Claim Me(143)

A bruise will be proof when he is London that I was in his bed—and a reminder that he will come back to me.

And so I struggle against my bonds, not because I want to get free, not even because I want the pain. I want what it represents. That I am Damien’s.

Bound to him. Marked by him. Claimed by him.

And right now, that is all I want to be.





21


It’s the middle of summer, but with Damien gone this might as well be a cold, wet Saturday in December. I know that he will be back Sunday afternoon, and that the trip is a quick one, but on my end it doesn’t feel quick at all.

I am restless and lonely. Damien texted me when he landed. He’d asked how I was, and I’d smiled and gently rubbed the bruise that now rings my wrist like a bracelet. “Thinking about you,” I’d said. “Missing you.” All true, but what I didn’t tell him was that I was bored out of my mind. Knowing Damien, he’d hire Cirque du Soleil to come into the living room and entertain me.

Jamie texted me cyber-hugs in response to my SOS, but she is roller-skating in Venice with Raine. I hope she manages to fall on her ass less than I did. I consider calling Lisa, but I don’t know her well enough yet, and I think we should start with a simple coffee before I hit her up to provide me with entertainment on a lonely Saturday evening.

I’m left with either work or photography, and since my camera is still at the Malibu house, I decide to go with work. Now is as good a time as any to finish the coding on my two smartphone apps that are almost ready to market. That, of course, means a quick trip to my condo. Since I have no car at Damien’s apartment, that’s not as easy as it sounds.

The phone in the kitchen acts as both a regular phone and an intercom to Damien’s office. I’ve seen him use it a dozen times, and I press the button to operate the speaker. “Hello?” I say tentatively.

“Yes, Ms. Fairchild? Can I help you?” I grin. This really is pretty cool.

“Um, yeah. Is this Ms. Peters?” I ask, scraping my memory for the name of Stark’s weekend assistant.

“How kind of you to remember. It is. What can I do for you?”

“I don’t have a car and I need to go pick up something at home. Could you arrange a taxi or—”

“I’ll have Edward bring the limo around. If you take the elevator to parking level C, he’ll meet you right there.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” I end the call and shimmy happily in the kitchen. Yes, there are definitely perks to having money.

As Ms. Peters had predicted, Edward is waiting for me.

“Thanks so much,” I say.

“Not at all, Ms. Fairchild. Where are we going?”

“My condo,” I say. “I just need to run in and pick up something. And I really wish you’d call me Nikki.”

“Right away, Ms. Fairchild,” he says, but he grins as he says it.

I slide into the limo and curl up in the corner, thinking about that first night I met Damien. Or re-met him, I suppose, since our first encounter six years ago doesn’t really count. I close my eyes and remember the way Damien whispered to me. How turned on I’d been by the words he’d spoken into the phone, and how shocked I’d been by what I’d so willingly done in the back of a limo.

By the time we reach the condo, I’ve played back that entire evening in my mind—and I am very much missing Damien.

“Will you be long?”

“Not too long. I need to download a couple of things onto my laptop, but that’s all. Are you listening to a book?”