“That’s it?” She licked her lips. “You’re just sending me away? Like that’ll make it all better?”
For a moment, he could only stand there, feeling so damned exhausted. Then he moved to the sofa and sat beside her, taking her hand.
“Come on, Sofia. Can you honestly tell me this isn’t for the best? We’ll always be friends, but it’s not good for you and me to be this close together. You know that, right?”
She nodded.
“Do you really even want to stay?”
She shook her head, then wiped her eyes with her free hand. “No.” Her voice was low. Thin. “I want to get away so badly. But I didn’t—I didn’t know how.”
“Just ask me. When have I not helped you? Even in the worst of it—”
“I know. You did.” She wiped away a tear. “I love you, you know.”
A fist tightened around his heart. “Sofia, please…”
“No, no, I don’t mean—it’s just that you’re my best friend. I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too. And it’s not goodbye. It’s just distance.”
She drew in a breath and gave him a shaky smile. “I know. Will you tell Nikki I’m really sorry? And I’ll pay her back. Whatever it cost to clean up her office, plus some. I will.”
“I know. You’ll see your counselor when you’re back in the UK? Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Good.” He kissed her forehead, then stood up. “Order room service. Whatever you want. Then pack your things. I’ll arrange the jet and have Edward pick you up in a few hours. Okay?”
“Can I leave in the morning? I’d like—I’d like to walk on the beach. And maybe say a few goodbyes?”
He almost said no, but that was just because he wanted this chapter closed. Of course she should have the chance to say goodbye to the friends she’d made in the months she’d been in the States.
“Tomorrow, then,” he said. “But I’m going to have Ryan assign one of his security team to say with you until you’re on the plane. Fair enough?”
Her shoulders rose and fell. “You don’t trust me.”
“Should I?”
Her lips pressed together, and she studied her hands in her lap.
“Call me when you’re settled.”
“I will,” she promised. And then, just as he reached the door, she said, “Thank you.”
* * * *
Damien was relieved to have reached some sort of resolution with Sofia, but by the time he pulled up in front of the Malibu house, his friend was the last thing on his mind. Instead, his thoughts were on last night in the gym.
He’d been such an ass. Too lost in his own pain to realize that she’d thrown him a rescue line and was offering to pull him out of the mire. To hold him close and make it better.
All he’d done was push her away.
He needed to make it up to her, but other than finding and destroying Anne’s kidnapper, he didn’t know what would be enough.
So many fuck-ups on his shoulders, and he didn’t know how to make it all right. He felt lost, and he never felt lost. Unsure, and he never felt unsure.
And he felt alone. Because even though he had the most incredible wife a man could hope for, he’d pushed her away. All because he was an arrogant fool.
He parked the car in the drive, then killed the engine. But instead of getting out, he clutched the steering wheel, bent his head, and let himself drift away on an ocean of self-recrimination.
He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. All he knew was that he was jolted from his roiling thoughts by the familiar chime of his phone—a chime that signaled a text from Nikki.
The feathered edge of hope brushed lightly against him, and he checked his phone, smiling as he read the message.
Good morning, Mr. Stark. There’s brunch waiting for you in the bungalow.
The words, so simple, were like sunshine to his heart. More, they were like a mirror reflecting back a truth that he didn’t want to see—that as smart as he might be, sometimes he missed the mark by a mile.
Did he really think that he was the one taking care of her? That was bullshit. Nikki was taking care of him.
And how he’d ever survive a day without her, he really didn’t know. Frankly, he didn’t intend to find out.
He walked down the unpaved drive that ran from the front of the house down to the beach and the bungalow, passing the main door to go around to the deck on the back, expecting he’d find his wife there. Instead, he found a house that appeared to be completely closed up. The blinds were down, the windows shuttered. As far as he could tell, the bungalow was quiet and empty.
He checked the text again, but she’d definitely said the bungalow, and now he hurried to the door, not entirely sure if it was anticipation that was making him hurry or the fear that something was wrong.
He punched in the code, pushed open the door, and knew immediately that there was nothing at all to fear.
On the contrary, he’d just stepped into someplace magical.
As far as he could tell, every surface in the kitchen and living area was covered in white candles. Every surface, that is, except the kitchen island. The only thing on the island was his wife, stretched out like an offering, and completely naked.
“Nikki.”
Her name was little more than a breath. A quiet prayer. A heartfelt thank you.
She was beautiful. Her hair gleaming. Her skin glowing golden in the flickering light. Shadows dancing over her in a way that his fingers envied.
“Baby, this is…”
He trailed off. Rarely was he at a loss for words, but right now, his vocabulary had abandoned him.
“I told you there was brunch,” she said, and spread her legs just a little, making his body ache with a sensual craving.
He took a step toward her. “It looks absolutely delicious.” He put his hands on her ankles, then gently stroked his palms up to her thighs, spreading her legs as he did. He tugged her gently closer, watching the way her body slid toward him on the polished countertop.
But then, as he started to bend, desperate to taste the feast between her thighs, she pulled her legs together, then propped herself up on her elbows, her expression managing to be both serious and teasing. “Don’t get too excited, Mr. Stark. Not a single taste for you until you stop shutting me out. And don’t even try to deny it.”
“I would
n’t dream of it,” he said, amused. He trailed a finger up her leg and side, grazing her breast as he circled the island, then went to sit on the couch on the far side of the living area. “Come here.”
She turned her head to the side, looking at him, and said nothing.
“Nikki. Come here.”
He saw the hint of a smile playing on her lips as she slowly sat up, then slid off the island. She’d tossed her white robe over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and now she reached for it.
“Oh, no,” he said. “If I’m going to spill my soul, we’re doing this my way.”
“Are we?” She tilted her head, studying him. “What’s your way?”
“You straddling my lap so that I can see your face when we talk. And naked will work just fine.”
“That’s it?”
He matched her grin. “No, but it’s a start.”
“Hmm.” She walked slowly toward him, then climbed onto his lap, her knees on the couch, tight against his hips, and her hands on his shoulders. “I think I’ve lost control of this intervention.”
“Is that what this is?” he asked.
She brushed a kiss over his lips. “It is. I’m worried about you.”
“You’re worried about me,” he repeated, then cupped her face. “Baby, don’t you remember? You cut. For the first time since we’ve been together you took a blade to your skin.”
“I did,” she said. “And the circumstances were horrible. I was afraid and off-balance and the world was spinning out from under me. But you got me through it, Damien.” She pressed her forehead against his. “And you can’t use my cutting as your excuse.”
He felt himself tense, her words hitting a little too close to the truth. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s an intervention, remember? I’m talking about you. Tell me what’s in your head, Damien. Because our daughter was kidnapped and it turns out her kidnapper wasn’t acting alone.”
He swallowed, but said nothing.
“The world’s spinning away from us, and don’t tell me you’re handling it. Because I know you are. So am I. But it still hurts.”
She kissed him lightly. “Add in that I cut and that the woman you suffered through your childhood with vandalized my office, and I’m going to go out on a limb and say that you’re having a whole series of pretty crappy days.”