She exhales loudly. "So you're not cutting?"
"Swear," I say. "Do you want me to show you? I will. I'm not hurting myself, Jamie. I'd tell you. You and Ollie have my back. I know that."
"I thought you did. But then the other day..." She trails off with a shrug.
"I fucked up. I did." I take her hand. "But I promise I'm okay."
"Then what's with you?" Jamie stands up. "Dammit, sorry. Okay, I get it. Not my business if you're not cutting. Fine. I'm curious as hell, but if you want to keep a secret from your very best friend in the whole universe, then you go ahead and do that."
"Stark," I say, and watch her completely freeze.
"Say again?"
"Damien Stark. He called and invited me to the movies."
"And you went? After I warned you about his rep with women?"
I lift a shoulder. "Yeah, well, I decided what the hell."
"Did you fuck him? Oh, god, Nik, Ollie can never know. He'd die."
"I didn't fuck him," I say, but since this is Jamie and she really is my best friend, I bite my lower lip and then admit, "but I really wanted to."
"You do not want to be one pearl on a string of women."
"I don't," I agree. "And I don't think I would have been. He treated me, I don't know, like a diamond."
"That's because he's a manwhore who knows how to handle himself. Wait. You said would have been. So does that mean you're done? Finished?"
I nod.
"Well, good for you. Because of Ollie, right?"
I start to say yes, because that's what she wants to hear. But now that I've started talking, I want to truly talk. I want someone to understand, even just a little, what I left on the table when I walked away.
"No. Not because of Ollie. Because of these." I slide my hands along my inner thighs and then my hips. "He has women like Carmela falling at his feet. He wants me because I'm pretty. And, I don't know, because we can talk and seem to have this connection. But he doesn't know all my baggage. And he doesn't know what I look like under my clothes. And the woman he thinks he wants doesn't exist."
"And you didn't tell him?" She's back on the couch.
"How could I?" I bend over and put my forehead in my hands as if that can hold back the pain of my loss. "He said he'd always protect me," I tell her softly. "And I think he really meant it."
Jamie puts her arm around my shoulder. "Nik, honey, you just met him."
I shake my head. "No, it's not like that. I know him, James. I don't know how, but somehow I do. And he knows me, too. But not all of me. Not my secrets."
"Then you made the right decision," she says, though for the first time, I hear hesitancy in her voice. "Now you just need some time."
She rocks me a little, and even though I know that it's weird, and that we didn't know each other for very long, and that Ollie is such a good choice for me, and that pretty soon I'll forget all about Damien Stark, I let myself cry. And I let Jamie rock me. And little by little, I start to feel better.
I'm about cried out when my phone rings. I glance at the coffee table, but I don't recognize the number.
"Might be a fabulous new client," I say. "Get enough of those over the next week, and maybe I can still get my office." I've given up on the Stark contract. I figure if you snub the boss, you pretty much toss away the possibility of lucrative licensing agreements.
Which goes a long way to explaining why I'm so surprised when I answer the phone and hear Damien's voice. "Ms. Fairchild."
"I--Damien. Hi."
Beside me, Jamie sits up straight. Then she leans toward me in a rather transparent attempt to overhear. At the moment, I'm too flabbergasted to care.
"I wanted to let you know that I'm leaving tomorrow night for New York."
"Oh. Um." I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say to that. "Well, happy New Year."
"I'm taking one of my private jets from the Santa Monica airport. Leaving at eight tomorrow night. I'll be spending New Year's Day in Manhattan then flying back. It's a whirlwind trip, but I thought--or, rather, I was hoping--you might join me."
Beside me, Jamie's eyes are wide.
I clutch the phone tight, because I'm tempted. I'm so, so tempted. But I know what will happen. And on a plane, when he learns my secrets, there's nowhere for me to go.
Slowly, I close my eyes. "I can't," I say. "The guy I'm dating--he's coming back tomorrow." I think about what Jamie told me. About Ollie asking me to move in.
And then I think that I need to go ahead and make that leap. "And, well, I'm going to move in with him."
Silence.
Just dead silence.
Then I hear him clear his throat.
"Well, that's a big step," he says. "I wish you all the best."
"Thanks." My voice is so low and thin I doubt he can hear it.
"Right. Well, I had hoped. So I was planning to tell you this on the plane, but I suppose now will do. I'm sending over some revisions to your licensing agreement. Take a look. If you need to negotiate further, give Preston a call. I think it's best if he handles the details from here on out."
"You're licensing my app? For Stark International?"
"I am. You'll get the up-front payment as soon as the contract is signed."
"Damien..."
I think about the size of that check, not to mention the quarterly fees that the licensing by a company that size will bring in.
Then I think about my office--my office--and how I'm going to decorate it.
"Damien," I say again. "Thank you."
"It's business, Ms. Fairchild," he says. "You have a product I need. And in business, at least, I can buy what I want." And then, without a goodbye, the line goes dead.
"Wow," Jamie says. She takes my hand and squeezes. "And I'm proud of you." But she seems a little bit unsure when she says it.
As for me, I'm reeling. Both from the news about the license and from the indisputable fact that I have truly lost Damien Stark, a man I barely even knew, but whose loss I feel profoundly.
I'm still reeling at six-fifteen the next night when Ollie bursts through the door, then swings me around, making me laugh. "My parents say hi, and I have all sorts of gossip about people from the neighborhood," he announces. "But first I have something to ask you." He draws in a breath. "Nik, I think we ought to move in together."
"I've been thinking about that," I say honestly. "Don't be mad, but Jamie kind of told me."
"I'm not mad." He laughs. "I know you two. Hell, I should have expected she'd tell you," he adds, reminding me once again of just how well he knows me. "So? You've thought about it?"
"I have," I say, and I'm fully intending to tell him that I will move in with him. But in the space of time between the thought and speech, I see my life with him play out in my head. Long years that are fine, but not spectacular. Loving, but not passionate.
In other words, it's an okay life, but it's just a little off. And it's not the life that I want.
"I'm sorry, Ollie," I say as I glance at the clock. "I can't. And I can't stay to explain, either. I'm so sorry, but I have to go. Hell, I have to fly."
Chapter 9
"Are you crazy?" Jamie asks, racing after me as I sprint toward my car.
"I made a horrible mistake, James. If I'm lucky and there's no traffic--a minor miracle on New Year's Eve--maybe I'll get to the airport in time."
"But--"
I pause long enough to hold her by the shoulders. "You're the one who said it. I'm too smart not to know when I've got a good thing. But don't you see? It's Damien who's my good thing."
"You barely know him."
"I know," I agree as I fumble for my keys. "It's crazy."
"What about Ollie?"
I sigh. "That's a hard one, but I can't stay with him because I'm afraid of hurting him. He deserves real love, not best friend love. He deserves passion. And, honestly, so do I."
"And the scars?" she asks as I'm unlocking the car.
That gives me pause, but only for a lit
tle bit. "It's going to be okay," I say, meeting her eyes. "He's not going to care. He's going to have my back, just like you and Ollie do."
"That's one hell of a leap of faith. How on earth do you know that?"
"I just do," I say, and there's not a doubt in my mind that I'm right.
Finally Jamie is all out of questions. "Wait!" she cries right before I slide into the driver's seat. "I love you. If you're really sure..."
"More sure than I've been of anything in a very long time."
"Well, okay then." She manages a crooked little smile. "Don't get mugged in Times Square."
I laugh, then realize I'm crying a little, too. "I have to go."
"Then go." She makes a motion as if to wave me out of a starting gate, and I start the car and peel out of the lot, then drive like an absolute maniac all the way to the Santa Monica airport. I must have a guardian angel--and that little guy deserves serious overtime--because I get there with ten minutes to spare and not even a dinged fender.
I'm familiar with the airport from a client that wanted me to do an app for his flight lesson students, and I find the plane near one of the Stark hangars. I throw the car into park, and am just about to get out and run to the jet when I see Damien on the tarmac--and Carmela is right there with him.
In that moment, I turn completely to ice.
That bastard. That slimy, wormy, mold-ridden bastard.
I jam the gearshift into reverse, and I cringe at the sound of tires squealing as I back out, certain I'm leaving streaks of rubber on the pavement. I race toward the exit, but it's no good. I'm crying too hard, and I can't see, and I have to pull over and mop my face with my sleeve and try to stop the painful, hiccuping tears.
I'm about to put the car back into drive when the passenger door opens.
I jump, terrified, then relax when I see who it is--Damien.
But I only relax for a second, which is exactly how long it takes for me to lose it. "You bastard," I say. "The second I say no, you go and dive back into Carmela's arms?"
I'm not being fair--I know I'm not being fair. But I wanted to believe I was special. More than that, I really did think that I was special. And knowing the truth--knowing that I was so very wrong--hurts like hell.
"Nikki--" He reaches for me, but I shove him away, then get really pissed when he starts to chuckle.
"What?" I snap.
"You're mad at me for something you don't understand."
"Bullshit."
"Sorry, my mistake. So I guess you do understand. Which means that you're upset because I was telling Carmela I can't see her again. That I'm not interested in taking her to New York with me. That I'd rather go by myself if I can't have you."
"I--" I frown. "Is that really what you were saying?"
"It really was," he says, and I can see the truth in his eyes.
I lean my head back, all the anger draining from me, to be replaced by waves of mortification and embarrassment. "I'm an idiot."
"That depends," he says gently. "Are you moving in with your boyfriend?"
I shake my head. "No," I say firmly, then turn to look at him. "I can't. And he's not my boyfriend."
"Why not?"
I lick my lips, undone by the passion in his eyes. "Because there's someone else I want in my life."
"Oh, baby." He reaches for me, then strokes my cheek. "You're sure?"
I nod. "I don't know where we're going, but I know that it's right." And I do. I've never been so certain of anything in my life.
And that is strangely, scarily, wonderful.
"Kiss me," I say, and I lose myself in the pleasure of this man that I realize I love. And who I know in my heart loves me, too.
When he pulls gently away from me, he is smiling. "So if you'll take us back to the plane, I'll take you to New York."
"Damien," I say as I start the car. "You can take me anywhere."
As it turns out, he's taking me there in comfort. I've been on a lot of planes in my life, but Damien's private jet is exceptional. In fact, we're not even seated in regular plane seats, but on a small sofa with a table bolted to the floor in front of us. And, since we've reached cruising altitude and there's no turbulence, we even have glasses of wine and a plate of artisan cheese in front of us.
"This is really amazing," I say.
"Whatever you want, just ask," Damien says, and I feel my cheeks warm. I know that Damien is talking about snacks, but my mind is going in a decidedly different direction.
He notices and chuckles. "That, too," he says.
"Yeah, well, it's a very small plane, and Katie might come back to refill the glasses," I add, referring to the flight attendant whom Damien had introduced before takeoff.
"See that?" he asks, nodding to an illuminated red light over the closed door to the galley. "No one comes through those doors when it's red."
"Oh. Why?"
His smile is sensual as he reaches over and unfastens my seat belt, then urges me onto his lap. One of his hands rests on my hip, but the other traces my lower lip. And his eyes stay firmly on mine. "Because sometimes I like my privacy."
"Like now?" I am tingling all over. And it is taking all of my self-control not to draw his finger into my mouth and suck.
"Like now. Oh, Christ, Nikki." The words sound ripped out of him, and I gasp as his hand moves to cup the back of my head even as his mouth closes hard over mine.
He kisses me deep, and I moan from the power of it. Of him. From the headiness of being lost in Damien's arms.
I am straddling his hips, my skirt loose enough so that my legs are spread wide, and I can feel his erection hard against his jeans. Hard against me. And I'm so wet, so crazed. And all I want right now is this man inside me.
His hand on my hip slides down, and he eases my skirt up so that his hand is on my bare knee, then on my thigh, and then, as he starts to move higher, I feel my body tense. He notices, this man who is so incredibly attuned to me, and he breaks our kiss. "I want you, Nikki. But if this is too fast..."
"No," I say, the firmness of the answer surprising me. "I want it. God, Damien, I want you so badly."
He leans back so that he can see me, and the tenderness in his expression just about unravels me. "Then tell me, baby. Whatever it is, just tell me."
"I--" I know it will be okay. I'm certain of it. As certain of it as I am of him. Of us. But it's still hard. Opening that door, showing him my heart, revealing my secrets and fears and weaknesses.
"Nikki?"
I swallow, then force myself to go on. "In the theater--when I bolted--it was because I was scared."
His brow furrows. "Of me?"
"Yes. No. Sort of." My hands are resting on his chest, and I clutch his T-shirt. "Of your reaction. Of the way you'll see me once you know the truth."
I see a flicker of concern in his eyes, but it passes quickly. "There is no 'way,' " he says. "I see you, Nikki. And I want what I see."
"I hope so." I push away his hand that is on my skirt. Then I take over, pulling the material slowly up my leg. When the very edges of my scars are revealed, I close my eyes, but I keep tugging, all the way up so that I'm fully exposed--my thighs, my hips, everything. Even the newest mark, still red and raw.
"Oh, sweetheart." I hear the pain in his voice. But I don't hear disgust, and that gives me hope. I open my eyes and see only compassion on his face. "You thought I'd turn from you? That I wouldn't want to touch you?"
I turn my face away, ashamed. He gently cups my chin and forces me to look at him. "No," he says. "No. Everyone has scars, baby. Everyone. Yours are just the kind you can see."
I want to believe that he means that, but I have to know he understands. "I'm not strong, Damien. Hell, I'm a mess. Don't you understand what you're looking at?"
"You cut." The words are flat. Matter-of-fact. "And you think that makes you weak."
"I am."
"Oh, Nikki, no. Don't you get it? Everyone breaks a little sometimes. That doesn't make you weak. It makes you wounded. And I
will always be there to help you heal."
His words reverberate through me. So warm. So familiar. "You really mean that." It's a statement, not a question, and in that moment I have never felt more safe or more loved in my life. I've only known this man for a few days, and yet I know him. He's part of me. He's my heart and my soul.
He's exceptional.
And I know without a doubt that he is mine.
"Kiss me," I beg.
"Sweetheart, I intend to do a lot more than kiss you."
I laugh. "Oh, dear god, I hope so."
I lean in, not wanting to wait a moment longer, and capture his mouth with my own. The kiss is hot and crazed. I taste him. I taste blood. I want to consume and be consumed. I am wild and full of need. Most of all I need him. "Please," I beg, breaking away just long enough to speak. "Now, Damien. I need you inside me now."
He makes a feral sound, then reaches down to unbutton his jeans and open his fly. He lifts me up, just long enough to free himself, then settles me back in his lap, so that the silk of my panties rubs his cock, and I'm so wet and so turned on that I think I will come simply from the raw intimacy of our bodies grinding together.
Thankfully, he has a condom in his back pocket, and he rips the packet open and puts it on. I rise onto my knees and start to move so that I can take off the damn panties, but he just murmurs, "no," then tugs the crotch aside before settling me back on his cock. He meets my eyes, and I nod, and he puts his hands on my hips and guides me down. I arch back, my hands clinging to his shoulders, overwhelmed by the pleasure of this man filling me. Joining with me.
"Kiss me," he demands, and I do, my mouth as open to him as my body. My heart and soul open to him as well.
Harder and deeper he thrusts inside me, and I'm so close, the wonderful explosion building and climbing, at least as high as this jet in which we are soaring. I am so on edge that I can't take it anymore. "Now," Damien growls. "Now, baby," and I explode, my body contracting tight around him, and taking him over with me.
The orgasm seems to last for hours, a cacophony of shooting stars and vibrant electricity, after which I fall helpless against him, clinging tight as he holds me and strokes my still-clothed back.
When I can breathe again, I pull away so that I can see his face, our bodies still joined. And it feels more than right. It feels perfect.
"We still have several hours in this plane," he murmurs, and I feel his cock harden again inside me. "I want more, Nikki. Where you're concerned, I'm insatiable."