Have Me (Stark Trilogy, #3.6)(30)

“Do you want to stay?”

“Yes,” I blurt, then immediately say, “No.” I grimace. “I want Paris,” I admit. “And I meant what I said before—the scrutiny and the photographers all come with the package. I’m your wife, Damien, and I will handle whatever I have to handle because I will never give you up. But—”

“I know,” he says. “And the truth is, if my money can’t buy us an escape, then what the hell is it good for?”

I prop myself up on an elbow to squint at him, wondering where he is going with this.

“I can’t make the social media blasts go away,” he says. “And I can’t shoo away the photographers. I can’t even promise it will be better the next time we come. But what I can do is make it better now.”

His words are like a soothing balm, swathing me with hope.

“Will you trust me to make it right?” he asks, his eyes fixed on mine. He says nothing else, and I know that this man who single-handedly rules an empire is leaving this to me.

“You’re my breath,” I say, telling him what he already knows. “You’re the beat of my heart. You are the essence of me. And I will always trust you.”





[page]Chapter 12


I push my windswept hair out of my eyes and take the captain’s hand. He is a huge man, his coffee-colored skin slick with sweat. His smile flashes a hint of gold as he helps me from the boat to the unstable, floating dock that shifts beneath me as I step onto the weathered wood.

Damien follows, then pauses long enough to pay the man and thank him for bringing us over.

“I be bringing your staff, too, you just say the word, mon.”

“No staff,” Damien says. “Not this trip. But I’ll radio when we need you to come back for us.” He splays his hand against my back, and I can almost feel his thoughts in the pressure of his fingers. Alone. Together. Paradise.

I turn my head to smile at him. That sounds like heaven to me.

The captain returns to his little boat as Damien and I step from the dock to the white sand. I am wearing shorts and a tank top. My feet are bare. The captain unloaded our luggage onto the dock, but we leave it there for the time being, too intent on exploring this wide-open, nearly wild island in the Bahamas.

The sand is warm beneath my feet, and Damien and I walk across it to the water’s edge. There are barely any waves; instead, the turquoise water sits as still as a painting, wide-open and vibrant and never-ending, this fabulous tableau broken only by the silhouette of similar small islands in the distance.

Behind us, the sand rises toward a line of vegetation, and I see a rustic path cut through the brush. I follow it with my eyes and can just make out a small stone house.

“That’s the only structure,” Damien says. “It needs a bit of fixing up, but it’s perfectly livable. The cay is seven acres of undeveloped wilderness and pristine beaches. And there’s not a soul here other than us.”

“You really bought it?” I’m still in awe.

“I really did.”

I wade out until the warm water hits me just below the knees, then look back at him with a grin. “I thought you didn’t impulse-buy real estate.”

“I don’t. But you have a way of shifting my priorities and undermining my equilibrium.”

“Oh, do I?” I reach down and scoop some water with my hand, flinging it toward him. “Should I apologize?”

“Hell, no,” he says, then splashes me right back before taking my hand and tugging me toward him. I laugh and stumble into his arms, then hold on to him as we both tumble to the sand.

Damien is on top of me, and our lighthearted playfulness changes to heated longing as easily as flipping a light switch. Suddenly I am breathing hard, my skin tingling, and my body aware of every point of contact. My blood pounds, and the island noises—the birds, the surf—are muffled by the overwhelming beat of my own heart.

“I bought it for you,” he says, his voice rough. “But I was selfish, too.”

“How so?”

He is straddling me, and his hips move now, almost imperceptibly, but enough to send sparks through me. “I want to make love to my wife on the beach. I want to walk naked in the surf. I want the freedom to take you anytime, anyplace and know that there are no cameras, no paparazzi. No one watching us. No one paying any attention to us at all.”

I nod, too overwhelmed to speak. He did this for me. He bought a freaking island for me. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around the magnitude of that, and all I can say is what’s in my heart. “I love you.”

His smile is radiant.

“But how?” I ask. “I mean, how did you find it? It was only last night that we found the room ransacked, and only this morning that we flew to Nassau. Do you keep a list of Really Expensive Places I Might Decide to Buy?”

“Something like that,” he says, his lips twitching as his fingers smooth my hair. “I looked at it about six months ago as a potential resort site. I didn’t think it worked for that, but I had Sylvia call the agent last night to see if it was still available. It was—and now it’s ours.”

“It’s so much.” I can’t even imagine how much an entire island must have cost him.

“I promise we can afford it. And what’s the point of working hard to build a fortune if you don’t enjoy the money once you have it?”