Release Me (Stark Trilogy 1)

“I—I have to go.” I turn fast and hurry that way.

“I know that bastard’s secrets,” the man shouts after me. “I know about all the goddamn bodies. You think my sister’s the only one he’s fucked up?”

Eric Padgett. It has to be Eric Padgett.

My heart is pounding as I jerk open the door to the ladies’ room. The automated lights turn on and I hurry inside. There are multiple stalls, so it’s not the kind of restroom that you would normally lock. The door does have a bolt, though, and I turn it immediately. As soon as I do, the lights wink out.

I suck in air, fighting rising panic. Calm, Nikki, calm. The lights went out with the door. Presumably, the idea is that when the janitor locks the door from the outside, the lights are turned off. So just turn the bolt again to unlock it.

I try, my hand shaking because at least here in the dark I’m away from Eric Padgett. But I have to get out. I have to open the door.

The bolt won’t turn.

No. No, no, no.

Okay. Okay, I can deal with this. The bolt turns off the lights, but there must be a switch inside, too. Because otherwise someone might get stuck inside in the dark. I am a living, breathing, panicking case in point.

I fumble near the door, trying to find it, but I don’t have any luck. My breathing is coming faster and shallower. Stop it. Think.

Right. Think.

Oh, fuck. I’ve forgotten how to think.

I breathe. That, at least, I can manage, though not without some difficulty. I’m still clammy with panic and I want to pound on the door and scream. But Eric Padgett is out there, and I think that he’s scarier than the dark and—

Okay, maybe he’s not.

I slam my fist against the door. “Hey! Hey! Is anyone out there? Hello!”

Nothing.

I pound again. And again and again and—

“Nikki?”

“Damien?”

“Oh, shit, baby, are you okay?”

I am so not okay I cannot even begin to say.

“I’m fine,” I manage.

“The door won’t open. Can you unbolt it?”

“No. It’s stuck.” But as I’m speaking, I’m grasping the thing and turning and it flips open like a well-oiled machine. The second it clicks, Damien pushes the door open. I’m not sure if I run to him or if he comes to me. All I know is that I’m in his arms and I’m sucking in air and I’m apologizing over and over and over.

He waits for me to calm down, then cups my face. “You don’t have a thing to apologize for,” he says.

“I’m so glad you came back. Why did you come back?”

He gives me a fifty-dollar token. “I thought you might want to play a bit before my speech.”

For some reason, that makes me tear up. I lean against him. “It was Padgett,” I say.

“What?” Alarm and anger color his voice.

“He didn’t say his name, but I’m sure I’m right.” I describe the man and repeat what he said.

Damien’s face is as hard as I’ve ever seen it. He shifts me in front of him, then his hands roam over my body. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“No,” I say, my own fears fading under Damien’s blatant anger and concern. “No, he didn’t even threaten. But he scared me anyway, and that’s why I ran.”

“If you see him again—I don’t care if he’s three blocks away and you’re not quite sure—you tell me. Okay?”

I nod. “Yes. Of course.”

He takes my hand. “Come on. I’m going to make my speech, and then I’m taking you home.”

I follow him in, and stand by the podium as a polished woman in Chanel thanks us all for showing our generous support to the Stark Educational Foundation, then introduces Mr. Damien Stark himself.

The room bursts into applause, mine included, and I watch as the man who now consumes my days and nights steps up onto the podium. I listen as his powerful, confident voice talks about helping children. About finding those who need a hand. About pulling them up from the muck and giving them the chance to shine.

His eloquent words extinguish the last embers of panic. Now my eyes are brimming with tears of pride. Maybe this man does have secrets and skeletons. But right now, I’m seeing his heart. And I like what I see.

24

The ocean shines in the morning light as I stand naked in the window under the steady gaze of two men. Blaine’s professional inspection, and Damien’s heat-filled gaze that makes my nipples peak and my thighs quiver despite the fact that there’s another man in the room.

It’s awkward—and yet I feel powerful, too.

“It’s a crime you look so hot,” Blaine says. “I feel like hell.”

“That would be all the wine you had,” I tease.

“Actually, that would be all the vodka,” he counters. “Why the devil I told you to be here at eight, I really do not know. Oh, wait. Yes, I do. Because the morning light on your skin makes you glow.”

I can’t help it—I have to turn to Damien. I see my own amusement reflected in his face, and I know we’re both thinking about how he says that I glow when I’m aroused.

Damien’s eyes graze the entire length of my body, the inspection so intense that I think I really will start to glow right then. When his eyes meet mine again, there is undeniable heat there.

And here I am stuck like a statue while a second man stands on the far side of the room.

Damien clears his throat. From his expression, I think he’s regretting the current arrangement, too.

Blaine looks between the two of us, his expression overly innocent. “Problem?”

“I’m going to go for a bike ride before I go to the office,” Damien says. I display a great deal of restraint and manage not to laugh. Of course, I’m the one standing naked in front of a terrace. He gets to go work off his sexual energy. I get to stew in mine.

“Depending on how long you ride, I may have left by the time you get back,” I say. “Today’s my interview, remember?”

“Of course,” Damien says. He moves toward me.

“Go ahead,” Blaine says with a wave. “Say goodbye properly. I’ll go make coffee or something.” He disappears into the kitchen area, and I grin.

“I really like him,” I say.

“Mmm,” Damien agrees, pulling me into his arms. His clothes are cool against my bare skin, and he keeps one arm around me as we both move to the canvas. It was covered when I came in, and I’m curious about the way the painting’s progressed. Blaine’s accomplished a lot in a short time, and there’s no doubt that’s me sketched on the canvas, my back straight, my head high. I wasn’t certain how I’d feel about the portrait, but I’m starting to think it’s going to look pretty damn good.