Claim Me(111)

“Wow,” I say, and curl up next to him.

“Indeed,” he says.

We stay like that for a moment, still in each other’s arms.

“This table is really uncomfortable,” I finally say.

Beside me, Damien laughs.

“I think we need to clean it up, too. I’m not sure the maids will understand.”

“I’m sure they’ve seen it all before,” he says.

I turn and meet his eyes, my brows raised.

“Right,” he says. “We’ll take care of it. But now, I’m taking you to bed.”

He holds out his hand, and I follow him into the spacious bedroom, with a bed that looks much more comfortable than the table. “A mattress,” I say. “How novel.”

“Come here.” He tugs me to the bed and we abandon what remains of our clothes before sliding under the covers. I curl up beside him and we lie like that for what feels like hours, talking and flipping channels and watching snippets of old movies.

This is yet another thing I love about Damien—that shift from frenzied passion to these soft moments when I feel safe and warm and cherished beside him. It’s as smooth and satisfying as a glass of port after a truly decadent meal.

“I’m not tired,” I say, when I notice that the clock reads four A.M. “I’d say that I’m going to regret this in the morning, but it already is morning.”

“Will you?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Not a minute of it,” I say.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For indulging my fantasies.”

I laugh. “Why, Mr. Stark. Haven’t you heard? I’m yours to command.”




He kisses me lightly. “And I’m very, very glad.”

For a moment, we just lie there quietly. Then Damien says, “That phone call you asked about earlier. It was bad news. From a friend.”

“Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry.” I remember what Charles Maynard said. “Is the friend in Germany?”

He gives me a sharp look. “Why would you say that?”

I shrug. “Charles’s voice carries.”

“So it does. No, Germany’s something different.”

“An indictment? One of your Stark International subsidiaries or something?”

The line of his mouth is hard as he answers. “Or something.”

“Are you worried?”

“No.” The word is firm. “Charles is handling it.”

I nod. Since I know nothing about the laws of international trade and finance, I can’t go far with this conversational thread. “Do you want to tell me about your friend’s bad news?”

For a second, I think that he’s going to say no. Then he speaks, his voice steady and even, as if he’s fighting for control. “It’s Sofia.”

It takes me a moment to place the name. “Your friend from childhood? The one Alaine mentioned?”

He nods. “She’s gotten herself into some trouble. It’s not the first time, but it’s frustrating. I keep hoping she’ll get her shit together, but she keeps screwing up.”

“I’m sorry. I hope it gets better for her.”

He kisses my forehead. “Me, too.”

I wait for him to tell me more, but he doesn’t. That’s okay, though, and I take his hand. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t need to ask what I mean. “I am trying,” he says.