“Good. I’m starving.” But the hunger I see in his eyes isn’t for food, and I have to laugh.
“You’re insatiable.”
“Where you’re concerned? Absolutely.”
“Good,” I say firmly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“So after our … meal … what next?”
“We’re taking the ferry to Sausalito for a late afternoon bike ride along the waterfront. Then we’re taking a limo back to the hotel because, well, I tend to enjoy limo rides with my husband.”
“What a coincidence. I enjoy limo rides with my wife.”
“Then tomorrow we explore the city. I want to see that winding street and Fisherman’s Wharf and Golden Gate Park. And sea lions. Aren’t there sea lions around here?”
“If there aren’t, I’ll buy you some.”
“Big spender,” I tease. “And then in the afternoon we’ll have a late lunch on the water in a private boat tour, then at sunset we’ll go check out Coit Tower before grabbing dinner somewhere. I’m thinking Chinatown, but haven’t decided.”
“That’s quite the itinerary.”
I frown. “Too much?”
“There’s never too much where you’re concerned. And so long as you’ve kept room in the schedule for me to have you naked…”
I roll my eyes. “Mr. Stark, you have a one-track mind.”
“Is that a problem?”
I force myself not to laugh. “Shopping for the kids needs to be on the agenda, too. But there are probably shops in Sausalito. And maybe at the Wharf?” I frown, then look back up at him sheepishly. “I know this is a romantic outing, but do you think we could call the kids when we get to the hotel?”
“Sweetheart, I think I might have to insist on it.”
“Thanks.” I snuggle against him. “Funny how life changes. One day you look at it a certain way, and then just a few years later you look back. And even though everything’s the same, it’s different, too.”
“It’s fuller,” he says, and I nod in agreement. Because that’s exactly how I feel.
He strokes my hair, and I sigh with pleasure. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he asks.
“I think I have a clue.”
We sit like that for a moment, looking out at the view as we head over the Bay Bridge. It’s peaceful. Romantic. Even sweet. And right then, I’m so glad that I arranged this. He needed it, I think. Hell, we needed it. Whatever ghost was haunting him at Stark International, now at least we’re far, far away.
At least that’s what I think until his phone chirps. I lift my head, frowning because he told me he set it to silent.
“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting this. There are only four people whose calls can go through this weekend, and one of them is sitting next to me.”
I’m certain that two of the others are Jamie and Rachel—this weekend’s babysitter and his assistant. I have no idea who the fourth is, but if Damien is allowing the call to ring through, I’m sure it must be important. I just hope that answering it doesn’t push Damien back into the dark from which I’m trying to drag him.
“Nikki?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were waiting on me. Answer it, of course.”
He does, and my chest tightens when I see the relief bloom on his face as he takes the call. “Tell me,” he says without preamble.
He listens, his features tightening, then relaxing slightly when he says, “Well, that’s good news at least. No, go ahead and put it through. One way or the other, I need to know.” He glances at me, then looks away so quickly that it feels almost like a physical shove. “As quickly as possible, but you already know that. Yeah, I understand. And thanks, Quincy. Tell Dallas I owe him one.”
He clicks off, then pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed as if he’s fighting a headache. When he opens his eyes and looks at me, his expression is both guarded and apologetic.
“It’s okay,” I say, though I’m not sure it is. Not now that I see the hint of shadows that I thought we left behind blooming in his eyes. “Who is Quincy and what does he have to do with Dallas?”
Dallas Sykes is the CEO of a longstanding department store chain who earned the nickname The King of Fuck because of his reputation as a playboy heir who romanced women, spent money, and basically wasted his life. Of course, all that changed after he got married—but that was scandalous, too, as his wife happened to also be his adoptive sister, Jane.
The thing is, I’ve gotten to know Dallas a bit, and I’m quite certain that his reputation is manufactured. What I don’t know is what’s hidden under that fine-looking exterior. Damien does, I’m sure, but that’s the kind of secret I don’t mind him keeping. Yes, I want to know. But it’s not his story to share. Even so, I’m certain that there is a story. Especially since Damien recruited away one of Dallas’s former employees, Noah Carter, a brilliant programmer who would have been wasting his skills if he’d really only been doing work for a department store chain.
“Quincy Radcliffe. An employee of Dallas’s with unique skills. I have him poking around for me. Doing a bit of investigation.”
I nod, assuming this has to do with the botched acquisition, and since I want as little work creeping into this weekend as possible, I only nod and change the subject. “Any thoughts on where to go for dinner tomorrow? I suppose we can ask the concierge at the hotel. If he’s a Stark employee, he’s got to be knowledgeable.”
“I like your idea of Chinatown,” Damien says as the Town Car starts to climb the hill, approaching the hotel. “But why don’t we play it by ear? I may be in the mood to have my wife for dinner.”
“Cute,” I say, but lean up against him, sighing happily as his arm tightens around me.
“As for today, I like your plan.” He bends his head close to my ear, his voice pitched just for me. “I’ll just add that after drinks on the roof this evening, I intend to make love to you until you pass out. So we might want to grab a bite befo
re we get those drinks.”
“Oh,” I say, my core clenching. I lick my lips. “Well, I think that’s a fine addition to our itinerary.”
“And tomorrow morning, we can walk around the corner to this charming little diner I know of.”
“I thought I was supposed to be taking care of you this weekend,” I say.
“How about we take care of each other?”
I take his hand and squeeze it. “I can live with that.”
His mouth brushes my ear. “I want you now,” he murmurs. “Thank God we’re almost to the hotel.”
“Yes.” The word is almost a moan. “Thank God for—”
But my words are cut off by the sharp beep of the driver’s horn as he slams on the brakes.
“Sorry,” he calls back. “The guy in front of me stopped short. And look at that mess. Something’s going on.”
He’s right. There are cars parked at odd angles blocking the street in front of the hotel. I see some officers trying to get the crowd to move, and someone appears to be arguing with the hotel valet.
“I can get you a bit closer. And then I can take the car into the garage and park. I’ll make sure your luggage gets right up to you, sir.”
“Much appreciated.” Once the driver pulls over, Damien leans forward to tip him, then reaches over me to open the door. I step out, Damien beside me, then immediately freeze as dozens of people swarm toward us, cameras clicking and microphones extended. It’s a cacophony of indistinguishable voices, and I turn, reaching for Damien who stands behind me, looking even more shellshocked than I feel.
Then the noise starts to form into words, and the words slam against me with the force of a wrecking ball.
“Mr. Stark! Damien! Is it true? Did you father a child with Marianna Kingsley?”
Chapter Eight
Before I even have time to think, Damien has tugged me back into the Town Car. He yanks the door shut, smacks the back of the front seat, and urges the driver to, “Go! Just go!”