Claim Me (Stark Trilogy, #2)(54)

“Sure.” If Jamie smiles any broader, she’s going to injure her facial muscles. “Thank you. That would be great.”

Evelyn turns to signal one of the waitresses, and as she does, Jamie faces me. Wow, she mouths. I know, I reply.

When the waitress arrives with a tray topped with wine and champagne, Evelyn hands a glass to each of us. “Come on in, girls. No point in standing here on the landing all night.” She indicates the room, which is now sparsely furnished in the same style as the first floor. Considering the care that Damien took in decorating the library, I assume that these furnishings are for tonight only, probably leased from a company that stages real estate for sale.

Scattered among the tables, chairs, and small sofas are easels displaying Blaine’s work. Unlike my portrait, those canvases are actually on sale tonight. The artist himself fidgets with one easel, adjusting the angle of a small canvas featuring a nude on an Oriental rug. Evelyn lifts her hand in a wave, but Blaine doesn’t see her.

“Come on,” she says, taking my friend’s arm. “I’ll introduce you to the man of the hour. Nikki, if you’re looking for Damien, he said he was going to go change. By the way, looks like great minds think alike. Turns out he did help Giselle get the paintings back from Palm Springs. Edward was bringing some in from the limo yesterday when I was finishing up.”

“Oh.” Her words surprise me, because Damien hadn’t mentioned that he’d seen Giselle, and I feel a little finger of irritation start to claw at me. I force myself to shake it off. I’m just sensitive because Giselle is suddenly, inexplicably in my orbit, what with Palm Springs and Tanner’s strange comment. And now past jealousies are poking up their little heads. But I don’t want to be that girl, and I smack down their green-eyed little faces.

As Evelyn leads Jamie to Blaine, I head into the kitchen, planning to drop off my camera bag and continue to the closet.

I don’t get that far, however, because as I’m hooking the Leica strap over my arm and putting the bag in one of the cabinets, I see Damien coming down the hallway from the bedroom area. I stop what I’m doing, and stand frozen, simply staring at him. He’s wearing pressed black pants and a collarless black jacket over one of the starched white shirts I love so well. It’s unbuttoned, and the open shirt paired with the jacket gives him the quality of a powerful rebel. He looks so breathtakingly sexy that I have a hard time believing that he is real, much less that he’s mine. On the contrary, he must be a fantasy that I have conjured. A dream in which I’m now living. A perfect dream from which I do not wish to wake.

He’s holding his phone and speaking low, so that I can only make out a few words. But from his tone, I can tell that the subject is urgent, and that he is bothered.

I think about last night and wonder if this is more fallout. Maybe it’s his father. Or maybe it has to do with Stark International’s legal troubles in Germany.

After a moment, he frowns, ends the call, and slides the phone into his pocket. For a fleeting instant, I can see the irritation on his face. Then it is wiped away, as if he has willed the universe to behave, and the universe has no choice but to agree. Damien Stark is a man who gets what he wants, however he wants.

When he looks in my direction, I see in his eyes that what he wants right now is me.

His smile is as potent a greeting as any kiss could ever be. It is like something inside me has come undone and I rush to him, then throw myself in his outstretched arms. He pulls me close, and the last wisps of jealousy disintegrate under the touch of this man.

When I’ve had my fill of him—though, really, I can never have my fill of him—I ease back and smile. “Missed you.”

“Missed you more.”

“Is everything okay?”

He eyes me oddly. “Of course. Why?”

“I saw you just now. On the phone, I mean.”

For a moment, the irritation is back. “It’s nothing,” he says. “Something I thought was under control has turned out to be more volatile than I expected. Nothing to worry about, though.” He tilts my chin up and gazes into my eyes for so long that I feel as though I am going to fall in. Then he smiles, so slowly and sweetly that I cannot help but sigh. “You look beautiful,” he says, after we’ve stood like that, lost in each other, for what feels like a lifetime.

“Thank you for the dress.” I do a small turn to show it off. “And for the bed.” I’m looking right at him as I speak, so there is no missing the shadow that crosses his face. “Damien? What is it?”

He hesitates, and I see the ghost of a frown before it fades into a smile. “I’m just very pleased you like them.”

“Of course I do.” Worried, I look in his eyes, the dark one seeming to draw me in and the amber one bathing me in a warm, loving glow. Whatever hesitation I thought I’d seen has faded, but I am not soothed. There are things he wants to say to me, and yet he is not saying them. I start to press, but hold back. Now is not the time.

“We should join the party,” I say.

“In a minute.” He pulls me closer to him, so that my breasts are pressed against his chest and my chin is tucked onto his shoulder. I breathe deeply, memorizing the scent of him, all musk and masculine spices.

“How is it that I can miss you so much when you’re not beside me?” he asks.