Claim Me (Stark Trilogy, #2)(115)

I don’t expect his reaction—Damien laughs. “I love you even more for pretending, but I know you’re scared. And you should be. This is the kind of case that has prosecutors salivating.”

“But you didn’t kill Merle Richter,” I remind him.

“No, I didn’t. But truth is a malleable thing, and once I walk into that courtroom, the truth is what a jury says it is.”

“Then you need to damn well make sure the jury has the information to do that. Dammit, Damien, you didn’t kill him. But even if you did, there were mitigating circumstances.” I force myself not to flinch as I say the words. Despite Maynard and all the rest of his attorneys pushing him to raise a defense, Damien has continued to refuse. I fully expect to be shut down now. Which is why I’m all the more surprised when he nods slowly.

“Yes,” he says, so softly I almost don’t hear him. “That’s one of the things I’ve been down here thinking about.”

I hold my breath and silently urge him to continue.

“I’ve wanted you for so long, and now that I have you, I’m risking everything there is between us.”

Yes, I want to scream. Yes! I realize that I’m digging my fingernails into my knee, and I force myself to relax as I try not to anticipate his next words. As I try not to get my hopes up.

“I’m not convinced that revealing what Richter did to me is the panacea you and Maynard and the rest of them think it is. But maybe I should try. If it means that the charges will go away, then maybe I should sacrifice the privacy that I’ve spent my whole life fighting to maintain.”

I hear the bitterness in his voice, and I want to reach for him and hold his hand tight in mine. I don’t, though. I stay absolutely, perfectly still.

“There is no shame in being a victim, right? So why should I care if the world knows the vile things he did to me? Why should it matter if the press writes about the dark nights in my dorm room. The things he made me do. Things I haven’t even told you. Things that I wish I could forget.”

He meets my eyes, but I see only the hard lines and angles of his face. “If it means that I can walk to you as a free man, shouldn’t I want to shout that story from the rooftops? Shouldn’t I want it plastered everywhere?”

Something cool brushes my cheek, and I realize that I am crying.

“No,” I whisper, hating the truth even as I say it. But this is the heart of the man I fell in love with. A man who lives by his own code, and it is that core of him that I fell in love with. “Not even for me,” I say. “Not even to stay out of prison.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, and fresh tears spill out over my lashes.

The pad of his thumb brushes my cheek.

“You understand?”

“No,” I say, but I mean yes, and I can see that he knows it.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He pulls me to him, his arm swooping around my waist and shifting me on his lap so quickly that I gasp. The sound, however, is cut off by the pressure of his mouth closing firmly over mine. The kiss is deep and raw and all-consuming, and immediately warm desire blooms within me. His hand slides up my back, and I curse the necessity of clothing in public. I feel his body tighten under mine, the bulge of his erection under his jeans teasing my rear as I shift my weight and lean closer, deepening this kiss.

After a moment, I pull back, breathless.

“I love you,” he says, and I want to wrap the words around me like a blanket.

I smile playfully and slide off his lap, my hand extended to him. “You have to be in court at ten, Mr. Stark. I think you’d better come with me.”

He stands, his expression wary. “Are you going to tell me I have to get some sleep?”

“No.”

His gaze slides over me, my body quivering in response as if he had physically touched me. “Good,” he says, and that one simple word conveys a world of promises.

I allow the corner of my mouth to quirk up into a hint of a smile. “Not that, either. Not yet, anyway.”

The confusion on his face makes my smile grow wider, but he doesn’t have the chance to ask, as the concierge has approached. “Everything is ready, Ms. Fairchild.”

I smile broadly. “Thank you. Your timing is perfect.”

I take the hand of the very confused man that I love and lead him through the lobby, following the concierge to the front of the hotel. There, parked on the street beside a very giddy valet, is a cherry red Lamborghini.

Damien turns to look at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “What’s this?”

“I thought you could use a little fun tonight, and the A9’s just a few miles away. Fast car. German autobahn. It seemed like a no-brainer to me.”

“Boys and their toys?”

I lower my voice so that the concierge can’t overhear. “Since we already have some interesting toys in the room, I thought you might enjoy a change of pace.” I lead him closer to where the valet stands by the open passenger door. “I understand she’s very responsive, and I know you’ll enjoy having all that power at your command.”

“Is she?” He looks me up and down, and this time the inspection is tinged with fire. “As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I like. Responsiveness. Power. Control.”

“I know,” I say, and then slide into the passenger seat, letting more than a little thigh show as I do.