Complete Me (Stark Trilogy, #3)(51)

“I think I know what it is,” I say, then lead the way to the kitchen, where Jamie is frantically flipping pancakes on a griddle. She looks up at us, her expression a little bit wild, a little bit contrite.

“Sorry! I thought I’d make breakfast, but—” She indicates the stove and nearby counter as if that’s all she needs to say.

I force myself not to laugh. “I don’t think that pancakes are supposed to be served blackened,” I say, deadpan.

She tosses a dish towel at me. “I had a little trouble incorporating the chocolate chips.”

Damien pours himself a cup of coffee and leans against the counter. “As they say, it’s the thought that counts. So I hope you don’t mind if I just think about eating those.”

Jamie smirks and looks between the two of us. “Great. I’m trapped in the mountains with a couple of comedians.”

“Your choice,” Damien says in his corporate-problem-solving voice. “We either clean up and start over, or I’ll take you ladies out to breakfast.”

“You’re out of chocolate chips,” Jamie says. She grabs up the plate of burnt discs that bear no resemblance to pancakes and tosses them in the trash. “Give me fifteen minutes to shower and change.”

It actually takes us thirty to get out the door, because Damien makes the mistake of telling us that the restaurant not only makes fabulous waffles, but is also located in Arrowhead Village, an outdoor shopping center with both regular stores and high end outlets. And, obviously, neither Jamie nor I can properly shop if we’re not properly dressed.

Damien, of course, is ready in five minutes, decked out in faded jeans and a short-sleeved linen shirt over a plain cotton tee. His hair is vaguely mussed, as if he’s been standing in the wind. He looks sexy as hell—like a guy who just stepped off the pages of an ad for men’s cologne.

“He cleans up well,” Jamie says, with a deliberately lascivious gleam in her eye.

“He does,” I say, moving between them and hooking my arms through theirs. “And he’s mine.”

As the crow flies, it isn’t far to the village. Since we are not crows, however, we have to deal with the twisty, turny, tiny streets, and it takes about half an hour. I don’t mind. The area is charming, filled with A-frame houses tucked into the mountainside and spectacular views that take your breath away. The village is located on the lake, so technically we could have taken one of the boats moored at Damien’s dock. The restaurant itself—The Belgian Waffle Works—sits right on the water, with a huge patio of outdoor seating. I catch a whiff of batter cooked to a crispy golden brown as we approach, and breathe in deep.

“That’s more what I was going for,” Jamie admits. “But, hey, you can still thank me. If I hadn’t completely trashed breakfast, we wouldn’t have a shopping morning.”

“We’re deeply grateful,” Damien says, sliding his arm around my waist.

Thirty minutes later, I’m even more grateful, because we’re not only seated on the patio with a view of the water, but we each have a plate overflowing with a giant waffle, eggs, and enough bacon to feed a small army.

“I’m going to fall into a food coma,” I protest.

“We’ll work it off by walking the shops,” Jamie announces. She turns to Damien, her smile wide. “You really are awesome, you know. Thanks for inviting me. I was having a shit week.”

“Anytime,” he says, then leans over to give her a light kiss on her cheek.

She fans her face, making me laugh.

“Hang on, you two.” I pull out my iPhone and motion for them to scoot their chairs closer together, then take a couple of snaps. “I’d take some of the view, too, but the phone won’t do it justice.”

“I think I can assure you we’ll be back,” Damien says.

“Or you can just buy a new camera,” Jamie says. “For that matter, get one for each of his houses. That should ensure that Leica never goes out of business, right?”

“Not a bad idea,” Damien says, with a playful gleam in his eye. “I like the idea of spreading you around all my properties. Hell, I like the idea of you naked in all my properties.”

My face heats, and I widen my eyes and shoot a glance at Jamie, who has leaned back in her chair with a whoop.

“Don’t you guys ever give it a rest?” she asks.

“Not really,” Damien says, surprising me by pulling me to him and planting a bone-melting kiss.

“God,” Jamie says. “I am so freaking jealous. Do you have a brother?”

“Afraid not.”

“Figures,” Jamie says as Damien slides his chair closer to mine and hooks his arm around me. I lean against him, wishing things could always be this calm, this happy.

“It sounds sappy as shit, but you two know how lucky you are, right?”

“Yes,” Damien says sincerely. “We know.”

“Good,” she says, then sighs deeply. “Damn, but I needed this.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about getting fired from the commercial?” I ask.

She shrugs, looking embarrassed. “You were a little preoccupied, and it’s not like there was anything you could do, especially not from Germany.” Jamie had recently been cast in a national commercial, but before shooting began she started dating her co-star, an up-and-comer named Bryan Raine. When that ended badly, Raine apparently decided that Jamie’s commercial career needed to, as well.