Pandora's Box (previously Worth the Wait, a Zebra print best seller) (23 page)

Damian watched until she was safely in the building before going to the parking garage for his car. He felt bad about the things he’d said to his mother the night of the graduation. Why couldn’t she accept the fact that Charlie was an important part of his life? She, more than anyone, should understand.

He wanted to make one last attempt to reach her. If she wouldn’t accept Charlie, then that was her problem. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life worrying about pleasing his mother.

“It’s so kind of you to give up your precious time to visit with me, Damian.”

“I have some papers that need your signature.” She sat in her favorite Queen Anne chair. Dressed all in scarlet and glaring at him, she bore a striking resemblance to the Red Queen in Alice in Wonderland. He had to suppress the urge to yell “off with her head.”

“What happened? Is your girlfriend out on a shopping binge?”

Damian cocked his head. “Do you want to start, Mother?”

“I don’t know what you see in her. Other than the obvious. You can get that anywhere.”

“You know, Mother, a lot of people said that about you and Peter, too.”

Monica huffed and drew herself up. “It’s not even comparable. She’s only interested in your money.”

“And Peter wasn’t? You supported him for years before his artwork began selling. Charlie doesn’t take any money from me.”

She frowned in her all-knowing way. “Yet. Just wait. You’ll see I’m right. What do you think would happen if you were to break it off with her?”

He shrugged and lowered himself in a chair. “I’ll never know. I don’t plan to break it off with her.”

She raised a glass of clear liquid to her lips and slowly finished it off. “Why not? Are you afraid of what she’ll do? Isn’t this whole charade just to avoid a public scandal that might affect your company?”

His mother was grasping at straws. She needed an excuse rather than believe he loved Charlie—maybe because her own relationships hadn’t involved love, but a destructive obsession.

“Rumors of Peter Lawson’s bigamy would hardly send shock waves through the insurance world.”

“No?” She grinned. “Did you tell her yet about her parents?”

Damian exhaled deeply. He never should have told his mother what he knew. Although he had hoped to use it as a weapon against her, it had only given her more ammunition. “What difference does it make?”

“You didn’t, did you? Are you going to wait until after you marry her and it’s too late for her to do anything about it? After all, why would she give up the gold to go after the brass ring?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about”

He didn’t for a moment think that Charlie was interested in money, either his or Peter’s. But to Charlie, it might appear as if he had. He had to tell her the truth about her parents, and hopefully make her understand why he hadn’t said anything sooner. How could he tell her now without making it sound as if he didn’t trust her?

“Damian?”

He shook his head and glanced up at his mother. “What?”

“If you marry that woman, you will never be welcome in my home.”

“Are you telling me I have to choose?”

“Yes. So you’d better think long and hard about this.” She had laid all her cards on the table and left no room for compromise.

Damian nodded and stood up. “I don’t have to. I’ve already made my choice and I can live with it I hope you can, too.”

He slid his hands into his pockets and walked out of the room. He didn’t feel any loss. This wasn’t the end of his relationship with his mother; the fact was, he’d never had one.

* * * *

Charlie breezed into the apartment. With a kick worthy of a Rockette, she sent her left shoe flying across the living room. It hit the glass window and she cringed, but there was no damage. Her remorse lasted one short-lived moment. She was too consumed with anticipation to be sidetracked by anything.

Although she had arrived late at the Algerian Consulate, they had still let her in to pick up the translation of her mother’s papers. It had taken all her self-control not to tear the envelope open during the taxi ride home. She didn’t want any emotional surprises until she was alone to deal with them. Knowing that Damian would be delayed, she flopped down on the sofa and sifted through the papers.

It was difficult to ascertain which one came as a bigger shock to her. The first was a marriage license for Marguerite and Peter. The second was a divorce decree—initiated by her mother. Her mother! Charlie read the translation twice. There had to be some mistake. Peter had deserted Marguerite. He had admitted as much in his journal. At least that was what she had understood from his writings.

According to the date on the document, her mother must have known she was pregnant when she’d filed for divorce. But why? She couldn’t have been doing it for Peter. By the laws of Algeria, where their divorce technically occurred, Peter didn’t need her consent to divorce her.

The last paper was the biggest shocker of them all. Marguerite had written to her parents right after giving birth to her daughter. Charlie didn’t bother to reread it; she didn’t doubt her own eyes, even though they were burning and brimming over with tears.

Nothing was what she had imagined.

After everything she’d been through in the past few weeks, she had no idea why this affected her so deeply. The letter didn’t come close to exonerating Peter. He was everything she’d believed he was: selfish, cold, and obsessed with his work. What hurt was that her mother was no better. Marguerite had married Peter so that she could emigrate to the United States. She had had no intention of staying married any longer than legally necessary. Charlie had been nothing more than an accident. Far from being overwhelmed by life in America, Marguerite had been looking forward to getting on with her new life of freedom.

Charlie tried to convince herself that the reason her mother never mailed the letter was because she’d had a change of heart. Marguerite couldn’t really have been planning to send her daughter to live in Algeria with the parents who had disowned her, could she? To banish her, to abandon her, just as Peter had?

The buzzer rang, letting her know Damian had returned. He never walked in the door unexpectedly, no matter what time of night he returned from his business trips. The only time he had playfully sneaked up on her, she’d let out a startled shriek that had kept him guilt ridden for two days.

Damian on a guilt trip was not a pretty sight, so she quickly stuffed the papers into her purse. He had enough problems with his own mother. She didn’t have to burden him with the story of hers.

He walked through the door with a smile that didn’t seem genuine. She knew without asking that it hadn’t gone well.

“How did the rest of your day go at work?”

She slipped her hands inside his suit jacket and slid it over his shoulders. She hung it over the back of a chair and locked her fingers through his, pulling him into the room. “Better than yours, I’d say. Can I get you a drink?”

“No.” The corner of his mouth curled back. “Well, maybe I could go for one of your famous sloe comfortable screws.”

“Sure. Then I’ll get you a drink.”

This time his smile covered his entire face. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up to eye level. “We have to talk, Charlie.”

“Right now?” she asked as he slowly lowered her to the floor.

Tonight she needed to feel wanted. She had hoped to make him feel the same. Her pride had taken a battering. In his arms, she could block out the sadness. She yanked her tee-shirt over her head and threw it onto the chair behind her. She stood before him, half naked and wanting him more than she wanted her next breath.

He ran a hungry gaze over her and shook his head. “Soon.”

“But right now, I just want . . .”

He nuzzled his face along the side of her neck. “You want what?”

A breath caught in her throat. She tried to talk but all that came out was a sigh.

Using his tongue, he traced a line down her shoulder to her breast He took it into his mouth and sucked on the tender peak until she thought she would go mad from the sheer pleasure he gave her. “Is that what you want Charlie?”

“Yes,” she whispered, burying her fingers in his silky hair. He knew what she liked and he knew how she liked it. He had given her the most wonderful gift. Not the sex, but the ability to enjoy her body— and his—without fear.

He dropped to his knees and smoothed her satin panties over her hips and down to the floor at her ankles. She stepped out of the undergarment and kicked it away with her foot. Before she could reach for him, he cupped her buttocks in his palms and inched her forward. His tongue circled her naval. Her lower abdomen tingled deliciously.

“Damian?” She barely recognized the anguished moan as her own voice.

He gazed up at her. His green eyes sparked with concern. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“Oh, yeah,” she muttered. “But in a really good way. Keep going.” The new and delightful sensation caused her skin to sizzle. Her body felt as if it were on fire.

His exhale of laughter warmed the flesh of her belly. “Patience is a virtue.”

If she were thinking about her virtue, she wouldn’t be here on the verge of begging him to take her.

He stripped off his own clothes in such a hurry that she knew he wasn’t any more patient than she was.

“Hey, I wanted to do that,” she complained.

* * * *

Damian laughed as he lifted her and carried her to the sofa. If she needed to use tonight to escape where she’d come from, then he intended to show her just where he thought they were going. To a new level of intimacy and trust, with nothing held back.

Flushed with desire, she laid her head back on the pillows. A mass of silky curls formed a halo around her face. An angel. His angel. An unexpected surge of possessiveness filled him as he knelt down before her.

Her skin was smooth and hot, her hands eager and impatient. “Not yet,” he whispered.

First with his hand, then his mouth, he explored her body, tasting, teasing, and judging from her sensual cry—even tormenting.

As his lips moved to the soft mound between her thighs, he felt her tense. He slowed down, giving her time to get used to the new sensations.

Her fingers clutched the fabric of the sofa. She trembled as she opened for him, removing the last barrier of resistance. He caressed her thigh with fluid movements, bringing his fingers higher to part the folds of skin and expose the tiny pink nub at the center.

Again, she tensed.

“Do you want me to stop?”

She shook her head and arched her hips higher.

Encouraged by her response, he brought his mouth to the pulsing nub. Although he thought he might explode from his own desire, he couldn’t stop now. Her pleasure was his pleasure, her climax more powerful and earth-shattering than his own.

Moisture poured from her, thick and hot. “Damian,” she moaned. “I want you. Inside me.” More than ready, she was in a frenzy of passion.

Her body shuddered as he entered her. She closed around him, tangling him in a silky web of heat. Her fingers dug into the flesh of his back.

She held him as if she were afraid he might try to leave. Smiling, he touched his mouth to hers. Silent tears spilled from her glazed eyes. He licked them, savoring the salty taste of her satisfaction. Only then would he allow himself his own exhilarating release.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Charlie checked the cookbook to make sure she had all the ingredients for the barbecue sauce she wanted to prepare. Chinese-style ribs was one of Damian’s favorite dinners and she wanted to make it just right. At least the evening would start out pleasant for both of them.

She had managed to avoid talking about Peter all week. Each time Damian had tried to corner her, she’d found a way to distract him. He’d only let her get away with it because she was working. By Friday night, she knew she wouldn’t be able to put him off again.

Just as she placed the ribs in the marinade, she heard a knock. Who would be at the door without first being cleared through the lobby?

She approached the door apprehensively and peered through the peephole. Just what she didn’t need! Monica Lawson on the doorstep and Damian not due home for at least another hour.

She wanted to ignore the annoying pounding, but old Henry must have told her that someone was home or he wouldn’t have let her in. Gathering all the courage she could muster, which she sadly acknowledged wasn’t much, she pulled the door open wide.

“Damian’s not home yet,” she stammered. How tactful, she reprimanded herself. Why not just slam the door in her face, too?

Making no attempt at pleasantries, Monica pushed her way in. Well, you can hardly blame the woman, Charlie scolded her wounded pride. She hadn’t been very welcoming herself.

She followed Monica into the living room. “Would you like to have a seat and wait until Damian returns?”