken, her hazel eyes bloodshot and her full lips downturned.

  Damien pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. Maybe it was the fact that he was showing up to sweep her away from her home that was bothering her, but it seemed more than that. “Emma?”

  “Can we just go?” She snuggled her nose into Bentley’s fur. “I’ve had a bad day.”

  “What happened?”

  It surprised him when she answered. “My brother. My family. Everything.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t trust him. I tried to get my mother to promise not to help him anymore, and she wouldn’t. I only got the usual excuses, that I don’t know what it’s like to have a child in trouble.”

  He thought, not for the first time, how fortunate she was to have such caring parents. Neither Damien nor his brothers had known any such devotion. They’d learned how to survive on their own from an early age while their mother disappeared, sometimes for days. How CPS hadn’t been alerted was a small miracle. Maybe that would’ve been for the best, maybe not. He couldn’t even imagine a scenario where he might have been separated from Mike and Zane. Mike had fought like hell to keep them together after Darla—Damien had a hard time thinking of her as “Mom”—overdosed.

  As far as his dad . . . didn’t know him, didn’t care. Sometimes it was odd having no idea where he came from, but he’d planted his own roots, carved out his own place in the world. It was his and his alone.

  When he didn’t comment on Emma’s situation, backing his Jag out of her driveway, she shocked him to the core when she said, “Make me forget all this, Damien, and I’ll consider this month time well spent.”

  He braked before he even reached the street, putting the car in park and tipping her chin up. Her eyes met his, wide and innocent and . . . hopeful. “Emma, I’ll devote myself to it.”

  Her breath caught as he leaned in to brush his lips across hers, her taste and her softness going straight to his head, straight to his dick. He had hardly slept, hardly been able to work on anything, remembering how responsive she’d been to him, how she’d heated up under his hands. He’d gotten drunk on her flesh, only tearing himself away with herculean effort.

  It was happening again. Emma’s lips parted, her kiss inviting him deeper. Just as he was about to dive in, she pulled away with a slight gasp. “My neighbor is over there. Can we . . . ?”

  She was so worried about what others might be thinking. He grinned, gave Bentley a scratch between the ears, and turned back to the steering wheel. He’d waited all this time for her, surely he could wait for the trip home. Maybe.

  As he drove, he wondered if he should have planned more for her. Vegas was always a good time, but he would love to see Emma basking in the sun on an exotic beach without a care in the world.

  “Do you have a passport?” he asked, sensing it when her head snapped around.

  “No,” she said, and his dreams crashed. They could get her one expedited, but it still might not arrive before the month was up.

  “Shame. Vegas is going to be busy. I’m going to be playing a lot. I thought you could do with a real getaway.”

  “I so want to cry right now.”

  He chuckled. “Well . . . you can always get it for another time.”

  “Doesn’t it take awhile?”

  “It’s not as if we’ll sever all contact at the end of the month.”

  “You mean . . .” She fell silent for a moment. “I don’t know if I could do that.”

  He understood; it was the first time he’d imagined the relationship beyond their thirty-day expiration date himself. Probably best to part ways and resume life as normal. No ties, no entanglements. No slathering her delicate skin with sunblock on a private beach, getting distracted by the strings on her bikini, and taking her on the sand while the surf washed up around her feet.

  It had been a while since a woman had ignited such vivid fantasies in him.

  “You deserve to see the world, Emma,” he said. “Take some of the money you’re using on your brother and go see it.”

  She shook her head as he navigated onto the interstate. “I can’t be selfish like that.”

  “Then prepare to be stuck here, in the same routine, for the rest of your life.”

  “Well, that sounds bleak. I like to think that good people get good things. I believe in karma. Even if it seems to take its dear sweet fucking time.” The last sentence was grumbled.

  “Maybe you should realize that this is your good thing. Your chance to do something for you and no one else.”

  She fell silent for a time. As his exit was coming up, they reached a standstill in traffic, flashing lights up ahead, fire trucks and ambulances wailing. Obviously a terrible wreck. He gestured ahead. “That’s probably a good person. Life forever altered, or gone altogether. It’s short, Emma.”

  “How did you get this way?” she asked emphatically.

  He immediately te
nsed, trying to shrug off the question and the memories it brought whirling to the surface with echoes of pain and struggle and hunger. She was watching him closely. Too closely, those pretty eyes seeking and penetrating and seeing more than he was willing to show. She might have little control over her emotions, but she had a perceptive wisdom that ran deep. One day it might prove too much for his shields.

  Her hair was fiery in the orange evening light, rays of the setting sun catching the strands and igniting them in a vivid halo. He didn’t think she knew how beautiful she was to him.

  “Talk to me,” she urged gently.

  He tore his gaze away from her and pinned it straight ahead, inching the car forward at a snail’s pace with the crawling traffic. “I am talking to you.”

  “Damien.”

  “Emma. Aren’t you the one who said we shouldn’t get personal?” Throwing her words back at her was a cheap, desperate tactic, and it broke him down a little when she relented, sitting back in her seat. The victory rang hollow. Whatever this inclination was to confide in her, to reveal himself to her so she could understand and maybe not think so badly of him, it could damn well dry up and blow away. The second he let someone in was the exact moment he handed them power over him. It was something he could never allow.

  But he couldn’t expect her to open up to him if he wasn’t willing to do the same for her.

  * * *

  Emma hadn’t anticipated this. Something in the city, close to the club, ultra-modern and glitzy, yeah. That’s what she’d expected. Not the gorgeous, sprawling country location he drove her to.

  A long, secluded driveway lined with trees twisted its way up to an enormous stucco manor with a gated courtyard. She stared in slack-jawed awe as they approached, thinking To hell with an overseas getaway. She would be fine right here. Just fine.

  “This is amazing.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” The garage door slid open and he pulled the Jag in next to—holy shit—a black Bentley.

  She hadn’t named her dog after the car; she’d simply thought it was a cute name. But the coincidence struck her as amusing all of a sudden.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, smiling.

  “Bentley, meet a Bentley,” she said, holding her little dog up to the window.

  “Ah.” Damien laughed.

  “So . . . that’s yours too, right? There’s no wife lurking around anywhere? You said no girlfriends, but I know how you are.”

  “No, Emma. No wife. No girlfriends either. It’s just you and me. You can drive it while you’re here, by the way.”

  “Are you crazy? I might run away in the night, never to be heard from again. Just me and your Bentley and my Bentley.”

  “I trust you.”

  “God, you must. I don’t really understand why.”

  He gazed at her with something like wonder. “Because you’re here.”

  She supposed that did speak rather highly of her word. She was here. She was following through with this craziness. God help her. If God would even be bothered, after what she’d agreed to. She was beyond all help.

  Damien opened the door for her as always and led her into the house while she gazed around dumbfounded, like a fool who’d never been inside an expensive house before. It was an unmistakable bachelor pad, but still gorgeous for all that. The walls were a soft gray throughout, the furniture black. Even the hardwood floors were a beautiful, stormy gray. It was rather like walking into a black-and-white movie, except for striking splashes of red or royal blue here and there. Beyond the wall of windows in the living room, however, was all the color one could ask for. Acres of green grass like thick carpeting, a large, beautiful pond mirroring all the shades of the fiery evening sky above, oranges and pinks and violets.

  Emma turned a slow circle, taking it all in. The fireplace that split the massive windows almost made her wish for winter. She could imagine being curled on the couch with a cup of coffee and a book, while a thunderstorm raged outside. Or maybe just being curled on the couch with him, watching movies on the massive TV.

  No, thoughts like that wouldn’t do. She was here to fulfill an obligation, nothing more.

  She was expected to leave here at the end of the month? It would be torture.

  He was silently watching her make her slow survey, and at the end of it, she settled her eyes on him and said, “I think it’ll do.”

  He chuckled. “I’m glad it meets with your approval. Come upstairs and I’ll show you your room.”

  For the second time today, her brain staggered to an utterly confused halt, all processes shutting down. She had a room? That wasn’t, like, his? “My room?”

  “I thought you’d be more comfortable if you also had space of your own.”

  “Well, I . . . yes, thank you. I probably will be.” Separate, she thought. He’s keeping you separate. It made sense in a way that wounded her a little bit. But it was silly for her to feel that way. For God’s sake, she wasn’t moving into his life. She couldn’t take over his bathroom or his closet. And that should make her feel relieved, really, but it only drove home the absolute wrongness of the situation. That she was only here to fuck him, nothing more.

  Carrying Bentley close to her chest, she followed Damien upstairs until he opened a door and let her walk ahead into a big, beautiful bedroom with a little balcony that overlooked the pond and a big four-poster bed that looked like it would be heaven to sleep in. The decor was tasteful earthy tones: brown, sage, and a pretty robin’s-egg blue. It had its own bathroom, she saw.

  She loved it all on sight, and could foresee many mornings drinking coffee on that balcony.

  “Make yourself absolutely at home,” Damien told her, and she was so transfixed by her new surroundings that for a moment she’d almost forgotten about him standing by the door. “What’s mine is yours, and if I don’t have it, I’ll get it. Just let me know anything you want on hand.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “I’ll try not to be too much trouble.”

  “Emma, I want you to be trouble.” His smile then was disarming, and something about it made her feel shy and exposed. She dropped her nose to Bentley’s fur, clutching her only lifeline to her old familiar world. “I’ll let you get settled in,” Damien said, “and then we can decide about dinner.”

  Well, we’ve come this far out of the city, she thought as he walked out and closed the door behind him, so he must not mean for them to go out. Surely he didn’t cook? That would be yet another surprise.

  There wasn’t much to settle in once Damien left her. She’d brought a bag with all the makeup, toiletries, and hair products she couldn’t live without, along with some of Bentley’s toys, food, and potty pads. Damien was apparently giving her free run of his house, but she wasn’t sure if that extended to her dog. She’d also brought his bowls, so she set him up in the bathroom with food and water and his pad for the time being. Hopefully he wouldn’t have any accidents given this big adjustment or Damien might boot them both out. He’d never been away from home except for a short stay with the vet.

  “Don’t poop on these floors, Bentley,” she cautioned, and her dog looked up at her with an almost human understanding that made her chuckle. Thank God Damien had let her bring him. This whole thing might have been jeopardized otherwise.

  While she had some time for herself, she figured she’d better check in with Liz, who would be freaking out if she didn’t hear from her soon. Liz, while being the inappropriate cheerleader, still had at least a few cautious bones in her body. Emma kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed, bringing Bentley to snuggle next to her, and typed out a text.

  I’m here. Girl, his house is fucking insane.

  Liz began replying almost immediately. But has there been any insane fucking?

  Not yet.

  OMG. Will you let him hammer out his frustrations on your ass already?

  YOU ARE HORRIBLE.

  You are too prudish for this.

  I have my own room.

&n
bsp; What?!?!

  IKR. But it makes sense I guess. I have a balcony! With a view! There’s a pond! With ducks!

  Send pics. I totally thought he would live in the city.

  Me, too.

  No one will hear you scream.

  LOL, I don’t think he intends to murder me.

  Emma. That’s not the kind of screaming I meant. Again, you are too prudish for this. The only thing he’ll be murdering is your vagina.

  Shut up. I hate you.

  She was a little sorry she’d texted Liz now. Sighing and tossing her phone aside, she left Bentley snoozing on the bed and went to explore a little more, wandering to a door that must be the closet and pulling it open to see what kind of space it had.

  And stopped dead.

  Because it was full.

  “What the fu . . .” she muttered, clicking on the light switch to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her, or that it wasn’t Damien’s winter wardrobe he’d stashed in the guest room or something. It wasn’t. It was full of feminine attire, the shoe shelves stocked full of shoes, handbags lining the stop shelf over it all. “What the absolute fuck,” she finished her earlier thought.

  She must have spent the next hour thumbing through it all—dresses, blouses, casual shirts, jeans, pants, all of it . . . her. Mostly neutrals but with the occasional burst of color, everything that Liz always told her she should wear. He’d told her not to bring anything, but damn. Nothing cheap here, either. She picked up a pair of immaculate nude pumps and nearly dropped them when she caught a flash of crimson soles. He’d fucking bought her fucking Louboutins.

  Tears filled her eyes. She wasn’t sure why. Because she’d never owned anything so expensive in her life? Or because of what she was doing to get them?

  Carefully replacing the precious shoes and swallowing past the lump in her throat, she pulled open one of the drawers close to the floor and found it full of lingerie—classy bra-and-panty sets, a couple of naughty ensembles that made her blush a little. The next drawer was full of nightgowns and pajama sets, some silky, some slinky, some like what she’d wear spending a lazy Sunday watching Netflix with her hair in a topknot.