Prologue
(Excerpt from the end of Book One: Take Me)
Dr. Nikki Kane sucked down two glasses of Sangiovese in the first-class lounge before her flight to New York, a brief layover before she flew to Switzerland to meet up with a Search and Rescue team following a tragic train wreck that had killed many and injured more. She snacked on some cheese and crackers. Checked her emails and had her virtual assistant rearrange a few things on her schedule to accommodate this impromptu trip.
She was desperate to immerse herself in work. To feel the sense of accomplishment when she provided disaster-relief aid by helping a survivor through their mental trauma and assisted family members in coping with their loss. It was what blocked out her own pain and righted her axis.
Tucking her laptop in her tote and snagging a few mini bags of pretzels, she left the lounge five minutes before her flight was about to pre-board.
Nikki considered that it would have been ideal to spend Christmas in Mexico City with her dear friends Kate and Jude McMillan, who were both members of her international, mobile psychiatric and legal team. A healthy and sane alternative to accepting the invitation her father and his new-ish and much-younger wife (even younger than Nikki) had extended. Though, she’d instantly taken a pass on that particular catastrophe-in-the-making by committing to this new assignment.
It was infinitely more gratifying to serve people in need vs. fighting the compulsion to heave at the sight of her dad and Babs fawning all over each other.
A shudder ran through Nikki at that latter thought.
The holidays didn’t use to be this tedious. Her mother had always done them up right, going completely overboard on decorations that were so breathtaking and glittery, it typically took a couple of weeks to assimilate to not seeing wall-to-wall bling after they came down and were boxed away following New Year’s Eve. In addition, there was always the perfect excess of food and decadent treats and ever-flowing liquid cheer.
But following the divorce, her mother had abandoned traditional holiday celebrations and now vacay’d in Maui or the Maldives when one rolled around. Nikki had considered meeting up with her for an island adventure this year. But then two trains had collided, half of the cars had jumped the tracks and plummeted a thousand feet and…duty had called.
She reached her gate just as an airline agent was opening the door for passengers with special needs to board, followed by first class.
She settled into her window seat and continued to scroll through emails and texts on her phone, while also accepting a glass of wine from the flight attendant. Nikki planned to spend the night in New York—in the city, rather than traveling out to her Long Island estate, since she’d be on another plane, leaving the country, in the morning.
The overnighter would allow her the chance to simply drop off gifts for her father and Babs without having to make formal arrangements to meet with them, get trapped at a party they were hosting or engage in lengthy conversations, most of which involved her stepmother’s valiant effort to single-handedly keep Barney’s, Bloomingdale’s and Bergdorf’s in business with her marathon shopping sprees.
And, admittedly, Nikki was hoping to avoid the day her father sprang “good news” on her and told her she was about to be an older sister.
Oh, my fucking God.
She’d be the one needing therapy.
With a shake of her head to dislodge the harrowing thought of her father passing out cigars and sipping brandy over his masculine feat, Nikki instead concentrated on finding a little Zen.
She enjoyed her wine and pretzels. The first-class cabin filled up and, in her peripheral vision while she still viewed her phone, she noted her row-mate had arrived. His back was to her as he stowed his rollaboard in an overhead bin across the aisle. He shed his suit jacket and the attendant offered to hang it for him, batting her eyelash extensions, so he must be something to look at.
Might make for an interesting trip to the States.
From what she could tell, without turning her head to get the full visual, he wore black dress pants that fit his ass quite well. His waist tapered and then V’d to a wide back and broad shoulders. He folded the sleeves of his sky-blue shirt along his forearms as the pretty blonde returned and inquired of his choice of beverage.
“Scotch, neat. Thanks,” he told her in a congenial tone that was
deep and rich and likely sounded like pure sin in the privacy of a bedroom.
Nikki suppressed a moan—that actually turned into an inward groan.
It was not like her to have sex on the mind. But lately…
She ignored the tickle along her clit and the tingling of her skin as her row-mate settled into his seat…and she caught the hint of an expensive, exotic cologne mixed with enticing male heat.
She crossed her legs to combat the more insistent throbbing she now felt deep in her core.
What the hell was that all about?
She wouldn’t deny she needed to get laid. But scratching an itch for the sake of scratching an itch wasn’t her thing.
And Nikki still wasn’t prepared to move on from Conner, the love of her life, her heroic husband, who had died during a search and rescue mission.
Thus, she kept her gaze on a lengthy email thread she was trying to get through—if only her mind weren’t wandering in all the wrong directions!
She reached for her glass again and sipped. Tried really hard not to deeply inhale the inviting, titillating scent wafting her way, which evidently served as some sort of chick-magnet because the attendant continued to interrupt the flow of coach-cabin passengers now boarding in order to check on the gentleman next to Nikki.
“Would you like a little more scotch, Mr. Castillo?”
“Thank you, but no. I’m fine.”
“Just let me know if there’s anything you need.”
Nikki resisted a snicker. And the urge to steal a full-on glance at the stranger beside her.
As the flow resumed, he leaned ever-so-slightly her way and murmured, “Must be fascinating reading.”
“It’s work,” she said, undeterred.
“I should probably dive into mine as well.” His accent was more Portuguese than Spanish, a lush sound that was warm and textured. Scintillating. “Though I also brought a book with me. One you might enjoy… A Tale of Two Cities…”
Her gaze snapped up from her phone and landed on the back of the seat of the row before her. Her heart nearly stopped.
Slowly, Nikki turned her head.
Stared into the deepest, most mesmeric cerulean eyes she’d ever seen and whispered, “Nico.”
1
“Actually, it’s Damen. If you don’t mind…”
His hair was different—more neatly trimmed, but the longish bangs remained, curving at his temples. Beckoning her to sweep the luxurious strands back with her fingertips. As she’d secretly done a few times in the hospital when she’d read that particular book to him while he was in a medically induced coma, healing from substantial injuries.
He still had the bandage on his forehead and a bruise on his squared jaw from the explosions that had rocked Mexico City.
He’d been Nico Valdiviesio a week ago.
Now, he was Damen Castillo?