“We know we put you through the wringer a few times with last-minute software tweaks, and you never failed to step up to the plate.”
“Travis took point for most of that,” Abby said, and Damien noticed that she rested her hand lightly on his. “He’s an incredible programmer.”
“Abby’s too kind,” Travis said, pulling his hand free and reaching for his coffee.
Laurence cleared his throat, and for a moment, Damien wondered if he was going to comment on the tension between Abby and Travis. Damien had noticed it several times that night and in the office as well. Sooner or later, whatever was bubbling under the surface would explode, and that wasn’t the kind of drama Nikki needed. Not on top of everything else.
As it turned out, though, that wasn’t the drama that Laurence wanted to raise. Instead, he apologized for the timing of the dinner.
“I don’t know how we missed the news,” he said, his voice deep with compassion, “but we only recently learned what you went through with your little girl.”
Beside him, Nikki stiffened, though this time, Damien was sure the tension was noticeable only to him. “Please don’t worry,” she said. “Anne is doing wonderfully. The house is a fortress, and she’s home safe with her nanny and our best friends.”
“We’re both very glad to hear that,” Bijan said as the waiter returned to hand Nikki the check.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Travis pushed back from the table, then started to thread his way to the men’s room. Damien stood, excused himself, then followed. He waited outside the door, then pushed Travis back in as the younger man started to exit.
“I think we need to talk.”
“Mr. Stark! What are you—”
“Are you fucking Abby?”
“Excuse me?”
“I think the question was clear, Travis. Are you fucking my wife’s business partner? Because I’m a protective man, Travis, and the people who are important to my wife are important to me. That includes Abby. Frankly, that includes you, too. So I want to know what is going on between the two of you that might impact my wife’s business.”
“Nothing.”
“I’m sorry, Travis. Have I not been making myself clear?”
“Nothing anymore,” Travis amended, then sighed. “There’s nothing. And there won’t ever be.”
Damien studied him. “Nothing or something, it’s not my business unless it affects my wife’s business. You two draw a line in the sand, you understand? And then you stay on one side or the other. Because if you don’t, there’s going to be trouble. And not just with me. You’ll end up hurting her or she’ll end up hurting you.”
“I know. Christ, you don’t think I know that?”
Damien backed off, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “You want to talk about it?”
“No. Maybe. Not now.” He scrubbed his palms over his face. “Did Bijan and Laurence notice? Did Nikki?”
“Nikki, probably.” He grinned. “She doesn’t miss much. But I don’t think the Greystone guys did.”
“Well,” Travis said on a laugh as they headed back toward the table. “That’s something.”
What? Nikki mouthed.
“Later,” he whispered as he pulled her chair out for her, then pressed a hand to her back as they headed toward the door.
Damien sent Edward a text, and as they waited for the limo, he and Nikki stood with the others at the valet stand. Travis left first, followed by Abby in an Uber. The valet was just pulling up with Bijan’s rental car when a news van squealed to a halt and a cameraman and a reporter leapt out, the camera’s light blinding.
“Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark! Is it true that you cancelled Rory Claymore’s fellowship when he was in your program because of his relationship to Louisa Crenshaw?”
Damien hooked his arm protectively around Nikki, his first thought of who the hell is Louisa Crenshaw quickly replaced by the answer. Rory’s foster sister.
“Damien? Nikki?” Bijan gestured toward his car, now ready to pull away from the curb. Damien shook his head. A nice gesture, but he wasn’t going to bolt. Not like that.
“I suggest you check your facts,” he said to the camera. “Mr. Claymore was a full fellowship recipient. He was never pulled from the program. Sadly, I don’t count him among our successful alumni since he obviously considered kidnapping as a viable alternative to hard work.”
“What do you say to the allegations that you’re responsible for Rory’s death in prison?”
“I’d say that as far as I know, you’re the first one to make that allegation, presumably for ratings. But for the record, I’ll add this—it’s unfortunate that my daughter’s confessed kidnapper was killed in custody. I would have liked the opportunity to better understand why he committed such a heinous crime. This, however, isn’t the venue for speculation about his motives or his murder.”
“Mr. Stark! Nikki!”
“We’re done here,” he said as Edward—timely as always—pulled to a stop in the middle of the street.
He got out, opened the door, then used an umbrella—on a decidedly clear night—to beat a path through the gathered crowd so that Nikki and Damien could slide inside, safe from the insanity.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” he said.
“Don’t be,” she said, kicking her shoes off and putting her feet in his lap. “It wouldn’t be a night out without cameras and obnoxious reporters. But if you want to make it better, Mr. Stark,” she added, rubbing her bare foot over his crotch, “you just go right ahead.”
Chapter Twenty-four
“Make it better,” Damien repeated, cupping his hand over her bare foot, then sliding it up her calf, her thigh. “I might be able to manage that.”
“Believe me, Mr. Stark,” she said, “you already are.” She leaned against the side of the limo, her arms above her head as she stretched, her lengthening body adding to the pressure against his cock.
“In light of Louisa Crenshaw, we need to get back home to the others.” He reached the band of her panties, then traced his fingertip along it.
She made small circles with the ball of her foot, making his mouth go dry. “Not a problem. Malibu’s a good forty-five minutes away. That sounds just about right.”
“For what, Mrs. Stark?”
“For whatever you want. For however you’re going to make the world outside this limo fall away.” She met his eyes, hers so heavy with desire, he wanted to pull her into his lap and have her ride his cock all the way back. A hard, wild ride that left them both sweaty and sated.
Tempting...
But she presented so many temptations. And while forty-five minutes wasn’t an eternity, it was time enough for more than a fast fuck. For that matter, it was time enough to play.
Gently, he slid her foot out of his lap. Then he lifted his hand up to the control panel and pushed the button to raise one of the jump seats, a set of recessed s
ingle seats that were available on demand for situations when the limo had more occupants than the bench seats along the sides and back could handle.
Not a feature he used often, but he had plans for it now, and as the chair rose mechanically from the floor, he slipped off the bench seat and moved to the single seat.
She frowned, then sat up. “Leaving me alone? Not exactly what I had in mind.”
“No? You’ve been by yourself in a limo before. From what I understand, you enjoyed it very much.”
He saw the spark light her eyes. “That was before I knew how much better it could be not being alone in the limo.”
“Arguing?”
“Never. Sir.”
He took off his suit jacket and tossed it onto the seat beside her. She glanced at it, then back at him in question.
“Fix me a drink, baby.”
She took another quick, curious glance at his jacket, then moved the short distance to the wet bar, giving him a nice view of her ass as she bent to pour him a shot of Macallan, neat.
“Sir,” she said, handing him the glass.
He downed the drink in one swallow, then put the glass down. “Make one for yourself if you want,” he said. “Or sit back down.”
She sat.
“Eager?”
She lifted a shoulder. “For what?”
He chuckled, letting his gaze roam over her, enjoying the view.
She’d worn a silk button-down blouse paired with a black pencil skirt and high-heeled pumps. She’d had a jacket at dinner, but she’d slipped it off the moment they’d entered the limo.
“Do you have any idea how perfect you were tonight? How much you impressed your clients?”
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” he assured her. “You were amazing. And very, very sexy.”
She laughed. “Not what I was going for.” She met his eyes. “Except for you. Always for you.”
“Prove it. Take off your shirt.”
She held his gaze, then slowly unbuttoned her blouse. She wore a lace bra, and as she slipped off the shirt, he could see her nipples straining against the lace. His cock tightened, his blood pounding.