Release Me (Stark Trilogy 1)

Then I clear my throat.

Damien grins, and although I know he’s barely thirty, this is the first time he’s looked so young. Almost boyish, like a guy you’d hold hands with as you walk across a college campus. I catch the scent of him as he comes closer. A musky cologne. Or maybe that’s just the man. I’m not sure. All I know for certain is that I’m desperately aware of him. Desperately aware of my own body. His scent, apparently, works on me like pheromones.

“You’re here,” I say stupidly.

“I’m here,” he says.

“Right.” I look around the condo that has become so familiar to me over the last few days. Right then, it looks like alien territory. I set my bag down on the ground, then ease myself off to the galley-style kitchen. With the wall separating the kitchen from the living room, I’ll have a moment of privacy to gather myself.

Except he follows me, then leans up against the refrigerator. I turn away from him toward the sink, but I can feel his eyes on me as I grab a glass from the dish drainer and fill it with water. “So, how come you’re here?” I ask brightly, then chug the whole thing down. Only after I’ve refilled the glass do I turn to look directly at Damien.

His eyes are locked onto me, holding me in place. “I wanted to see you,” he says. From his expression, though, I know what he’s really saying: I wanted to see if you’re okay.

I smile, understanding that his discretion means he hasn’t told Jamie what happened. “I’m good,” I say. “I went shopping.”

“And what woman wouldn’t be good after that?”

I raise my brows. “Stereotypical, much?”

He chuckles. “If the shoe fits, Ms. Fairchild.”

“Mmm.” I try to fight my grin, but lose the battle.

Jamie sidles in from the living room, a vicious grin on her face. Her eyes dart between the two of us. She’s in pajama bottoms and a cheap white tank top covered with paint. “I am so freaking late,” she says. “I have totally got to run.” She practically sprints for the door. “You two be good.”

“Jamie! What the hell?” I make a motion with my hand that vaguely indicates her outfit.

“I’m just going next door,” she says.

“Douglas?” I hear my voice rise. She is not going over there again. Especially since I know the only reason she’s popping over to Mr. Mark On Her Bedpost is because our apartment is now too crowded by one.

“Just a friendly chat,” she says. “Cross my heart,” she adds, then makes the appropriate motions. Like that’s going to make a difference. But she yanks open the door and slips out before I can stop her, and I blurt out a curse contemporaneously with the sound of the door slamming shut.

“We don’t like Douglas?” Damien asks.

“Douglas is bad for her,” I say. I look him in the eye. “Please tell me that’s a concept you understand.”

“It is,” he says. “I’m also familiar with a number of corollary concepts.”

“Such as?”

“Maybe Douglas isn’t bad for her at all. Maybe there’s just something about him that frightens her. Or you.”

“You’re very smart, Mr. Stark.”

“Thank you.”

“But that doesn’t mean you know everything.”

His mouth twitches, and I feel a little trill of pleasure. I’ve managed to zing Damien Stark. I wonder how many people can say that?

The humor in his eyes fades quickly, though. “Nikki,” he says, his voice as soft and soothing as velvet. “What are you afraid of?”

My stomach twists into knots as I turn away from him and use a hand towel to dry the already dry dishes in the drainer. “I don’t know what you mean,” I say to a coffee cup.

“Yes, you do,” he says. He moves like a cat, so I don’t hear him come up behind me. But I feel the change in the air even before he speaks. Even before his hand rests lightly on my shoulder. “You bolted.” Gently, he turns me around, then brushes my cheek with his fingertips. “Do I scare you?”

God yes, and in so many ways. Not the least of which is that Damien Stark terrifies me precisely because I feel safe with him. And I can’t become complacent. It’s when those walls come down that your heart gets shattered.

“Nikki?” His brow is furrowed. He looks miserable, and I can’t stand the thought that I’m the cause.

“No,” I say, and even though it’s not the truth, it’s also not a lie.

“Then why?”

“I … I was embarrassed.”

“Were you?”

I glance at the floor. The pull of Damien’s touch is so intense that I’m having a hard time thinking. And this is a danger zone. I need to keep a clear head. “Yes,” I insist. “I said no, but then you made me so hot that I forgot myself, and when I was able to breathe again I just ran.”

“Bullshit.” There’s disappointment in his voice. And, I think, a little bit of anger.

I swallow.

He takes a step toward me, and I take a corresponding step sideways, easing away down the length of my kitchen counter. Clear head. I need a clear head.

He exhales, and I can sense the exasperation. “I don’t like seeing fear in your eyes.”

“You’re going to be my knight in shining armor?”

The corner of his mouth lifts into an ironic smile. “I think I’m a bit too tarnished for the job.”

I can’t help but grin. “I guess you’ll have to be a dark knight, then.”

“I’ll fight whatever dragons you want me to,” he says with a seriousness that belies my teasing tone. “But you don’t need a knight. You’re strong, Nikki. Hell, you’re exceptional.”

I conjure up the Social Nikki smile. “Is that a line you give to all the women you date?”

“Date?” I hear the hardness creeping into his voice. “I’ve escorted a lot of women around this town, and I’ve fucked a hell of a lot of them. But I didn’t date them.”

“Oh.” I’m not sure if I’m surprised or angry or sad or relieved. True, I need to end this with Damien; I need to protect myself and my secrets. But that implies that there is something to end, and now I fear that I was right all along—I’m just a conquest. A fast fuck before he moves on. And all that bullshit Jamie said about him wanting me was exactly that—bullshit.