Claim Me(6)

“Good,” he says, but there’s a question mark in his eyes, and maybe even a hint of concern. I wonder what Evelyn, Blaine’s lover who’s known Damien since childhood, has told him about Damien’s past. For that matter, I wonder if Blaine knows more than I do about the man who has consumed me so completely. The thought only makes me frown more.

Damien is gone only a few minutes, and when he returns I am overwhelmed by the urge to run to him. “What’s the matter?” I ask.

“Nothing that looking at you won’t make better.”

I laugh, hoping he doesn’t notice that the sound is hollow. Once again, he is wearing the face he shows the public. But I am not the public, and I know better. I look hard at him, waiting for his eyes to meet mine. When they do, it is like a switch has been thrown. The hard lines of his mouth curve into a genuine smile, and once again I am alight with the glow of Damien.

He walks toward me, and my pulse increases with the tempo of his steps. He stops only inches from me, and I am suddenly finding it very difficult to breathe. After everything we’ve done together—after every hurt he’s soothed and every secret he’s seen—how is it that every moment with Damien can feel like the first one?

“Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?”

“I—” I draw in a breath and try again. “Yes,” I say. “As much as you mean to me.”

I am trapped in the heat of his gaze and his proximity. He’s not touching me, but he might as well be. There is nothing about me at that moment that isn’t a reflection of Damien, of how I feel about him and what he’s doing to me. I want to soothe him, want to stroke his cheek and run my fingers through his hair. I want to pull his head to my breast and whisper soft words, and I want to make love to him slowly and sweetly until the shadows of the night are gone and the morning light bathes us in color.

From his post at the canvas, Blaine coughs politely. Damien’s lips curve up in a grin that matches my own. We’ve done nothing more than look into each other’s eyes, and yet it feels as though Blaine has witnessed something deeply intimate.

“Yeah, right. So, I’m going to head on out. The cocktail party’s not until seven on Saturday, right? So I’ll come by that afternoon and see if she needs any last minute touch-ups. And I’ll take care of hanging her when I set up the rest of the canvases on easels.”

“Perfect,” Damien says, not looking at him.

“I gotta say,” Blaine adds, as he gathers his things, “I’m going to miss this.”

For just an instant, I think I see something melancholy in Damien’s eyes, but it passes almost immediately. “Yes,” he says. “So am I.”

I’m not sure when Blaine leaves, I only know that he’s gone, and Damien is still there, and he’s still not touching me, and that I’m going to go a little crazy if I don’t feel his hands upon me soon.

“Is it really done?” I ask. “I still haven’t seen it.”

“Come here.”

He reaches out, and I shift to give him my back, expecting him to untie me. He doesn’t, though. Instead he puts his hand on my shoulder and eases me toward the canvas. I have to move carefully because of the red silk cord wrapped around my left leg, but he doesn’t make any effort to untangle me. And he certainly doesn’t bother to pass me the robe that’s laid out on the foot of the bed.

I grimace, lifting my brows in question. Damien doesn’t even pretend to misunderstand. “Why, Ms. Fairchild, surely you don’t expect me to sabotage such an amazing opportunity.”