Play My Game (Stark Trilogy 3.3)

“How?”

His smile is tight. “I’m going to play a hunch. And then I’m going to negotiate.”

“You mean you’re going to threaten.”

“Sweetheart,” he says. “You know me so well.”

He pulls out his phone.

“What’s the hunch?” I ask before he can dial.

“I’m willing to believe that Douglas isn’t the brains behind this—that man couldn’t find his dick without a woman or a map—but his claim that releasing the tape will destroy him is bullshit. That tape gets out, and suddenly he’s the guy who screwed Nikki Stark’s best friend. That’s worth something to a worm like him.”

“You think someone approached him?”

“I do,” Damien says.

“Who?”

He shakes his head. “I have a few ideas, but no confirmation.”

I swallow, and though I say nothing, my fear is that Damien thinks his father—a man who has about a million recent reasons to hold a grudge—is behind this.

“Will Douglas tell you who it is?” I ask.

“To be honest, I believe Douglas when he says he doesn’t know.”

“So someone approached him anonymously?”

“That’s my guess. Which means that at the very least, Douglas has a way to get a message back to them.” He pulls out his phone. “And I’m going to insist that he deliver mine. That he tell his handler that if Valentine’s Day passes with no photos released to the media, then I will ignore this lapse in judgment on their part. But if a single photo turns up where it doesn’t belong, I will not stop until I’ve made the life of every person involved a complete living hell.

“And then,” he adds, with the scary kind of smile that makes me remember why he does so damn well in the shark-infested waters of corporate America, “I’ll invite law enforcement to the party, just to add a little spice to the mix.”

After Damien puts the fear of God into Douglas, he suggests that we put it away and enjoy the rest of our last day. After all, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, and we’ll know soon enough if it worked.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Mr. Stark. What do you have in mind?”

“Actually,” he says. “I thought I’d teach you a bit about sailing.”

As it turns out, I’m a hopeless student. I’m much more interested in watching Damien move, all masculine and athletic grace. His second item on the agenda, snorkeling, is much more my speed, and I follow him into the warm water as soon as the boat is anchored. The reef is teeming with color and life, and I watch all of it, mesmerized, and then delighted when Damien points out both a manta ray and a sea turtle.

Back on the boat, I sit on the deck, a towel wrapped around me as the sun sinks toward the horizon.

Damien is expertly maneuvering us back to the island, and I feel completely at peace out here on the wide, blue sea. Despite the dicey start to the morning, everything is calm now. We’ve both pushed it aside, I think. Hopefully, there will be no pictures released tomorrow, but if there are, we’ll deal. If there’s one thing I’m certain of, Damien and I can handle pretty much anything so long as we are together.

I’m surprised when he maneuvers the boat past the rental dock from where we’d departed. Instead, he follows the shore, and then brings the boat in to the small dock that extends from our private beach.

“Door-to-door service?”

“Only the best for you,” he answers.

It’s only once I’m off the boat and back at the bungalow that I see how seriously he means those words. The small pool in the bungalow courtyard is filled with floating candles, turning it into a magical fairyland. A bottle of wine is open beside a giant, round lounge chair designed for two. And beside the wine is a plate filled with cheeses and meats and covered with a clear glass lid to protect it from the elements.

Beside the pool, the hot tub bubbles, and I remember what I’d said about wanting to take a bath in the Jacuzzi tub. This, I think, is just as appealing.

“How did you do this?” I ask.

“I believe I’ve mentioned that I have a rather large bank account which allows me to purchase a surprising variety of goods and services.”

“Must be nice being you,” I tease, then slide into his open arms.

“It’s better now that I have you,” he says, and I almost melt from the depth of emotion that fills his voice.

He tugs me to the lounge chair, and then slowly undresses me before telling me to lay back and close my eyes.

I do, and my reward is Damien’s touch.

I cannot count the different ways that he has touched me since we have been together, but his touch tonight is deceptive, its simplicity hiding a power to drive me over the edge.

All he uses is a finger.

Slowly, he traces his forefinger over my leg, drawing soft patterns. Teasing me behind my knee. Stroking gently up my inner thigh, but not quite high enough. And though I moan a bit and squirm in silent demand, he does not stroke my sex.

Instead, his finger trails only in that soft area between thigh and genitals, but that is enough to send tremors running through me, shifting the rest of my body into a state of hyperawareness so that innocent touches are suddenly anything but. Even his finger slowly circling my belly button makes my sex clench with longing.

Featherlight touches continue upward, caressing every inch of me and paying extra attention to my breasts until my nipples are so hard and tight that I have to bite my lower lip so as to not beg him to close his mouth over me and suck my breast until I come.

Finally, that wonderful, damnable finger traces my lower lip, then teases its way inside my mouth. “Suck,” he demands, that one word holding a world of erotic possibilities.

I do, drawing him in, and feeling the shock of sensation travel through me like an electric current that runs from my mouth to my cunt. There is no part of me now that isn’t open to him. Desperate for him.

“Please,” I whisper, and then tremble with need as he stretches out beside me so that his body is pressed against mine and all those erogenous zones that he has created sparkle and fire in anticipation.

“Tell me what you want.”

“You know,” I say. “I want to feel you inside me. Please, oh please, Damien.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” he says, slowly rolling onto his back and urging me on top of him. “Anything you need.”

What I need is him. He has ministered to my body for what feels like an eternity and every cell in my skin is humming with desire.