Claim Me(99)

Is that what he’s doing now? Crafting a false reality out of smoke and mirrors and tempting me into the fantasy with him? But it’s not fantasy that I want with Damien. I want the reality. The moments, like the Bradbury story, when Damien lets me in enough to see a bit of his past and a piece of his heart.

My chest tightens as I shift my gaze from the glass case to Damien’s equally transparent eyes. He is awaiting my answer, and I want to melt against him and whisper yes, yes, of course, yes. But I stand still, frozen by the fear that if I do, I will be letting myself get pulled into something that isn’t and never can be real.

“Why?” I ask. “Before, you said that you wanted me. But you have me now, with or without the game.” I lift my leg and point toward the emerald ankle bracelet. “I’m still wearing it, Damien. You know I’ll always wear it. So why? What difference does it make?”

He tilts his head toward the glass case. “You say you want me to open up more,” he says, and I marvel at the way he always knows what I am thinking. “I want that, too. I don’t want secrets between us, Nikki.”

“You told me about the tennis center,” I say.

“Not everything,” he replies.

I stay perfectly still, because I know that is true.

“I need parameters, Nikki. Especially now. I need to know—” He cuts himself off and looks away, his jaw clenching as he wrestles with the words. “I need to know that you will be here, with me, no matter what.”

He looks so vulnerable, and I am humbled that I have so much power over a man with strength such as Damien.

“Don’t you already know that? I do.”

There is something dark in the eyes that look back at me. “How can you, when there are still so many things you don’t know?”

He is not saying anything I haven’t thought of, but for a moment, I am afraid. What dark secrets does Damien have that still remain buried?

The thing is, I understand better than anyone why he wants the facade of the game in place if he’s going to try to open up to me. I cut myself in order to cope with the horrors of my childhood, but what did Damien do? Nothing except conquer the world and learn to bury his secrets deep.

I glance down at the books in the glass case, and can’t help the smile that touches my lips. Even the little things are a big step for Damien. But the shit in his past—the things like Sara Padgett and the guilt he felt over that poor girl’s suicide—those are the kinds of things that Damien needs to say with a net.

The truth rips through me. The game is his net.

And once that net is in place, doesn’t it make sense that the physical between us can strengthen the emotional?

Maybe I’m manufacturing a justification, but there’s no denying that I want what he’s offering. That desire, however, doesn’t quell the lingering fear that still bubbles inside me.

Damien must see my hesitation, because he reaches for my hand. Only then do I realize that I have been unconsciously twisting my once-abused left finger between the thumb and forefinger of my right hand.

“Can you tell me?” he asks gently.

I swallow and try to will the words to come. “I’m scared,” I confess.

“Of what?”

“Of you,” I say, then immediately regret the words when I see confusion and hurt flash in his eyes. “No, no, not like that.” I move closer and press my palms against his cheeks. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“That does sound terrifying.”

I grin, grateful to him for putting me more at ease. “Sometimes I’m afraid that I’m using you.” I pause, waiting for him to make a joke about how he would be very happy for me to use him any way that I like. But he remains silent, watchful, and I realize that he understands how hard this is for me. “Like a crutch, I mean.” I think of the scars that mar my thighs. Of the string wrapped tight around my finger. Of the weight of a knife in my hand and the ecstasy of that first fiery sting when the blade slices through skin.