A Billionaire for Christmas

In case you’re wondering, this story fits in the chronology after the events of DAMIEN, but before the Stark Security Agency has been officially formed. (And if you haven’t read the Stark Security books yet, what are you waiting for? Follow the link at the end of the story to grab the December release!)Chapter OneI wake to the tickle of Sunshine on my nose. Not the kind that streams in through the glass doors leading from the bedroom to the balcony. No, this Sunshine is warm and furry, with whiskers that tickle my cheeks and a purr that is powerful enough to shake the bed.

Reluctantly, I peel open my eyes. The cat might be comfy and content this morning, but I’m not ready to be awake. Christmas is fast approaching, and my partner Abby and I had stayed up until three in order to get the updates for five of our gaming products out before the holiday.

“What time is it?” I ask the cat. She doesn’t answer, but she does nuzzle my face, which I interpret as breakfast time.

I sigh, then roll over, planning to finagle my husband into handling this domestic chore. But instead of Damien, long and lean and naked, I find nothing but a tangle of sheets and a slight indention in his pillow.

Without thinking, I reach out and rest my palm on the place where his body should be. It’s cold, and my chest tightens with a quick stab of fear before reality and reason win out. Nothing has happened to him. Or, more specifically, nothing has happened to him other than being sucked into the whirlwind that is two little girls.

Still, I wish that he’d woken me. My head knows it’s foolish to immediately imagine the worst when anyone I love isn’t exactly where I want them to be. But kidnapping rewires your brain, and now I have to work extra hard not to hold my kids so close it smothers them.

Damien, too. Though there has never been a time when I haven’t held him close. Haven’t drawn strength from him.

And that, I realize, is why I feel so alone this morning. I’d gone to bed worried that we’d missed something in the rollout, and those worries had grown and shifted, turning personal in my dreams. Potential failures in my job morphing into demons in my personal life. The kind of demons who sneak in around the edges and hurt your family. Your children.

The kind of demons I’ve always relied on Damien to protect me from. The kind that he has always known I’m able to fight myself, so long as I harness the strength inside me.

“Just dreams,” I tell the cat. “Stupid nightmares.”

She blinks at me, entirely unimpressed.

“Silent treatment, huh? Fine, come on. I’ll feed you.”

That she responds to, hopping nimbly off the bed and then prancing to the door, her tail high. She looks back at me, her head cocked as if to silently scold me for moving too slowly. I grab my robe from the back of the armchair by the door, then slip it over my naked body. I’d briefly tried to sleep in a nightshirt or sleep shorts after we adopted Lara, but it never stuck. The feel of my skin against Damien’s had become as comforting as sleep itself, and neither of us had made the transition.

Knowing the force of Damien’s will, I’m certain he hadn’t tried too hard, but that was fine with me. We compromised by adding parenting to the mix, explaining to Lara, a very precocious four-year-old, that everybody is entitled to privacy, and that she and her sister aren’t allowed in our room without knocking first. With the exception of a couple of nightmares, she’s never broken the rule. And when she shared the bed with us during those horrible days of Anne’s kidnapping, we of course deferred to modesty and pajamas.

Now, our bossy little girl is instilling the family rule in her little sister, making sure that Anne, now two, is completely with the program. Frankly, it’s both hysterical and adorable. Though I do sometimes wonder when Anne will get to be the bossy one.

As it stands, Anne only lords over Sunshine. Who, thankfully, adores the children and doesn’t scratch and yowl when either of the girls tries to dress her up for tea parties or enlist her in wild games of chase. Instead, she suffers quietly until she’s reached her limit, then goes and hides under the sofa where little arms can’t reach her.

“Good, kitty,” I say now, my words earning a twitch of her whiskers as she undoubtedly wonders what she did to earn such praise. “Let’s go find you something fishy for breakfast.”

Damien was in the process of building this house when we met, and the primary kitchen was supposed to be the one on the first floor. It’s a huge set-up, complete with commercial-grade everything. A Disneyland for culinary types.