Claim Me (Stark Trilogy, #2)(69)

“So where are we going, Mr. Stark?” I ask as we step out into the cool night air. “Do you fancy a walk?”

“Actually, I fancy a drive.”

Usually Damien parks in front of his house. Tonight, however, the driveway has been taken over by a valet parking team called in to handle the party traffic.

I follow him around the house, frowning as we pass the attached garage. “Where are we going?”

“Someplace you haven’t seen yet.”

“Uh-huh.” I’m intrigued, and as I take his hand I glance around the property. We’re in an area north of the house, away from the lights of the party. It’s dark here, with the exception of soft landscaping lights cleverly hidden among the plants and stonework.

He’s right; despite the amount of time I’ve spent on the third floor, I’ve done very little exploring of the rest of the house or the grounds. Of course, the landscaping near the structure has only recently been completed, and beyond that perimeter of flower beds and walking paths and picnic areas, the plants still grow wild, though I see that Damien has hired someone to cut away some of the brush and install soft lighting to mark footpaths through the undergrowth.

“It’s so pretty out here,” I say as we follow a flagstone path that twines away from the house.

“It is,” he agrees, but his eyes are on me.

“Watch the path, Mr. Stark,” I say.

“I’d rather watch you.”

I grin as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a bone-melting kiss. The fire he set inside me only moments ago has not been fully extinguished, and now those embers burst back into flame. “Here?” I whisper, pressing my sex hard against his thigh, then moaning softly at the sweet torment of the returning pressure. “Outside? On these hard, cold stones?” My words may sound reluctant, but I know that my tone does not. Right then I think I want nothing more than the press of stone against my back and the feel of Damien, hot and hard, inside me.

His voice is low and sultry with just a hint of a tease. “What exactly do you want me to do to you, Ms. Fairchild?” His fingers brush my shoulder, sliding the spaghetti strap down my arm so that it hangs loose. “This?” he asks, as he bends to brush his lips over the swell of my breast.

I gasp, my chest heaving, the chiffon that still clings to my now erect nipple rubbing provocatively.

“Or maybe this?” He traces his fingers up my leg, higher and higher until he grazes the soft skin between my thigh and my sex.

“Maybe,” I whisper.

“It would be sweet, wouldn’t it?” he asks as his hand moves up again, tracing the trimmed line of hair on my pubic bone, then dipping down to tease the same soft spot on my other leg. “Here, under the stars. My hands on you and only the night around us. My tongue on your breast, the cool air grazing your erect nipple. A whisper of cool wind brushing over your hot cunt.”

My legs grow weak, and I close my arms around his neck to keep from melting beneath his words and his touch.

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” I say.

His smile is slow, and I draw in a ragged breath as he leans close. His lips graze the corner of my mouth, then my temple. Then my ear. I feel his warm breath, and then the softest whisper of a word. “No.”

I am not aware, but I must make some sort of noise in protest, because he chuckles.

“No,” he repeats. “I have something else in mind.”

And then he gently frees my hand from his neck and straightens my dress and tugs me forward onto the path. I follow, irritated, turned on, and very, very eager.

A few moments later, he points out a flat area tucked in between two brush-covered slopes. “I’m thinking of putting in a tennis court there.”

I glance sharply at his face, but it is carefully blank. “Really?”

I say, working hard to keep my voice casual. I know how long it has been since he’s played tennis. More, I know why he walked away from the game.

“Maybe. I haven’t decided. It’s been so long, and I’m afraid—”

He cuts off his words, his forehead creasing into a scowl.

“—that it won’t be fun?” I suggest, trying to finish his thought.

He doesn’t answer, but I see the affirmation in his eyes.

“Well, if you do install a court, you can teach me how to play.” I speak lightly. “That will ensure that you have fun. I promise. Playing with me will be quite amusing.”

“Amusing?” he repeats, and I’m happy to hear the teasing note in his voice. “I’m imagining you in a tennis dress. Amusing isn’t the word that comes to mind.”

“And will our rules apply then, Mr. Stark? I’m not sure how much tennis will get played if I’m wearing one of those outfits and no underwear.”

“I’m intrigued, Ms. Fairchild. I think you may have made up my mind for me. I’ll start interviewing construction companies in the morning.”

“Very funny,” I say.

“You laugh now,” he says. “But wait until I take you by the ball cage.”

“Now you’re just talking dirty to me.”

He laughs and grabs my hand, and I hurry to keep step beside him. My mood is light, and I’m glad we escaped the party. Whatever drama had been clinging to me has dissipated. It is just me and Damien and the wide night sky.