Damien, Page 2

“Nikki.” He felt his lips pull into a smile. “It suits you.”

  He swallowed, then opened his mouth to speak, though he really wasn’t certain what he intended to say. Not that it mattered, as he didn’t get the chance to say anything at all. Because that’s when Carmela decided to show up, apparently bored with shopping and the suite’s amenities.

  “Damie, darling.” Her accent was thick and as sensual as her pouty lips and mass of dark waves. “Come. We should go, yes?”

  He wanted to tell her no, not yes. He wanted to tell Carmela that things had changed. That he was putting her on a plane. That it had been fun, but he knew now what—no, who—he wanted.

  But he didn’t say that. How could he? He knew a few things about Nikki Fairchild. He’d read her contestant’s bio. He knew she’d just started college. That she was pursuing a double major. And he knew from her interview that she was ambitious.

  She was starting out. He was breaking out.

  This wasn’t their time. Not yet.

  But he’d move heaven and earth to find her in the future. And between now and then, he’d do whatever it took to make sure that he had the means to build that lever.

  In the meantime, he’d watch and he’d wait. And maybe, just maybe, he’d be a little less fucked up knowing that a woman like Nikki was out there—and that one day she would be his.

  He took Carmela’s hand and met Nikki’s eyes. “Miss Fairchild,” he said with a parting nod.

  Then he turned to escort Carmela back to their room, knowing full well that when he had her naked beneath him—when he buried his cock deep inside her—it would be the thought of Nikki Fairchild making him hard.

  Chapter Two

  Malibu, California

  Now…

  Damien Stark stood in the doorway of his master bedroom, his gaze fixed on the woman who had teased his mind and stolen his heart all those years ago. The woman he’d craved from the first moment he’d seen her. The woman who was his wife. Who he loved beyond reason.

  As far as he was concerned, Nikki was the biggest miracle of his life, the mother of his children, and to this day he didn’t know how he’d been so lucky to not only find her, but to keep her.

  She was the reason he drew breath in the morning, and she loved him back with equal ferocity, seeing past his faults, his fears, his flaws. Believing in him always.

  Even when he failed her.

  He closed his eyes, pushing away the darkness that had been edging up on him since the moment his youngest daughter had been taken. A darkness that had been speared with light when they’d gotten her back and he’d once again held Anne tight in his arms.

  But that bright moment of hope and relief hadn’t changed the single, inescapable fact—he’d failed.

  He had one job as a father. One job as a husband. To protect his family. And when it had truly counted, he’d completely missed the mark.

  His whole life, he’d excelled. Success after success after empire-expanding success. He’d made mistakes, sure. But he’d owned them. Built on them. And none of them had the power to destroy him or the people he loved.

  On the contrary, every mistake in his career was a stepping stone to a greater triumph. Another asset to control. Another luxury to acquire. Another industry to master.

  And he’d mastered so goddamn much.

  But not one iota of that mattered, because the edifice he’d thought he’d built was nothing more than a house of cards balanced on a foundation of smoke and mirrors. And he hadn’t even seen the cracks until somebody had pushed into his world and kidnapped his daughter.

  A familiar fury raged through him, and he battled it down, just like he’d been doing since the shock of Anne’s kidnapping had blindsided him. And just like he continued to do even after getting her back safely one short week ago.

  And yet it wasn’t the kidnapper who bore the brunt of his rage, though he’d happily squeeze the life out of the son-of-a-bitch with his bare hands. No, Damien’s rage was aimed at himself. At his own arrogance. At the lack of imagination that had allowed this to happen, because he’d never seen it coming. They’d had security. They’d had protection.

  But it hadn’t been enough. Because he hadn’t made it enough.

  Goddamn shortsighted arrogant motherfucker.

  He started to lash out. To pound his fist against the door frame. But he pulled back, not wanting to wake Nikki or the two little angels curled up next to her in their bed. His wife. His precious little girls.

  His family.

  As much as he loved Nikki, he hadn’t truly understood how full his heart could be until he’d held Lara in his arms for the first time. And though he hadn’t expected it was possible, his heart had expanded even more when he watched Anne’s birth two years ago and saw her draw that first breath.

  Every day, his daughters looked up at him with wide, guileless eyes. And every day, he felt that punch in the gut. A fear that he couldn’t live up to the trust he saw there. That somehow, someway, he would fail them. Not in the way his own father had failed him. But in some other, fundamental way.

  And that’s exactly what happened.

  He thought of Rory, that fucker who’d taken his child. Of Nikki, broken and huddled in the closet with a blade, blood streaming down her fair skin, cutting for the first time in years. The first time since he’d demanded that she come to him—to him—when she needed the blade.

  So many times, she’d done exactly that. Gone to him when the burden of the world had been too much to bear. When she needed the pain to find her way back. And he’d always been there for her, his need as potent as hers. Because he had to be the one to take her there. To slide down with her into that sweet place where sensual pleasure crossed over into pain. Where need and desire meshed, merging into euphoria. Where they could both cling to that one small measure of control in a world that was spinning off its axis.

  How many times had they saved each other? Their needs meshing as perfectly as their desire?

  How many times had he held her close as they fought their demons together?

  And yet this time—when the worst parts of hell had swallowed them whole—she hadn’t come to him. Instead, she’d put a razor-sharp length of stainless steel against her own flesh, and she’d drawn her own blood for the first time in years.

  All because he’d failed her. Because it was his mistakes that spawned the demons.

  Because for the first time in their relationship she hadn’t trusted him to save her. And why should she, when he’d already failed so spectacularly?

  He thought of that. Of the scars on her legs. Of the fresh wound that mocked him still.

  He thought—and his stomach twisted with pain and self-loathing.

  Mostly, he thought of Anne. His precious girl, who’d been alone and scared for days.

  They’d gotten Anne back. They’d talked about Damien’s choices. The risks he’d taken to find their daughter and her kidnapper. They’d worked it out, and they were back on keel. And he knew in his gut that Nikki was strong enough to survive the whole ordeal.

  But that didn’t change the simple, basic truth.

  He’d failed.

  Roughly, he massaged his palms over his face, then looked again at his girls, curled up together, safe and asleep.

  Safe.

  For now, at least.

  But for the first time in a long time, Damien felt as if the shadows that had plagued his past had returned to haunt him, bringing harsh recriminations and fresh dangers.

  He squared his shoulders, steeling himself. He was strong. More than that, he had resources. He had means. And he damn well had the determination to keep those encroaching horrors at bay.

  Most of all, he had a life—a family—worth fighting for.

  He was fucking Damien Stark.

  He’d failed once.

  He wouldn’t fail again.

  Slowly, he drew in a breath, confidence returning. He lifted his phone, intending to check his emails for an update from Ryan Hunte
r, his security chief, about all the upgrades they were implementing. Instead, he saw the text that only a few moments ago had sent him spiraling back into bittersweet memories of Texas. Sweet, because that night in Dallas was the first time he’d laid eyes on his wife. Bitter, because it had been six long years between that first glimpse and the moment he’d finally held her in his arms.

  “Damien?”

  He looked up, his body reacting from nothing more than the sensuality of her sleep-heavy voice.

  “I’m here, baby.”

  She pushed a stray lock of blond hair out of her eyes before propping herself up on an elbow. He held his breath, afraid she’d wake the kids, but their two daughters remained motionless. Their oldest, Lara, now four. And their youngest, Anne, whose birthday had been today, Wednesday. Technically yesterday, Damien realized, since it was past one in the morning. Two precious little people, one blond, one dark. Yin and Yang. His girls. His babies. Now sleeping peacefully, worn out from spending the day in the pool with Mommy and Daddy, then snuggling up to watch a Disney movie.

  Since their birthdays were so close together, the girls’ joint party had been the previous Saturday. And though it had been planned only as a toddler birthday party, the event had become so much more than that. A celebration of life. Of Anne’s safe return. And of the capture and incarceration of the fucker who’d had the gall to steal her away.

  The only way it could have been better was if Damien had killed the man. Rory Claymore. A spineless excuse for a human who was now behind bars after entering a plea of guilty to two counts of aggravated assault and kidnapping. Now he could rot in prison.

  Yesterday had been a smaller, private celebration. Just Damien and his girls, with a homemade chocolate birthday cake for Anne, and a lovely, lazy day celebrating their family.

  Nikki blinked sleepily. “Is it morning already?”

  “Almost two.”

  Despite his answer, she glanced at the clock beside the bed. “What are you doing up?”

  He allowed himself the ghost of a smile. “I was thinking about Carmela, actually.” Now the face of the highly successful designer label she’d launched with her husband, Carmela D’Amato was not only a former fashion model, she was also one of the few women before Nikki that Damien had fucked with any pattern of regularity.

  As he’d expected, his wife arched a brow, and that predictable reaction—half-amusement, half-jealousy—raised his spirits considerably.

  “Oh, really?” She was awake now, her voice no longer coated with the thickness of sleep. There was, however, a hint of humor, which underscored how far they’d come. Once upon a time, Nikki would have happily strangled Carmela. And considering the games the Italian beauty had played in Germany, Damien would have handed her the rope.

  “Care to explain yourself, Mr. Stark? Just because I no longer think of her as the monster bitch queen from hell doesn’t mean that I want her filling my husband’s head.”

  “I was remembering Dallas,” he said, moving toward her, then sitting on the edge of the bed and taking her outstretched hand. “I was thinking that without her we might never have met.”

  “Without Carmela?” Her lips twitched. “No way. I give full credit to those tiny cheesecakes.”

  He chuckled. “The cheesecake was only my excuse to get near to you. The woman who took my breath away the moment I saw her on stage. The woman who still does,” he added as he brushed his thumb over her lower lip, satisfaction coursing through him from the way she responded, her eyes closing as she released a soft sigh of pleasure.

  “And Carmela fits in how?” The question was soft. Barely a whisper.

  “She’s the one who urged me to accept the invitation to judge. She wanted to see Texas. Horses and cowboys.”

  Nikki’s delighted laugh warmed his soul. “You never told me that. And did she find a cowboy?”

  “She did. I went back to Milan, then London, then home to LA. She stayed in Dallas. I’m not sure how long they were together. He had a ranch. I think she was particularly fascinated by the longhorns.”

  “I’ll bet she was.”

  He could tell by the laughter in her voice that she thought he was teasing her, but it was true, though not something he’d thought about in years and years. Everything had changed when he’d walked out of that ballroom with Carmela, and the clever model was savvy enough to pick up on it, and self-assured enough to walk away without throwing a tantrum. She’d left the next night on the arm of a denim-clad, Stetson-wearing millionaire she’d met in the hotel bar.

  Carmela had left because of Nikki. And that wasn’t the only change she’d wrought unawares. Damien had always held his private life close, but Nikki had gotten under his skin, and after Dallas, he’d accepted even fewer invitations to events and parties. He hadn’t shunned women, but as he’d told Nikki early in their relationship, he hadn’t dated. He’d fucked. And that only to take the edge off.

  There was only her. There’d only ever been her. There would only ever be her.

  And what truly made her his miracle was that she felt the same way about him.

  “What prompted the trip down memory lane?” She brushed her thumb lightly over his hand, their fingers still twined together. “I like the part about us, but I’m not sure why you felt compelled to work Carmela into the memory. Contrast?” She lifted a brow in question as a small smile played over her lips.

  “She sent me a text.”

  “Oh?” Her eyes dipped to his phone.

  “She just heard the news.”

  “Oh.” This time her tone was flat.

  “She was embarrassed not to have reached out before. Apparently she and Paolo have been knee deep in prep for their upcoming show. But she’s relieved to know that Anne is home now.”

  “Home.” She drew a breath as she shifted on the bed, releasing his hand so that she could touch both of the girls. “Well, I—I mean, tell her we appreciate the thought. I do like her, you know. She’s grown on me. Back then—that night in Dallas, I mean—I hated her. I think I hated her at the pageant even more than the night she showed up in your hotel room in Germany.”

  “In Germany, you were already mine, wholly and completely. In Dallas, there was only the potential.”

  “Potential, Mr. Stark? Aren’t you the one who once told me we were inevitable? That no matter what, we would have found each other?”

  “We would have. We’re bound, you and I. And somehow, the thread that connects us would have pulled you to me.”

  Even in the dim light, he could see the storm building in her eyes, a wild passion that filled his soul, both arousing and humbling him.

  Christ, she had such power over him, and yet she still submitted. Gave herself to him so openly and willingly.

  Trusted him.

  He sat back, sighing deeply.

  She frowned, then lifted the hand that had been stroking Anne’s tiny head and rested it on his thigh. “Come to bed. We can carry the kids back to their room,” she added, and he felt his balls tighten merely from the heated suggestion in her voice. “We probably should have moved them already.”

  “They’re fine,” he said. “Today was special.” They’d spoken with a counselor the day after they’d gotten Anne back, and she’d urged that they keep to a normal routine. That fucking prick Rory had kept Anne drugged, a fact that made Damien’s blood boil, but also meant that she now remembered none of it. Or, at least none of it other than the steady stream of Disney movies.

  A tiny blessing in a sea of horrors.

  As for Lara, she knew her sister had gone away, but her imagination didn’t lead her to the nefarious. And now Lara seemed to have forgotten that Anne had even been gone.

  “Change their routine too much and it might actually be counterproductive,” the counselor had said. And so they’d let the girls fall asleep “accidentally” in their bed that first night. But after that, the girls had returned to their bedroom, a few extra stuffed animals for their comfort—as well as for his and
Nikki’s.

  And although both he and Nikki knew they couldn’t work from home forever—and, in fact, were both returning to their respective offices tomorrow—they’d spent the week since Anne’s return doing as little work as possible. What they did tackle, they handled from home. The girls, however, were too young to understand the change in routine, especially since he and Nikki both frequently worked from the Malibu house.

  Tonight, the whole family had piled into bed for popcorn and Puppies!, known to the rest of the world as 101 Dalmatians. And since the kids had been zonked after a day in the sun—and since it was Anne’s birthday and both he and Nikki had wanted the girls with them—they’d let their babies fall asleep in Mommy and Daddy’s bed.

  “In that case, come to bed with all of us,” Nikki urged now. “You can fall asleep holding your wife.”

  “Soon. I’m going to take care of a few things that have been hanging.”

  Her eyes scanned his face. “You can’t sleep. And it’s not just tonight.”

  He should have known she’d notice. “Just thinking about work.” Which was technically true. He needed to shoot some emails to Ryan, and now was as good a time as any to do that. And no, the emails weren’t directly related to Stark International’s business, but anything relating to the safety and security of the CEO and his family fell under the purview of the Stark International security team, and that was Ryan’s purview.

  “I can get up. Make you some coffee.”

  He leaned forward and cupped her cheek, then kissed her sweetly. “It’s fine. I’m fine. And coffee would only keep me up longer.”

  “Damien—”

  “Go to sleep, baby. And I promise you’ll wake up in my arms.”

  Again, she studied him, then gave him a tight little nod. “I better.”

  He kissed her again, then slid off the bed. He paused in the doorway and looked back, savoring her sweet smile before she drew the girls tight against her, blew him a kiss, and closed her eyes in surrender to sleep.

  Chapter Three

  A cup of coffee sat untouched on the dining table in the third floor kitchen as Damien skimmed the email he’d just dictated to Ryan, tapped out a few tweaks, then clicked send. He opened a fresh email, intending to draft another note, this one to his brother, Jackson Steele, about the ongoing issues at The Domino, a joint real estate venture between Steele Development and Stark Real Estate.