“Nikki.” He felt his lips pull into a smile. “It suits you.”
He swallowed, then opened his mouth to speak, though he really wasn’t certain what he intended to say. Not that it mattered, as he didn’t get the chance to say anything at all. Because that’s when Carmela decided to show up, apparently bored with shopping and the suite’s amenities.
“Damie, darling.” Her accent was thick and as sensual as her pouty lips and mass of dark waves. “Come. We should go, yes?”
He wanted to tell her no, not yes. He wanted to tell Carmela that things had changed. That he was putting her on a plane. That it had been fun, but he knew now what—no, who—he wanted.
But he didn’t say that. How could he? He knew a few things about Nikki Fairchild. He’d read her contestant’s bio. He knew she’d just started college. That she was pursuing a double major. And he knew from her interview that she was ambitious.
She was starting out. He was breaking out.
This wasn’t their time. Not yet.
But he’d move heaven and earth to find her in the future. And between now and then, he’d do whatever it took to make sure that he had the means to build that lever.
In the meantime, he’d watch and he’d wait. And maybe, just maybe, he’d be a little less fucked up knowing that a woman like Nikki was out there—and that one day she would be his.
He took Carmela’s hand and met Nikki’s eyes. “Miss Fairchild,” he said with a parting nod.
Then he turned to escort Carmela back to their room, knowing full well that when he had her naked beneath him—when he buried his cock deep inside her—it would be the thought of Nikki Fairchild making him hard.
Chapter Two
Malibu, California
Now…
Damien Stark stood in the doorway of his master bedroom, his gaze fixed on the woman who had teased his mind and stolen his heart all those years ago. The woman he’d craved from the first moment he’d seen her. The woman who was his wife. Who he loved beyond reason.
As far as he was concerned, Nikki was the biggest miracle of his life, the mother of his children, and to this day he didn’t know how he’d been so lucky to not only find her, but to keep her.
She was the reason he drew breath in the morning, and she loved him back with equal ferocity, seeing past his faults, his fears, his flaws. Believing in him always.
Even when he failed her.
He closed his eyes, pushing away the darkness that had been edging up on him since the moment his youngest daughter had been taken. A darkness that had been speared with light when they’d gotten her back and he’d once again held Anne tight in his arms.
But that bright moment of hope and relief hadn’t changed the single, inescapable fact—he’d failed.
He had one job as a father. One job as a husband. To protect his family. And when it had truly counted, he’d completely missed the mark.
His whole life, he’d excelled. Success after success after empire-expanding success. He’d made mistakes, sure. But he’d owned them. Built on them. And none of them had the power to destroy him or the people he loved.
On the contrary, every mistake in his career was a stepping stone to a greater triumph. Another asset to control. Another luxury to acquire. Another industry to master.
And he’d mastered so goddamn much.
But not one iota of that mattered, because the edifice he’d thought he’d built was nothing more than a house of cards balanced on a foundation of smoke and mirrors. And he hadn’t even seen the cracks until somebody had pushed into his world and kidnapped his daughter.
A familiar fury raged through him, and he battled it down, just like he’d been doing since the shock of Anne’s kidnapping had blindsided him. And just like he continued to do even after getting her back safely one short week ago.
And yet it wasn’t the kidnapper who bore the brunt of his rage, though he’d happily squeeze the life out of the son-of-a-bitch with his bare hands. No, Damien’s rage was aimed at himself. At his own arrogance. At the lack of imagination that had allowed this to happen, because he’d never seen it coming. They’d had security. They’d had protection.
But it hadn’t been enough. Because he hadn’t made it enough.
Goddamn shortsighted arrogant motherfucker.
He started to lash out. To pound his fist against the door frame. But he pulled back, not wanting to wake Nikki or the two little angels curled up next to her in their bed. His wife. His precious little girls.
His family.
As much as he loved Nikki, he hadn’t truly understood how full his heart could be until he’d held Lara in his arms for the first time. And though he hadn’t expected it was possible, his heart had expanded even more when he watched Anne’s birth two years ago and saw her draw that first breath.
Every day, his daughters looked up at him with wide, guileless eyes. And every day, he felt that punch in the gut. A fear that he couldn’t live up to the trust he saw there. That somehow, someway, he would fail them. Not in the way his own father had failed him. But in some other, fundamental way.
And that’s exactly what happened.
He thought of Rory, that fucker who’d taken his child. Of Nikki, broken and huddled in the closet with a blade, blood streaming down her fair skin, cutting for the first time in years. The first time since he’d demanded that she come to him—to him—when she needed the blade.
So many times, she’d done exactly that. Gone to him when the burden of the world had been too much to bear. When she needed the pain to find her way back. And he’d always been there for her, his need as potent as hers. Because he had to be the one to take her there. To slide down with her into that sweet place where sensual pleasure crossed over into pain. Where need and desire meshed, merging into euphoria. Where they could both cling to that one small measure of control in a world that was spinning off its axis.
How many times had they saved each other? Their needs meshing as perfectly as their desire?
How many times had he held her close as they fought their demons together?
And yet this time—when the worst parts of hell had swallowed them whole—she hadn’t come to him. Instead, she’d put a razor-sharp length of stainless steel against her own flesh, and she’d drawn her own blood for the first time in years.
All because he’d failed her. Because it was his mistakes that spawned the demons.
Because for the first time in their relationship she hadn’t trusted him to save her. And why should she, when he’d already failed so spectacularly?
He thought of that. Of the scars on her legs. Of the fresh wound that mocked him still.
He thought—and his stomach twisted with pain and self-loathing.
Mostly, he thought of Anne. His precious girl, who’d been alone and scared for days.
They’d gotten Anne back. They’d talked about Damien’s choices. The risks he’d taken to find their daughter and her kidnapper. They’d worked it out, and they were back on keel. And he knew in his gut that Nikki was strong enough to survive the whole ordeal.
But that didn’t change the simple, basic truth.
He’d failed.
Roughly, he massaged his palms over his face, then looked again at his girls, curled up together, safe and asleep.
Safe.
For now, at least.
But for the first time in a long time, Damien felt as if the shadows that had plagued his past had returned to haunt him, bringing harsh recriminations and fresh dangers.
He squared his shoulders, steeling himself. He was strong. More than that, he had resources. He had means. And he damn well had the determination to keep those encroaching horrors at bay.
Most of all, he had a life—a family—worth fighting for.
He was fucking Damien Stark.
He’d failed once.
He wouldn’t fail again.
Slowly, he drew in a breath, confidence returning. He lifted his phone, intending to check his emails for an update from Ryan Hunte
r, his security chief, about all the upgrades they were implementing. Instead, he saw the text that only a few moments ago had sent him spiraling back into bittersweet memories of Texas. Sweet, because that night in Dallas was the first time he’d laid eyes on his wife. Bitter, because it had been six long years between that first glimpse and the moment he’d finally held her in his arms.
“Damien?”
He looked up, his body reacting from nothing more than the sensuality of her sleep-heavy voice.