Please Me (Stark Trilogy 4.2)

“No. I need some space. I just—I just need to be alone right now.”

I don’t wait for him to answer. I don’t take a key or grab my purse. And I don’t turn around to look at him. If I do, I know I’ll start crying again, and I can’t do that. I need space. I need to pull myself together and figure out what to do. Except there isn’t anything to do. The situation is what it is.

But it’s not the situation that’s twisted me up in knots. It’s the way Damien handled it. The way he kept me out of it. The way he put up a wall of lies. Or at least obfuscations.

That’s between us now, and the weight of that reality has knocked my entire world off kilter.

I barely even notice riding the elevator to the lobby. And it’s not until I’m sitting at the bar that I realize I even had a destination in mind. It’s almost one now—we should be heading for Sausalito, but so much for that plan—and as far as I’m concerned it’s well past time for a drink.

I order a bourbon on the rocks with a cherry, then amend that to make it a double. It’s my lunch, after all. But when the bartender brings it, I don’t take a sip. Instead, I use the tiny straw to stir the drink, watching the ice move, the motion relaxing. Almost hypnotic.

“You look like a woman who’s had a hard day. And it’s really far too early in the day for that.”

I look up to find myself staring into a pair of gorgeous gray eyes. The man’s not too bad either. He’s tall and trim and looks like he just came from a fashion shoot for a corporate catalog.

“I’d buy you another,” he says in the wake of my silence. “But you haven’t touched that one yet.”

“No. But thank you for the offer.” I’m about to tell him that not only do I want to be alone, but that I’m married. Which he must know, since the engagement ring I wear next to my wedding band is winking under the bar’s lighting.

But I don’t have to say anything to the man at all. Instead, a familiar voice behind me says a single word. “Leave.”

Gray Eyes looks over my head at Damien. For a moment, I think he’s going to argue. Then he holds up his hands and takes a step back. “Just chatting with the lady.”

“The lady is mine.”

Since I still haven’t turned to look at Damien, I’m not surprised when Gray Eyes looks at me, his expression like a question mark. I nod, he glances from me to Damien, then he inclines his head, turns, and saunters out of the bar.

One beat, then another. I know Damien is still behind me; I can feel him there, as if his presence alone reshapes the fabric of reality.

After a moment, I can’t stand it anymore. “If you’re staying, at least come around here where I can see you.”

He does, taking the stool beside me and signaling that he’ll have what I’m having.

I take a sip, and when his drink arrives, he does the same. A moment later, he says, “I’m so sorry, Nikki,” and once again I have to blink back those damn tears.

“You say you couldn’t tell me. But, Damien, this is us. Do you know what those words did to my heart?”

“Do you know what it did to mine seeing that boy’s face? Realizing that he looks like me? Christ, Nikki. The thought of having a child that I didn’t know about. A child who isn’t yours. Ours. A baby I never saw grow or heard speak a first word. You know what that means to me.”

He curses softly, then lifts his glass and downs the whole damn thing. Then he turns and looks at me. “How do I tell the woman I love—the mother to my little girls—that if that boy is mine, I have to be in his life. I have to be.”

His words reach out and twist my heart, and I have to will myself not to cry again. Of course, he would have to be in Nate’s life. Damien would never be absent. Would never hurt a child by his absence, or any other way. He knows too well what it means not to have a real father. Just as I know what it means not to have a real mother.

I reach over and take his hand, and the instant I touch him I know that we’ll get through this. God knows we’ve been through worse.

“Damien,” I say softly. “I get it. But all you had to do was tell me. Did you really think I wouldn’t understand?”

“Yes. No.” He releases a frustrated sigh. “Hell, Nikki, I…”

I wait for him to finish, then swallow when he says nothing else and that gulf between us increases again. “I know you weren’t celibate before me. It’s not the fact of this child that bothers me. That’s not what hurts. What hurts is that you built a wall, Damien. Brick by brick, you’ve been building a wall between us these last few days. And I never in a million years would have believed that could happen.”

He rubs his temples. “I know.”

I take a long sip of my bourbon, then push it away from me. “I’m going back to the room. Are you coming?”

“In a minute,” he says, reaching for the rest of my drink.

I give him a tight nod, then extend my hand. “Do you have a key?”

He passes it to me, and it all seems so normal that I can hardly get my head around it. I start to reach for him, then pull my hand back, unsure if he even wants my touch right now.

The thought breaks me a little more, and I turn away, then hurry out of the bar, both relieved and disappointed when I step on the elevator and see that Damien really hasn’t followed me.

As the doors close, I lean my head against the wall, trying to remember when I’d felt this helpless. Not since Germany. Not since Damien was on trial for murder and pushed me away, thinking he’d save me by freeing me. But it hadn’t worked. And this time he’s not pushing me away, not really. We’re exactly the same distance apart as we were before. But there’s that goddamn wall between us now.

Fuck.

I left my phone in the suite when I went down to the bar, and I return to find it ringing. I hurry to the living area and glance down at the coffee table where I left it, expecting that the call is from Damien, but it’s not. It’s from Jamie. And she’s called at least twice.

Dear God, the kids.

I snatch the phone up and press the button to answer the call. “What’s going on? Are the girls okay?”

“The girls?” Jamie’s voice rises with incredulity. “Are you okay?”

For the first time, it hits me that this whole mess is out there for all the world to see. And isn’t that just too fucking special?

“No,” I say honestly. “I’m not okay.”

“Didn’t figure you were. How’s Damien?”

I don’t tell her that he’s the reason I’m not okay, not the existence of a little boy named Nate. I should tell her. She’s my best friend. And if I can’t go to Damien, then it’s Jamie that I want to cling to.

Except right now, I just want to sleep. I don’t care that it’s not even dinner time or that I had such carefully made plans for the day. None of that matters now. I just want to close my eyes, forget it all, and hope that the sun shines brighter tomorrow.

And the only real comfort I can take is the surprising, unexpected realization that even though everything feels like it’s going to hell, I haven’t once thought of taking a blade to my skin.

Chapter Nine

I went to sleep expecting to wake in Damien’s arms, because even when we argue, we both find solace in the other’s touch.

But when I’m awakened by the morning sun streaming in through the windows, I realize that I’m alone. Frowning, I roll over, looking at Damien’s side of the bed. The covers are rumpled, but I don’t know that he’s slept there. I tossed and turned all night. The twisted bedding is probably from me. Especially since his side of the bed is cool to the touch.

Which means I slept alone. And so did Damien.

I choke back a sob, then lay back down, pulling my knees up to my chest. All I want is to go back to sleep. But I know I can?

?t. Damien and I are both ripped up, I know that. But I also know that the only way we’ll heal is together.

I have to buck up and find him.

That’s not as easy as it should be. The penthouse is huge, but I search every room, and there’s no Damien. That’s when I remember the rooftop patio. I head out to the balcony, then climb the stairs, relief flooding me when I see him standing beside one of the support columns for the rooftop cabana.

I start to walk toward him, but pause when I see that he’s not alone. There’s another man with him, my view of him no longer blocked by the cabana. A lean man, ruggedly handsome, with deep set eyes and a hard expression.

And, apparently, very good hearing, because the moment I gasp in surprise, he turns those eyes to me. Automatically, I smooth the dress I’ve been wearing since yesterday. At least I didn’t come up here in my robe. Or naked.

I take a step toward them, my eyes on Damien and not this stranger, a man with a primal, dangerous air about him. “I didn’t realize we had company,” I say, and though I’m trying hard to keep the reprobation out of my voice, I’m sure a hint of it comes through.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I told him this wouldn’t take long,” the man says, his voice surprisingly sensual, all the more so because of its deep British accent. “I’m Quincy.”

“Oh!”

“Quincy Radcliffe,” Damien says. “My wife, Nikki.” He extends a hand to me, and I go to him gratefully, not realizing until I slide my hand into his how deeply I needed to feel the touch of his skin against mine.

“I apologize for the intrusion, but my investigation led me to San Francisco anyway, and I thought I would tell Damien the good news in person.”

“Good news?” I echo. “Good news would be great.”

They both smile at that, and we settle around the table that doubles as a fire pit.

“I told you on the phone that I was able to obtain a DNA sample from the child,” Quincy says to Damien. He’s about to continue, but I hold up my hand.