Lost With Me (Stark Trilogy 5)

I make a face, and I’m immediately glad she can’t see it. Brian worked with me at C-Squared, and my distaste for that company stems from the fact that the company’s owner, Carl Rosenfeld, was a total prick. It’s only by proximity to him that my co-workers were sullied. Brian was a solid programmer back then, and I can only assume he’s gotten better. “Forward it to me, and I’ll take a look. If nothing else, I’m curious what he’s been up to.”

She assures she will, then hangs up, and I draw a long, slow breath. Brian Crane. The man holds no particular interest to me, but Carl raises all sorts of emotions, with vile dislike being right there at the top of the pile.

But maybe I’m being unfair to him. After all, if it weren’t for Carl, Damien and I might never have gotten together.

My phone rings, and I tap the earpiece. “What did you forget?” I ask, certain that it’s Abby.

But it’s not Abby. It’s Damien.

“Forget?” His voice, strong and sensual, fires my blood, making my body tingle with at least as much awareness as if he were standing right beside me, his dark eyes skimming over me, taking my body to full awareness. I realize I’m standing, as if the force of his voice lifted me to my feet. “I don’t think I’ve ever forgotten a single thing about you.”

“That’s good to know, Mr. Stark.” My voice sounds husky, laden with desire. And as the cool ocean breeze teases my now-heated skin, my nipples contract into tight beads inside the bikini top.

Even after so many years together—even after two children and sleepless nights and toddler tantrums—it only takes a word from Damien to melt me. Sometimes I wonder if the desire that boils between us will ever calm to a simmer, but I don’t really believe that could happen.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I close my eyes, imagining him standing in front of me, tall and lean and commanding. “I was just thinking about you,” I admit. “You ought to know I’m always thinking about you.”

“Then that’s another thing we have in common, Ms. Fairchild.”

“That’s Mrs. Stark, thank you very much.” I’m confident he can hear the smile in my voice.

“Yes, it is,” he agrees. “And I like the sound of it very much. What exactly were you thinking?”

“About that first night at Evelyn’s house. And how even though Carl is a vile little worm, if I hadn’t been working for him that night, we might never have gotten together.”

“We would have,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “As soon as I learned that you were in LA, I would have sought you out. Count on it, Mrs. Stark. We’re part of each other, Nikki. We’re inevitable, you and I. And Carl Rosenfeld was merely an extra on the stage of our life together.”

I hear the truth in his words and sigh happily. He’s right, of course. Somehow, we would have found each other. “What were you thinking about?” I ask.

“That it’s been over sixty hours since I’ve seen you, and by the time I get home tonight, we’ll be pushing dangerously close to seventy.”

“That’s far too long,” I agree. Damien left for Chicago early Tuesday morning. It’s now Friday. And although he flew back to LA this morning, he went straight to the office.

“Fortunately, I have a very active, very visceral imagination.”

“Do you?” My mouth has gone dry in response to the heat in his voice. “What were you imagining?”

“My wife, naked and panting and desperate in our bed. The way my cock hardens as I watch her lips part and her back arch when she’s about to explode. The way she grinds against my face as I eat out that beautiful cunt.”

“My God, Damien.” My voice is so heavy with need I almost can’t push the words out, and I squeeze my legs together in a futile attempt to quell the desire pulsing between my thighs.

“I want you waiting for me. Not at the house, though. I want you to myself.”

I nod wordlessly, which is ridiculous since he can’t see me.

“I’ll come to you at the bungalow,” he says. “I want you naked, your body bent over the railing as I fuck you from behind, my hands on your breasts and my face lost in the silk of your hair. I want to feel you tremble beneath me, your skin on fire. I want to draw it out, to take you close but never over. Not until the moment when the sun finally slips below the horizon, and as that last glow of orange and purple explodes in the sky, I’ll make you explode in my arms.”

My legs have turned to jelly, and I lower myself back into the deck chair. “Christ, Damien. I think I just did.”

I’m rewarded by his soft chuckle. “Three days is too damn long. I’m claiming you, Nikki. Marking my territory. Tonight, I’m taking what’s mine.”

“Yes,” I whisper. “Thank God, yes.”

“And after we can both breathe again, I want to walk hand-in-hand with you to the house so that we can go see our girls.”

“They’ve missed you,” I say, happiness wrapping around me like a warm, safe blanket.

“I’ve missed them, too.” He makes a raw noise in his throat. “I used to enjoy traveling. Now it’s like cutting off a limb every time I go away.”

“For us, too,” I say. “Of course, I make do.” I add a lilt to my voice. “Like last night, for example. I wasn’t alone in our bed.”

“Is that so? Did someone negotiate her way into my side of the bed?”

“Just like her Daddy,” I say. “That one’s going to broker big business deals.” Our oldest, Lara, will turn four in a couple of weeks, and already she’s a prime manipulator. “She said she wanted to keep me company so that I wouldn’t be sad that Daddy was away. How could I say no?”

“You’d be stronger than me if you’d managed. I wouldn’t have been able to deny her either.” For a moment, he’s quiet, the silence weighing heavy. “I missed all my girls this weekend.”

“We missed you, too. Desperately. Do you have to go back next week?” I try to keep my voice neutral, but I fear I already know the answer, and it’s not one I like. He’d come back to LA because of a series of meetings that couldn’t easily be moved. But if the Chicago crisis hasn’t been resolved, I have a feeling I’ll be kissing Damien goodbye at the Santa Monica Airport come Monday morning.

“That’s one of the reasons I’m calling, actually. To give you fair warning that I’ll want my side of the bed back next week. I’m afraid your bedtime companion may be disappointed.”

“That Daddy’s home? Not a chance.” I feel a thousand pounds lighter knowing he won’t be leaving again, and it’s only when I realize that my wide smile actually hurts my cheeks that I fully acknowledge how much I was dreading Damien leaving again come Monday.

“What are you doing now?” he asks.

“Other than talking to my husband? I wrapped up a phone meeting with Abby right before you called. At the moment, I’m just enjoying my view.”

“What a coincidence,” he says. “So am I.”

I picture him standing in front of the floor to ceiling windows that make up one wall of his penthouse office at Stark Tower. His body long and lean, his midnight black hair gleaming in the morning light. A modern gladiator in a tailored suit surveying his domain.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he says, and it takes a minute for my mind to shift gears. He’s not looking out his window. He’s looking at me.

I turn, putting my back to the ocean so that I can see inside the bungalow. But he’s not there, and when I frown in consternation, his low chuckle ripples over me.

The security cameras.

Deliberately, I turn so that I’m facing the one mounted at the corner of the roof. I tilt my head and rest my hand on my hip. “Aren’t you supposed to be running an empire?”

“It’s on today’s agenda. Right now, I’m getting in the mood for some world domination.”

He stresses the last word, and I stare boldly into the camera. “In that case, Mr. Stark, I look forward to seeing you this evening. Although…”

“Although?”

I smile innocently. “I’d planned to take a quick walk on the beach before I meet Jamie for lunch. Get a little sun, a bit of relaxation. You know…”

“Sounds like an excellent way to unwind.”