"So they are serious," I say, and she guffaws.
"I didn't say that," Evelyn says as Jamie wanders over. "To tell you the truth, I think he's with the ice princess because with her it's so easy to keep that chill around his heart."
"Oh." I'm not sure what to say to that, but I'm surprised how sad her words make me feel. Not because I want him and Carmela to be serious, but because I hate the thought that this man is keeping the heart of himself locked up behind walls. I know something about that, after all, and for a brief moment, I can't help but feel that Stark and I are kindred spirits.
Someone waves Evelyn over, and as soon as she slips off, Jamie leans in close to me. "What's with you? You're still all about Stark tonight."
"I am," I admit. "It's so weird. I feel like I know him. No," I add, correcting myself, "I feel like he knows me. It's the strangest thing."
"No shit," Jamie says. "Just be careful, okay? Damien Stark goes through women like water. You don't want to end up being one of many. And you don't want to screw up the good thing you're finally getting going with Ollie."
"I won't," I say, because she's right. Ollie is a good thing. Hell, he's perfect for me, and it's about time we acted on it. He's a man who loves me. Who already knows all my secrets. Who takes care of me. And that's not something I want to lose. "I promise," I add. "I'm just--"
"Off-kilter," she finishes. "I know. That's my point. Don't do anything stupid."
I assure her again that I won't, and she leaves when Evelyn waves us over to join a group singing Christmas carols around the piano. I hang back, not in the mood to sing, and instead am taking one last look at the painting before I go check out the view from the balcony when I feel a shift in the air.
I stand perfectly straight, the hairs on the back of my neck tingling, my entire body suddenly hyperaware.
"Nikki Fairchild." His voice is as soft as a caress, and has about the same effect on me, sending a sensual trill racing up my spine. He steps up beside me so that we are both facing Blaine's painting.
"Damien Stark," I say in return, then shift so that I am looking at him more directly. I immediately regret that. The man truly takes my breath away. "How do you know my name?"
"I asked Evelyn," he says. "I wanted to know the name of the woman who was so eager to talk to me."
"Excuse me?"
"You've been looking for me all night," he says. "You'd search the crowd, then stop when your eyes found me, then repeat the process again whenever you lost track of me."
I consider denying it, but what would be the point? "You must have been paying attention yourself."
Very slowly, his gaze rakes over me, and it's all I can do not to reach for him simply to steady myself.
"Yes," he says. "I was."
"Oh."
"Why?"
I blink, confused. "Why?"
"Why were you looking for me?"
"Oh. Right." I clear my throat, then tell him that I have a proposal on his desk.
"I know. I recognized your name the moment Evelyn told me. It's an interesting concept. Elegant. Brilliantly coded from what I've seen."
"Then you're interested?" I'm not sure if the tingle of excitement I feel is because of the man or the work.
He is looking directly into my eyes when he says, "I'm very interested." And, damn me, I feel the reverberation of his voice all through me, settling ultimately between my thighs.
I swallow. "I think maybe we should stick to business, Mr. Stark."
"I'm off the clock, Ms. Fairchild. If it's just business you want to talk about, I'll head over to the piano now and we can make an appointment for after the holidays. Do you want me to leave you alone?"
Absolutely, totally not. "It's a free country, Mr. Stark." I turn back to the painting as I speak.
He stays. And I know damn well that he sees right through my feigned disinterest.
For a moment, we both look at the image in front of us, and the longer I look at the woman, naked and bound, the more I think that I need to get out of here before I do something stupid, like go home with this man. Because just his presence alone is messing with my head.
Add in vibrant erotic art, and I'm about to explode.
"She wants something more," Stark finally says. "Something deeper."
"What do you mean?"
"It's her first time. See the expression on her face? She's excited, but there's a hesitancy. She's not sure what to expect, but whatever is coming, she knows that she wants it. Wants him," he adds, pointing to the shadow. "And he's teasing her. Holding out. Making her wait so that the first time is as much about her expectations as her reality."
He bends his head toward me. "That's the best sex," he says. "It's not enough to fuck a woman's body. You have to touch her mind, too."
I raise a brow, trying to be cavalier even though his words are burning through me. "A mind fuck, Mr. Stark?" I ask, and he laughs.
"That's one way of putting it. My point is that she's primed for something new. Something different. She's searching, trying to find what she needs. Who she needs. And she's finding it in the shadows. In the unexpected. I can understand that." He turns his head to look at me. "I wonder if you can, too."
He's looking at me intently now. So much so that I take a step back, uncomfortable under the
weight of his inspection.
"Can you, Ms. Fairchild? Can you understand what she's feeling?"
I can--dear god, I can. But I shake my head anyway, denying more than the answer. Denying the very question. "I barely know you, Mr. Stark."
"No. That's not true, and we both know it."
A million butterflies start to flutter in my stomach, but I stay perfectly still, mesmerized by his words.
"I don't understand it," he continues. "And, honestly, I'm not comfortable with enigmas. But I can't deny reality when it's staring me in the face. You do know me, Nikki. And I know you. Don't tell me you haven't felt it, too."
"I don't know what you mean," I lie. "We only just met. How could I possibly know you?"
He doesn't even miss a beat. "So get to know me."
"You have a girlfriend."
"If that's what you want to call it, then yes. I do. So?"
"So?" I repeat. "So, duh."
He laughs. "I'm not a saint, Nikki. I've fucked around. A lot, actually. I've moved on to the next and the next after that. I've lived most of my life taking what I want. But it's a life that feels unreal and just a little off-kilter."
The word seems to flash in neon in my mind. "Off-kilter?" I repeat.
He ignores me. Instead he steps in closer, and I catch the scent of his cologne. Hell, I can practically feel the heat he exudes. His voice is low, meant for my ears only, and the words seem to flow over me, sensual and enticing.
"I like to fuck, Nikki, and I'm very good at making a woman feel incredible. But all those women? I look at them and I see an ending."
My mouth has gone dry, and I can barely get my words out. "Why are you telling me this?"
His smile is full of wicked promise. "Because with you, I see a beginning."
I swallow, then force myself to flash one of my practiced, plastic smiles. "Great line. Does it work often?"
"I don't know." He is looking at me as if he knows all my secrets. "I've never used it before."
Oh. I shake my head, because this can't be happening. We. Just. Met. He's playing me. He has to be playing me.
"I need to go," I say, flustered.