Claim Me (Stark Trilogy, #2)(27)

I take a sip of the coffee, then sigh as the elixir begins to work its magic. “What time is it?”

“Just past six,” he says, and I stifle a groan. “When are you supposed to be at work?”

“Ten,” I say. “Bruce is having me start on a Friday since it’s going to be a day of paperwork and getting my feet wet. Probably the last truly relaxing week I’ll have for a long time. Monday, I’ll be dragging myself in by eight, I’m sure.”

“Don’t even pretend to complain. You know you love it.” He sits on the bed beside me and takes a sip from my mug. I don’t think he even realizes that he’s done it, but I can’t help but smile at the casual intimacy.

As for loving the work, he’s right. I’d moved to Los Angeles less than a month ago planning to take the tech world by storm. My job at Carl’s company, C-Squared, turned out to be a bust, but I’m giddy about my new position at Innovative Resources, a company that does equally fine work with a less psychotic boss.

I spread some strawberry jam on the croissant and take a bite, surprised to find that it’s warm and flaky and just about melts in my mouth. “Where did you get fresh croissants?” I cannot believe that his morning jog took him into town. And these are not heated-up frozen pastries.

“Edward,” Damien says, referring to his driver.

“Thank him for me.”

“You can thank him yourself. Unless you’re planning to walk to work, he’ll be giving you a lift.”

“Not you?”

“While I would love to carpool with you, I’m afraid that’s not possible today.” He leans close and I expect a kiss. Instead, his hand closes over mine and he very deliberately brings the croissant to his mouth and takes a bite. He grins at me, his eyes dancing like a mischievous child. “You’re right,” he says. “Delicious.”

“You owe me now, mister. You can’t expect to steal a woman’s pastry and get away with it.”

“I look forward to your just and severe punishment,” he says, standing. He holds out his hand to me. “Or perhaps I could make it up to you in the shower.”

“I don’t think so,” I say archly. “I don’t want to be late for my first day.”

“I thought you weren’t due in until ten.”

I nod as I finish the croissant and wash it down with another slug of coffee. “I’m not. But I need to get home and get dressed.” I shoot him a wicked smile. “And I need to shower off last night’s sex.”

“That’s a very sad thought,” he says. “Of course, if you insist on taking such drastic action, I did offer to share my shower.”

I look him up and down. He’s clean-shaven and dressed in neatly pressed slacks and his usual white button-down shirt. His jacket is laid across the foot of the bed, and I can even smell the soapy fresh scent of him. “Looks like you managed just fine without me,” I say.

“Never.” The word is heavy with meaning. “And for you I’m willing to get doubly clean.”

“Tempting,” I admit as I push the tray away and slide out of bed. The air is cool, but it feels good against my still Damien-sensitive skin. “But don’t you have work to do? Things to merge? Cutting-edge technology to acquire? Perhaps a galaxy to purchase?”

He holds a robe open for me to slip on. It’s not the red one that I soaked in the pool, and I wonder how many robes he has stocked in that closet. “I did that last week. Apparently there’s nothing left to buy.”

“Poor you.” I twist in his arms and plant a gentle kiss on his chin as he tightens the sash around my waist. “Just like Alexander. No worlds left to conquer.”

He slides his hand up my silk-covered arm and I shiver from the touch. “I assure you that I am very content with my conquests.” The heated look in his eyes shifts to something more calculating. “Although you are right. I have a day full of meetings in Palm Springs starting at eight.”

I gape at him. “And you were offering me a shower? What would you have done if I’d taken you up on that?”

“I would have enjoyed myself very much, I assure you.”

“And been late for the meeting.”

“I’m rather confident they can’t start without me. That is not, however, an excuse to be late.”

As if on cue, a loud rush fills my ears and the house seems to vibrate. “What is—”

“My ride,” Damien says as a helicopter appears below the roofline and continues its descent below the balcony.

I hurry outside and watch as the helicopter lands on a flat, grassy area of the yard.

I turn and look at Damien. “What?” I say. “You couldn’t afford a proper helipad?”

“On the contrary, you’re looking at a state-of-the-art, eco-friendly, reinforced turf landing platform.”

I blink at him. “Seriously?”

“It’s quite revolutionary, I assure you. The ground is prepped with a high-tensile-strength mesh system that creates an anchored root system providing a surface area with remarkable load-bearing capacity. And because the Malibu hills are prone to mudslides, I’ve taken additional precautions and strengthened the area with a buried grid system into which that root area blends. The result is pretty damned impressive.”