"All right," he says slowly. "But know that I'm going to be watching you. And I will have you, Ms. Fairchild." He nods toward the painting. "There's a reason that Blaine named it Anticipation. She's waiting. She's wanting. She doesn't have him yet, but she knows he's coming. Anticipation, Nikki. It's one hell of a potent aphrodisiac."
Since I can no longer manage words, I scurry off like a fool. Only when I'm safely at the piano do I turn back toward the painting, then cringe when I see that Carmela has come up to him. As I watch, she presses her palm to his chest, then brushes her lips over his ear.
But though she is touching him, stroking him, I can tell she hasn't reached the core of him. I know, because I can see the truth in those astounding, mesmerizing dual-colored eyes.
And they're focused intently on me.
Chapter 7
"You really like it?" Ollie asks me, nodding toward the set of camera lens filters he's bought me for Christmas.
"Are you kidding? Of course." Photography is my passion, and I am more than willing to accept any and all camera-related gifts.
"And you, too?" I ask.
He, Jamie, and I are on the floor in the living room of the condo Jamie and I share, and Lady Meow-Meow, Jamie's fluffy white cat, is playing in the paper and ribbons left over from the presents we've just finished opening. I'd had no idea what to get Ollie, and so I went with a new briefcase, splurging to get it monogrammed.
"Love it," he says, then kisses me.
"God, more PDA," Jamie says, and even though I am a horrible person for thinking it--and even though I know Jamie is only teasing--I second the thought.
Ollie came over about two in the morning when he finished his brief and stayed the night with me. We didn't make love, but we'd cuddled and I'd slept in his arms, and it had felt nice--and I'd been completely racked with guilt because while Ollie was holding me, I was thinking about Stark. I'm an idiot, of course, because with Ollie I have a good thing. A great thing. And I really shouldn't mess it up before it even begins.
"He's going to ask you to move in with him," Jamie tells me as soon as I'm back from driving him to the airport later that morning. "He told me because it'll leave me in a lurch on the mortgage and, well, I just thought you should know. But that's good, right? Because this thing between you and Ollie is good. Like about-damn-time good. Right?"
"Sure." I feel a little numb and tell myself it's just relationship jitters. Things are changing so quickly. Thus the off-kilter-ness. "Yeah." I draw a breath. "Thanks for telling me."
She cocks her head. "You don't look so sure."
"I just--well, I just want to be smart. I mean, look at Courtney. They were together for years and he cheated on her umpteen times."
She nods sagely. "True, but we both know that as far as Ollie's concerned, he's always wanted you. I can't imagine he'd cheat on you. If for no other reason than I'd kill him."
"I guess."
"I'm trying to figure out what's in your head," Jamie says. "Isn't this a good thing? I mean, you guys are sleeping together, and it's good, right? And he's been one of your best friends forever. And he loves you and you love him."
"I do love him," I say, and I mean it. "And the sex really was nice. But..."
I trail off, thinking about the heat I felt with Damien last night. Waves of intense passion that I've never once felt with Ollie. Not before, when we were just friends. Not in bed, when we transitioned to lovers.
"You're not sure you love him like that?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"Take it from me, babe," Jamie says. "As a woman who's spent her life going through men. That kind of love doesn't really exist."
"Your parents adore each other," I point out.
She grimaces. "Yeah, they do. So much that I spent my life feeling like a third wheel." She shakes her head. "Forget it, Nik. You and I both know that fairy tales are for fools. Ollie loves you. He gets you. And he's already met your demons. You're too smart not to know when you've got a good thing."
"You're right. I know you're right." And I do know she's right. After all, I know the difference between love and lust. And with Ollie I have the complete package.
So why am I feeling so twitchy?
I draw in a breath and try to steady myself. "Another movie? We haven't done Die Hard yet this season."
"Tonight, maybe? I'm actually meeting Gregory for Christmas brunch."
"Gregory?"
"The tall guy. The one in that new sitcom. Well, sort of in it. He's had a speaking role in two episodes, and they've hinted he might end up a regular."
"And you're meeting him on Christmas morning for brunch?"
"And probably for sex, too," she says, then grins impishly. "Because I know that he's not the one. Which means that just having some fun with him is more than fine. Seriously, Nik, promise me you'll just chill today."
"I promise," I say, and I mean it. But later when my phone dings with a text, I have to rethink my words.
White Christmas/It's a Wonderful Life double feature.
Meet me at the Chinese in an hour.
I consider ignoring it.
Then I consider going, but not answering.
Then I think that I'll send a one-word reply: Okay.
Instead, I text him back, Who is this?
His reply comes faster than I expect. Minx. Get moving or you're going to miss the trailers.
I roll my eyes, enjoying myself far more than I should. Yes, sir.
For several moments there's no answer. Then my phone dings as I'm looking for my keys. Good girl.
But I'm not a good girl, of course. Apparently, I'm a very bad girl. Because I didn't even hesitate when he told me to go. I just rolled over and wagged my tail, happy for him to want me.
Once again, my phone chimes: There's a car waiting in front of your building. It will bring you to me.
I take a deep breath, suddenly realizing that even going to the movies with Damien Stark is unlike anything I've ever done before. And I can't help but wonder what else will be different.
Anticipation, I think.
And as I hitch my purse over my shoulder and hurry down to the waiting car, I know without a doubt that I'm either making a huge mistake...or doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing.
--
He's waiting for me in the lobby when I burst inside, my admission already taken care of by the ticket that the chauffeur handed me.
"I like your limo," I say as he hands me a bucket of popcorn. Honestly, I liked it a lot. It inspired all sorts of naughty thoughts. The kind I don't usually think. The kind that seemed oddly familiar when it was Damien Stark on my mind.
"I'm very glad to hear it," he says as he passes me a soda. "I guessed on Diet Coke."
"You guessed right."
"And butter on the popcorn."
"Hell, yes," I say. After growing up with my mother and exactly one cup of air popped corn with absolutely nothing on it only once every two months, I'm happy to drown my greasy movie popcorn with a fake butter-like substance. The more the better.
There are only about fifty people in the theater, and with a house this size, that means that we are very much by ourselves when Damien steers me toward one of the back rows in the center section. "Long way from the screen," I say.
"I like my privacy," he retorts.
"Your celebrity status becoming a burden?" I tease.
"On the contrary. I just assumed you'd want to be away from gawkers when I touch you."
"Oh." I swallow. "How exactly do you intend to touch me?"
"That depends," he says.
"On what?"
"On whether you'd rather watch the movie or come for me."
His words make me whimper, and I hear his soft chuckle as the houselights start to dim. "Good answer, Ms. Fairchild," he says, and I squirm a little in my seat, already turned on. Already wet.
And, yes, already nervous about what's to come.
He starts simply enough. His hand on mine. His fingertip