Stark After Dark (13 page)

“A lawsuit,” I say numbly for what has to be the billionth time. I turn to Damien, not certain if I'm angry or scared or just plain gobsmacked. “How the hell can this be happening?”

“We'll get to the bottom of it,” he says, and his voice is so precise that I know he is even angrier than I am. “It's either a mistake, or someone is fucking with you.”

We're back in the main cabin where I had gone to take the satellite call, and now I shift even more on the leather love seat so that I am facing him directly. “Fucking with me?” I manage a mirthless laugh. “I'd say that sums it up nicely.”

When Sylvia had first told me that a company named WiseApps Development was threatening litigation, my mind couldn't process it. I spend months and months developing all my smart phone apps, and the idea that I had blatantly stolen the coding for my most popular app was not only absurd but insulting.

It had to be a joke. My best friend, Jamie, being a goof. Or Ollie stretching his lawyer wings to give me grief on my honeymoon.

Except that is bullshit because neither of my friends would pull such a mean joke. This is real. And it's serious. And the thought of getting embroiled in litigation—of being accused of doing something so incredibly heinous—is more than I can process. I'm lost in the mist of unreality, and if it weren't for Damien's hand in mine, I fear I would never find my way back to reality.

“Nikki.” His voice is gentle but firm. I take a deep breath, certain that my eyes are glassy, my skin pale. “It will be okay.”

I want to believe him, but I can't wrap my head around it, and so I just stare at him, hating the attorney who has been calling Sylvia, terrified of the foundation of lies that must exist in order for WiseApps to have convinced an attorney to get involved.

“Nikki,” Damien repeats, and this time his voice is sharp. He releases my left hand, then reaches across my body to take my right.

I glance down. I'm wearing nothing but a robe, and it has fallen open, leaving both of my thighs exposed along with the angry scars that mar them, souvenirs from another life, when it was pain and a blade that kept me centered.

Now, I'm surprised to see that I've been digging my nails into my thigh, so viciously that I've come close to drawing blood. I try to relax my hand so that Damien can pull it away, but I can't seem to manage it. I'm untethered, and I need the pain to anchor me.

“No,” Damien says, and though I know that he is referring to the way I am hurting myself, I hear the word as if in contradiction to my thoughts.
No, I do not need the pain
. And he is right, I think. It's not the pain that is my anchor. Not anymore.

It's Damien.

I turn to him suddenly. Urgently. “Tell me it will be all right.”

My hand is tight in his, and I see the flash of relief on his face. The recognition that I have returned to him from a dark and lonely place. “You've done nothing wrong,” he says. “Of course it will be okay.”

“It makes me feel dirty,” I say. “And no matter what happens, if it gets out, that's what people will remember. That there was a scandal, and that I was involved.”

“I know.” I appreciate that he doesn't offer platitudes or tell me that it is ridiculous to feel that way. He gets it, in part because he has been there himself, but also because he understands me. How I think. How I feel.

I straighten my shoulders. The truth is, I've survived scandal before, and a pretty damn juicy scandal at that. I can weather this, too. With Damien beside me, I can survive anything.

I draw a calming breath. No matter how horrible this is, at least I am not alone.

“What do you mean that someone might be fucking with me?” I ask after I've drawn enough breaths to feel capable of carrying on a reasonably coherent conversation.

“Just that it's interesting timing, isn't it? You've just gotten married. You want to enjoy your honeymoon. And you have access to more than enough money to easily pay off a nuisance lawsuit.”

“Access,” I say with a mirthless laugh. “If by access you mean that I can cozy up to my mega-bazillionaire husband and ask him to pay the son of a bitch off, then yeah. I guess I have access.”

Damien knows damn well that I have no intention of using his money to take care of my business. But that doesn't change the fact that his expression is entirely serious when he nods and says, “If you ask, you know I'll give you whatever you need. But I hope you don't ask.”

I'm not surprised. Damien isn't any more inclined than I am to kowtow to blackmail.

I pinch the bridge of my nose as exhaustion starts to settle on me. The travel, the stress. It is all beginning to wear me down. “Maybe it's just a misunderstanding,” I say.

“I sure as hell hope so. Because if it turns out that someone is fucking with you—” His voice is as sharp as a blade.

“Damien.” My voice rises with warning. I know what he is capable of—the lengths he has gone to in the past to protect me from those who would hurt me. And while I don't give a rat's ass what happens to somebody who is trying to use my company and my reputation to scam a settlement from me, I don't want to see Damien thrust back into the mire.

I start to say that to him, but he shakes his head and tightens his grip on my hand. He meets my eyes. His are fierce. “I will slay your dragons, Nikki. I will keep you safe.”

“I know,” I say. What I don't add is that that is what scares me.

I raise our joined hands to my lips and press a soft kiss to his knuckles. I am thinking of my dream—of the world trying to pull Damien and me apart—and I shiver.

“What?”

But I only shake my head and conjure a wan smile. “Just the whole thing,” I say. “I've never been sued. I don't much like it.” True words, and yet not a true answer.

He doesn't comment on my obfuscation, and yet I think he knows. How could he not? This is the man who can see into my heart.

He watches me for a moment, then nods. I tuck my feet under me and rest my head on his shoulder, exhaustion suddenly overtaking me as the adrenaline rush fades. I know that I would be more comfortable in the stateroom, but my body is limp and heavy and I doubt I can move. Damien brushes his lips gently over my temple. “We still haven't had dinner.”

“Feed me in France,” I mumble, so tired I'm barely able to form words.

“It's a date.” He tucks an arm around me and pulls me closer. “Sleep now,” he says.

And I do.

Skin against skin
.

A brush. A stroke. The butterfly touch of lips against my ear.

And a voice, soft but firm.

“Nikki. Sweetheart, we're landing in less than an hour. Time to wake up.”

“Mmm. Sleep,” I protest.

“Food,” he says, trailing his fingers lightly over my lips. “And clothes. Parisians are pretty open-minded, but I think registration at the hotel might go more smoothly if you're wearing more than a bathrobe.”

His words seem to float over me. I know he's right, and yet I want to stay here in this soft place between sleep and dreams. There are heavy things out there—scary things—and right now I know only vaguely that they exist, and that for this brief time I have escaped them. I am safe here in sleep, with only Damien's voice to blanket me and the gentle caress of his fingers to soothe me.

“Five more minutes.” My words are a soft mumble, and I shift a bit closer to him.

He says nothing, and once again the thrum of the jet's engines starts to draw me down into the sweetness of sleep, safe beside this man whom I love.

My descent is halted, however, by the soft stroke of his hand. His fingers ease down my neck in a gentle caress that makes me shiver. He tugs the shoulder of my robe down, exposing my skin. He kisses me there, gentle touches designed to sweetly tease me. Then he slides his hand down, moving slowly over my breast, making me gasp in delight and then sigh in regret when his hand continues on, having merely teased my nipple into tight, sweet arousal.

“Damien.” I'm not sure if the word is a protest or an exultation. All I know is that he has loosened the tie of the robe and now spreads it open. “Damien,” I say again, but this time the word is little more than breath, because his hand has slipped farther down and he is stroking me, playing me. I close my eyes and sigh as I let the power of my husband's touch send sparks scattering through my body.

I'm aware of every part of me, as if every cell is crying out for more contact, and in answer to my own desires I raise my hands to my breasts, teasing my nipples, then tugging harder as the pressure of Damien's touch increases, as the storm gathers, coming closer to releasing all of its fury inside me.

“Tell me you like this,” he demands.

“Yes,” I say as I raise my hips, urging him not to stop. To touch me harder, faster, deeper. To take and take until I am turned completely inside out. “God, yes.”

“You're close, sweetheart,” he says, and I make some sort of noise in response. “Close,” he repeats, gently removing his hand and making me gasp at this sudden withdrawal of pleasure. “But not ready.”

I moan in protest and frustration. “Clearly you're not familiar with the definition of ready.”

“Then educate me,” he says. “What are you ready for?”

“You.”

His smile is wide and satisfied and wonderfully sexy. “I like that answer. Stand up.”

I hesitate only a moment, because now I understand. “Yes, sir.” I stand, then move to the middle of the cabin so that I am right in front of where he sits on the love seat, his back to the side of the plane and a row of windows open to the night. I hope we don't hit turbulence, but I am not overly worried. There are worse things than stumbling into Damien's arms.

“Take off the robe.” He is wearing loose khaki shorts and an ancient Wimbledon T-shirt. His arms are spread out along the back of the couch, giving him a casual air. His legs are slightly spread, and I can see the tight muscles of his thighs. He's been working out more and his always exceptional body is even more toned.

But even though his posture is casual, his expression is anything but. He is watching me with something that can only be described as hunger. And I am all too happy to be devoured.

“The robe,” he says, making me jump. I haven't yet complied. I've been too caught up with watching my husband. Now I hesitate for different reasons, my attention turning toward the front of the plane and the now-closed door to the galley. It's one thing to be naked under a robe that I can yank closed. It's another to be naked altogether.

“Is there a problem, Mrs. Stark? I believe I told you to ditch the robe.”

I start to speak, but force the words back. I think about Katie. About the privacy of the stateroom. And about this wide-open cabin, separated from the crew's area by just one thin door.

But this is Damien. He'll push my boundaries—I know that. But he won't cross them.

I let the robe fall to the floor, my eyes never leaving his. “Yes, sir,” I say, and see the heat of fire in his eyes, then feel it burn my skin as he slowly lifts his gaze from my feet to my head, examining every inch of me, and making me even wetter in the process.

“Good girl.” His voice is rough, and I can hear the need. I glance down, and feel a wave of satisfaction upon seeing the unmistakable bulge of his erection straining against his shorts. “Now tell me what you want.”

I almost sag with relief, because what I want is what I always want. Where Damien is concerned I am insatiable.

I want him inside me. I want it hard and wild and just a little bit crazy. I want there to be room for nothing inside me except Damien. Not my dream, not the lawsuit, not any of the realities of the world that have started to seep back into my mind now that wakefulness has caught me.

Damien,
I think.
All I want is Damien
.

I start to say as much, but then stop myself. Because as much as I want him—and oh, dear god, do I want him—that isn't all I want.

No, I want him just as crazed as me. I want to make him desperate. I want to hear him beg. I know that he needs me—I stopped doubting that long ago—but I want to see that need in his eyes, and I want to see the satisfaction of his desires when he explodes inside me.

I take a step toward him.

“Tell me,” he repeats. “Tell me what you want.”

“I'd rather show you.” I walk toward him as I talk, my eyes never leaving his. One step, then another. I see his expression shift, wariness edging toward pleasure.

And then, as I kneel in front of him, there is understanding. Mostly, there is desire.

He starts to speak, and though I don't know if he intends to protest, I don't wait to find out. I press my finger to his mouth and gently shake my head. “No. My turn. Not a word.”

He nods, just a small movement of his head, but I revel in the power. I just might be the only person on the planet to whom Damien Stark will willingly submit.

I lean forward and with slow, deliberate motions, I unbutton the shorts and then lower his zipper. I slip my hand in and stroke his cock through his briefs. He is hard as steel, and when I let my eyes dart up to his face, I see that his jaw is tight and know that he is fighting for control.

I draw his cock out, steely hard and incredibly thick. Damien makes a low noise like a growl of need, and my stomach quivers in response. My entire body throbs with want of him, but not yet. Not until I taste him.

I lick the very tip of his cock, and am rewarded by the way he arches back and the way his fingers reach for me and twine tightly in my hair. Feminine power surges through me, and I look up to see muscles in his chest straining against the shirt. He looks like a man on the precipice, aroused and wild and ready. And I am the woman who took him there. Who will take him further.

I lick him, cupping his balls and following the vein that bulges in his cock up to the tip. He shudders under my touch, then gasps when I open my mouth and take him in, sucking and licking as I try to take all of him, wanting the sensation of making him go over like this, lost to my whim and the pleasure I am giving. I can't manage, though. He's too big and I am not at a good angle. More than that, I am driving myself crazy, because as much as I want to take him there, the truth is that I am craving the feel of him inside me. And the more I imagine the feel of him deep within me, the more I know that I have to have him. Dear god, I have to have him now.

“Straddle me.”

The words are little more than a whisper, but they wash over me with the force of an answered prayer. I tilt my head back and find him looking at me with such intensity it seems to burn. “I need to be inside you,” he says.

“I know,” I say as I rise. “I need it, too.”

I hold on to his shoulders and put my knees on the love seat on either side of him. With my eyes never leaving his, I position myself, teasing the tip of his cock and then—oh, dear god, yes—impaling myself on him. Deeper and deeper until I feel like I will lose him inside of me, and me inside of him.

“Christ, Nikki, you feel so good.” His hands cup my breasts as I arch back and we rock together, slow and sensual moments that swirl pleasure around us, as heady as a cocktail.

“I can never get enough of you,” he says. “I know you so intimately, and yet never stop discovering you.”

I close my eyes, surrendering myself to the wonder of his touch and the power of his words.

“There is never a time when I don't see you and lose myself utterly to you. You're mystery, Nikki, and you're truth. Look at me,” he says, and I hear the change of tone in his voice.

I open my eyes and see the intensity on his face.

“We're together now.” His voice is firm and thick with meaning. “Neither of us is alone. We're one. And whatever you have to face, I will face it with you. Whatever battles you have to fight, I will fight them with you. I will see us through this.”

I swallow, thinking of how I wanted nothing more than to stay asleep, hiding from whatever new horror awaited me out in the world. Hiding from Damien, too, even as I felt protected in the shadow of his arms. I should have known better. I should have known he would see right through me—and that he wouldn't let me hide.

“Do you understand?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Does that bother you?”

I think about it, then shake my head. “No,” I say truthfully. “It makes me feel safe. I have no more secrets from you.” I'm not entirely sure that Damien can say the same thing. And, yes, there was a time when that would have bothered me, but no more. I will happily spend the rest of my life peeling back the layers of this man.

He watches my face for a moment, as if trying to convince himself that I am being forthright. Then he nods. “I'm going to have my attorneys deal with this bullshit.”

“Damien—”

“No. It's your lawsuit, and I get that. But you don't have a litigator on retainer, and I have an entire team. I am not coddling you, but I am helping you.” He cups my chin. “Okay?”

I glance down to where our bodies intersect, then look up at him with a cocked eyebrow. “You pick the strangest times to have these conversations.”

“It's the mark of a good businessman.” The corner of his mouth curves up. “Find your opponent's weakness and exploit it.”

I roll my eyes.

“Okay?” he asks. And because I am not a fool, I nod.

The truth is, before, I simply wanted to hide. To make it all go away. But Damien has reminded me that I am not alone. More than that, he's reminded me that I'm stronger than I think.

Even better, I am stronger with him.

I want to say all that to him, but instead I simply say, “I love you.”

He pulls me forward to catch me in a kiss, and I take the opportunity to shimmy a bit on his lap. “What was it you said about how we were going to be landing soon? Maybe I should stay like this for touchdown. Might be interesting.”

“Maybe you should,” he says, and for a moment, I think he means it.

Then he pinches my ass. “Then again, that probably violates some FAA regulation. Best not to tempt fate. Besides, I believe Katie's been keeping dinner warm for us.”

Again, I'm reminded that she is just past that little door and could come in at any time.

Once again reading my mind, Damien glances up, silently reminding me of the privacy button. It has ensured that she didn't come in. But at the same time, my cheeks heat with the certainty that she knows exactly what is going on in here.

“We are newlyweds, after all,” Damien says. “And to be honest, I don't think I'm quite finished working up an appetite.”

“Oh, really?” I say, lifting myself a bit and then lowering, slowly at first and then gradually increasing speed. “And what is it you're hungry for, Mr. Stark?”

“Funny you should ask.” He takes my hips and guides me, increasing the tempo and impaling himself deeper and harder inside me. “Right now, the only thing I'm interested in is you.”

“Good.” I put my hands on his shoulders, letting our rhythm build and our passion grow. Our eyes are locked, and neither of us looks away, both too entranced by the storm that we are building in each other.

“There,” he says, as if he feels what I feel. As if he saw within me that electrical sensation spreading down my inner thighs, a precursor to the explosion.

But I see it inside him, too. More, I feel it in the way his cock hardens, in the quickened rhythms of his thrusts. My body responds in kind, tightening around him. Giving as much as I am taking and moving faster and faster in a sensual dance that breaks us both into a frenzied explosion of light and passion.

“Damien.”
His name is a cry, a prayer, and as I cling to him, my body shaking as the storm rips through me, I hear my name, too, as Damien's release fills me, and then there is silence as his mouth closes over mine and he kisses me feverishly until we both pull away, spent and gasping for air.

“Well,” I say, after my body stops quivering. “I think I've got one hell of an appetite now.”

“Funny,” he says. “I'm still only hungry for you. But I suppose nutrition counts for something.” He gently lifts me off him, then reaches for my robe to clean us both off. I raise my eyebrows and he chuckles. “You don't need to put it back on. I'll toss it in the laundry bin later. And I rather like the idea of watching you walk naked to the stateroom.”