Complete Me(84)

He holds the paper between two fingers, his fingertips and nails turning white from the pressure of his grip. I look more closely at the message, maybe expecting some sort of clue to leap out at me. But there is nothing on the sheet but those words, which look like they were actually typed by an old-fashioned manual machine.

“Where did you get this?” His voice is calm and even. I point to the envelope that is still on the bed, and Damien uses a nearby catalog to flip it over. I see his expression and know he’s seen the return address. “Son of a bitch,” he snarls, then lashes out against the bedpost so hard the whole thing shakes.

I wait a moment, then keep my voice even as I ask, “Someone got hold of your stationery?”

“No,” he says. “The motherf*cker just wanted you to think it was from me. Look closely—don’t touch,” he adds as I lean in. “It’s printed with a regular laser printer. Our envelopes are professionally embossed. Shit.” He runs his fingers through his hair and takes a breath, then he focuses his attention on me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say truthfully. “I was freaked at first, but that was just shock. Really,” I say, because he is still looking hard at me, and I can see the concern in his eyes. “I’m okay now. Honest. I’m more pissed than scared.”

He nods slowly, as if weighing the veracity of my words. “All right,” he says. “Get me a freezer bag. I’ll get this to Ryan in the morning.”

I hurry to the kitchen, a bit surprised he isn’t summoning Ryan right then. But considering the note came through the mail, I suppose time isn’t of the essence.

When I return with the bag, I find him pacing the room. He comes to meet me, takes the bag, and then uses his shirttail to slide the note and the envelope inside. He drops it on the bed, and then turns to pull me into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he says after a moment.

I pull back enough to face him. “What the hell for? You’re not the one sending me nasty notes or dumping fish in my car.”

“I’m not,” he says. “But it would appear that I’m the reason.”

“That’s hardly breaking news.” We both know that without Damien, I’m not interesting enough to attract the attention of either the media or a stalker. But if that’s the price of being with Damien, then I’m willing to pay it.

“No. I suppose it’s not.” He is silent for a moment, then, “I want you to move in with me.”

Oh. I take a step backward and sit on the edge of the bed again. I can’t deny that I’ve wanted to hear those words for a while. Yes, I know that there are still shadows clinging to this man—that there are secrets that he may never reveal. But we have overcome so much already, and being with him feels so right. Already I wake up in his arms most mornings, and on the days when we sleep apart, I feel bereft.

There have been hints before that he wants me to move in, but this is the first time he has spoken it outright. Under different circumstances, my heart would be fluttering with glee. But as I glance at the plastic bag with that vile letter, all I feel is a chill.

Slowly, I lift my head and look at Damien. His expression is firm and business like. This is the face of an executive, not a lover, and my answer comes quickly to my tongue. “No.”




“What?”

I stand. It’s hard enough to win a battle of wills with Damien Stark; I sure as hell can’t do it on my ass. “I said no.”

“No?” His voice is very low and as sharp as a knife. “Goddammit, Nikki, why the hell not?”