He bit back a smile, his mood suddenly lighter. He’d already decided that Lara would have a fine career as an opera singer, because the girl definitely had a solid pair of lungs.
“I think he heard you just fine.” Nikki’s gentle voice was as soothing as a caress, and though he still had a stack of items marked Urgent to review, he pushed away from the desk and hurried to the staircase that led from the mezzanine to the kitchen.
“Dadeeeeee!” Anne’s shrill cry joined the fray. “Beck-fast!”
“Did someone call me?” he asked as he entered the kitchen seconds later.
“Baba!” Lara threw herself into his arms, her use of the Chinese word squeezing his heart. They’d adopted her at twenty months, and though she’d called him both Baba and Daddy for a long time after that, more recently she’d taken to only calling him Daddy. Nostalgia washed over him, and he lifted her into his arms, his eyes on Nikki, who stood in front of the griddle with a spatula in her hand.
“Uh-oh,” he said to Lara. “Mommy’s making breakfast.”
“Just for that, you get cereal, Mister.”
“Phew,” he teased, putting Lara down as Anne squealed, “Pipcakes! Choca pip-cakes!”
“Not today, kiddo,” Nikki said. “Scrambled eggs.”
“Mommy!” Both girls managed the cry in unison.
“Eggs today, pancakes tomorrow,” Damien told them. “Whine today, no pancakes tomorrow. Okay?”
He looked at each girl in turn, and though they pouted, they both nodded. “If only all my problems could be handled with such high-level negotiations,” he said, making Nikki laugh. “And by the way, good morning.”
“Good morning to you, too,” she said as he moved to the table and settled in next to Anne. “But what’s the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing. Just work.”
She tilted her head, her brows raised. “Remember me? I’m the woman who knows you better than anyone.”
“You do,” he agreed, amused.
She poured the bowl of eggs onto the griddle, then pointed the spatula at him. “We said no more secrets, Damien.”
“And I’m not keeping one.” He took Anne’s sippy cup and refilled it with apple juice. “I’ll tell you. I just don’t want to poison the morning.”
For a moment, she said nothing. “Fair enough. But we’re home, and we’re safe, and we can handle anything.”
Slowly, he nodded. And as she turned back to the eggs, he stood up again, then moved behind her, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her close.
“Careful, Mr. Stark. Wouldn’t want to burn the eggs. Or give the kids a show.”
He laughed, and the feel of it in his chest underscored what he already knew—that she was right. They were together. And they would be fine.
“Breckenridge wants to meet with us. And with Jackson. Says he wants to apologize to you. Then he wants to talk to Jackson and me. He contacted the legal department to request the appointment. I haven’t responded.”
“Oh.” She’d gone stiff in his arms.
“That was pretty much my reaction,” Damien admitted. “What do you want to do?”
She set the spatula down and put her hands on his, making him hold her even tighter. “I’m not interested in seeing or talking to him. If it’s important to him that he apologizes, he can say the words to you. If you meet with him,” she added, looking over her shoulder at him.
“Should I?”
He saw the hint of humor flash in her eyes and was relieved. “Asking my advice about the running of your empire, Mr. Stark?”
“Always.”
“Liar. But it’s a nice thought. Whatever you decide is okay. He was horrible when he called me, but he didn’t say anything that hadn’t been said before. I did take a million dollars in exchange for posing for a nude painting. And you’ve talked openly about the way Richter abused you and what happened with Sofia,” she added, referring to his former asshole of a tennis coach, who was also Sofia’s father. “Hell, you launched a whole charity because of it, and you’ve helped a lot of kids.”
“All true,” he said. “But he doesn’t get to call you out of the blue and use our pasts as a weapon.”
“No,” she agreed. “He doesn’t.”
For a moment they were silent, and he was certain they were both remembering what Breckenridge had said to her that day. She’d told him in detail, and with every foul word, Damien’s blood had boiled.
“The incredible Damien Stark and the coach’s daughter? So what if he told the world? It still reeks. And he thinks he’s better than me? Do you think I don’t know what he paid you to do? That painting. That money? He paid you like a whore, little girl, and then he married you to make you both feel better about it.”
Yeah, those weren’t words you came back from.
He waited until she’d finished the eggs and had served the girls. Then he took her hand, told Lara to keep an eye on her sister, and led Nikki out of the kitchen.
The third floor was built with entertaining in mind. Ironic, since before Nikki entered his life, Damien rarely entertained. And he’d designed this house before he’d had any hope of finally having his pageant beauty in his bed, much less as his wife.
But serendipity worked that way sometimes, and now this floor was the heart of the house. The open area at the top of the stairs served as a combination living and entertaining area. The kitchen—originally intended to be a small work-kitchen for caterers—was their regular dining spot. The master bedroom was on this floor. And although they’d originally intended for the girls to have rooms on the first or second floors, that had changed after too many trips up and down. Now their daughters shared a room behind the master. And the third floor was the most childproofed floor in the history of architecture.
It was, Damien thought, an exquisite area, even better than he’d originally imagined since now it had love and laughter and life to fill it. And a cat, he added, noticing the way Sunshine sprawled in front of the glass doors that led to the balcony overlooking the Pacific.
But none of that was what he’d brought Nikki into the room to show her.
“Here,” he said, standing at the top of the stairs and facing the stone wall and the fireplace. And there, hanging over it, was his favorite piece of art in the world. “It’s a work of beauty,” he said, easing her in front of him and wrapping his arms around her, his chin resting on her head. “Exquisite.”
“Well, Blaine’s a very good artist.”
He chuckled. “He is. And for this piece, he had an exceptional model.”
The painting was a nude, a stunning portrait with erotic overtones. Nikki stood with her face turned away, gossamer drapes caressing her body and her hands bound behind her back with a red sash. Binding her to him, he’d thought, unaware at the time the painting was commissioned just how prescient that image would be.
“He wanted me to be ashamed,” Nikki whispered.
“Did it work?”
She shook her head. “I’m proud of this painting. And I’m proud of the money I earned and how I used it to start my own business. But even if you hadn’t paid me a dime, I wouldn’t have regretted posing.” She turned in his arms. “This painting bound us. As tightly as that red cord.”
He closed his eyes and bent his forehead to hers, knowing that he shouldn’t be amazed that she was voicing his thoughts. “You’re everything to me. You know that, right? You and the girls are my life. My breath.”
“And you’re mine, Mr. Stark. Forever and beyond.”
Chapter Seven
“What’s the verdict?” she asked later as they were sitting by the pool watching the girls play in the shallow end.
“Verdict?”
“About Breckenridge. Are you going to meet with him? I mean, I think he’s swine, but if you think he deserves the chance to apologize, I won’t disagree. It’s not my decision to make.”
“I told Rachel to schedule a meeting tomorrow afternoon. But not because I want to give him the
chance to apologize. I want to look into his eyes and get a read on him, knowing what I know now.”
She cocked her head, studying him. “You think he might be behind the vandalism at my office.”
“I think he’s a vile human, and I wouldn’t put that kind of thing past him.”
She nodded, obviously agreeing.
“Mommy!” Lara’s voice cut through the lingering silence. “Can we go down to the playscape?”