Play My Game (Stark Trilogy, #3.7)(14)

I shiver as sparks of electricity ricochet through me, priming me for his touch and leaving my body begging for more.

“Do you feel it?” he asks. “The cool glass against your hot skin, your nipples tight and needy. There’s a whole world out there, and you are naked before it.”

“Yes,” I murmur. He’s taken me in front of a window before, and he knows that I like it. I hadn’t expected to, but there is something so wildly freeing about the world falling away even as passion takes you higher.

His kisses have reached the base of my spine and now he uses his hands to silently urge my legs apart. He strokes me, teasing my clit with a single fingertip but not slipping inside me despite the way I wiggle my hips, my soft moans of longing coming even without conscious thought.

“Turn around,” he demands, and when I do, he lifts me up so that my thighs are resting on his hips. He holds me steady by cupping my ass, and I arch back as he thrusts into me, the back of my head brushing the glass wall as I do.

I clutch his shoulders, my fingernails digging into him as he thrusts again, the movement pushing my back against the window so that I am pinned there between him and the glass. Unlike a bed, there is no give, and I feel the power of each of his thrusts, so deep and hard that it seems as if he will split me in two, and oh, god, how I want that.

I close my eyes and give myself over to the pleasure of his touch, of his power. I want him to take me, to have me. Maybe the world outside is going crazy, but in here, I am his.

I am always his.

And between us, the world is exactly as we want it.

Tension fills his body, then bursts out of him as a powerful orgasm rocks him. I hold on, letting his release roll through me, relishing the way he looks and feels when he loses control, all barriers down, all control surrendered to me, to this moment.

“I love you,” I cry as my own release takes me, and I cling to him until the waves of passion slow and I can breathe normally again.

“I know,” he whispers, his lips brushing my ear. “We love each other.”

Gently, he cleans me up, then we curl up together on the couch, a blanket draped over us as we look out over the city in the distance.

“You know that there’s nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice to keep you safe,” he says. “Nothing I wouldn’t do to make you happy.”

“I know,” I say. “But don’t do it, Damien. Don’t pay. The thought of you paying extortion money makes me ill, especially if you think you’re doing it for me.”

“I’ve done it before.”

I shake my head. I know he’s thinking of Eric Padgett, the man who’d claimed that Damien was involved in his sister’s death. “That was a settlement,” I say. “And I may not be a god of all things business like you, but even I know that businesses and people pay money to settle for a whole lot of reasons, and that doesn’t make it extortion. It just means that they made a business decision and their reason won out.”

He looks at me, as if trying to read something in my expression. “I have a reason to pay to keep those pictures out of the press,” he finally says.

“No, you don’t.” I cup his face. “Do you think I don’t understand what it would cost you to pay? To give in to this bullshit?” I hold his gaze hard, because I do understand, and I want to make sure he realizes that.

“For better or for worse, Damien, remember? Those wonderful wedding vows. And honestly,” I quip, “how bad could it be? Half the women in America are already jealous of me. Once they see that picture of you, the other half will be, too.”

He is quiet for a long time, and when he speaks, his voice is both soft and urgent. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.” And I am sure. I can survive those pictures being out there, and so can Damien. But if he gives in to whoever is yanking our chain, he will not only be sacrificing his own principles on my account, but he will start to slide down a horrible, slippery slope. “I’m certain,” I repeat, just to make sure he understands.

His eyes never leave my face. I hold his gaze, understanding that he is trying to see if my words match my truth.

Finally, he nods. Just once. And then he bends over and kisses me lightly. “You’re amazing. You know that, right?”

“Of course,” I say airily. “But feel free to tell me as often as you want. And honestly, I’m pretty fond of you, too,” I add, reciting back the words from the clue that had come with the cupcake.

It’s when I say them out loud that something shifts in my mind.

Fond of you.

Fond you.

Fondue.

I toss the blanket off us and start to stand up. Damien takes my hand. “Where are you going?”

“We,” I correct. “Where are we going?”

“Oh?”

“I think we should have an early dinner,” I tell him. “At Le Caquelon.”





Chapter 6


Damien is deliberately closemouthed, but as we take the elevator up to Le Caquelon, the Santa Monica–based fondue restaurant, I know that I’m right, just as I’d been right about the cupcakes. I’d had to wait for the proper moment, but I’d been right.

Hopefully the proper moment for Le Caquelon isn’t tomorrow night.