“The situation, no. I’m merely anticipating the joy of decimating whoever started a rumor like that. I will stand for a lot of things, but corporate espionage isn’t one of them. And suggesting that my girlfriend is my spy makes it that much worse.”
I swallow. I tease Damien about the extent of his empire all the time, but sometimes I forget just how wide a net he casts and just how much power he really has. He will find out who started that rumor, be it Tanner or someone else. And I do not doubt that he’ll destroy them.
Like Ollie has said—Damien is dangerous. To his enemies, at least.
“This is not my first choice for a topic of conversation,” he says.
“Nor mine,” I say, relieved. “Tell me about your day.”
“I’d rather hear what you’re doing right now. Where are you?”
“On our bed,” I say. “Thinking of you.”
“Are you really? I can picture you,” he says. “Lying back, hair on the pillow, your naked body stretched out on top of the duvet.”
I can’t help but laugh. “As much as I love the fantasy, jeans and a ratty T-shirt are closer to the truth. Jamie’s in the other room. Which reminds me—where are you? You’re not still in Palm Springs, are you?”
“The day was interminable. I’m in the limo now, getting close to LA. I’m going to send a driver to pick you up. I want you home when I get there.” The heat from his voice is enough to melt me, and I make a little sighing noise as I lie back with my eyes closed and let the whiskey-smooth words wash over me.
“I want you in bed,” he continues. “I want you naked.”
My smile is lopsided and a little drunk. “But the bed’s here,” I remind him. I roll over and stretch my arm out across it, pretending that I’m reaching for Damien.
“The apartment,” he says. “The security desk will give you the codes to get inside. Naked, Nikki. Leave your clothes in a pile by the door so I can see them when I get home. I want to know you’re inside and that you’re wet and that you’re waiting for me.”
My lips are parted, and my breathing is shallow. Little shivers of electricity race across my skin, and I close my eyes, lost to the power of his words.
“There’s wine in the fridge. Pour yourself a glass and sip it. Take it to the living room. You’ll be thinking of me, Nikki, alone in my house. Alone in all those places I’ve fucked you. You’ll lie down on the couch with your wine beside you. One hand on the glass, one hand on your breast. Maybe a dab of wine on your fingertips as your hand drifts lazily over your body. You’ll be thinking of me, won’t you, baby?”
“Yes.” I can barely speak.
“Your breasts. Your nipples. The insides of your thighs. I want you wet for me, baby. A little drunk and a whole lot wet.”
“Damien.” I barely breathe his name. His words have gone to my head like the wine he wants me to drink—like the margaritas I already have drunk. My teeth graze over my lower lip, and I realize that I’m making small, gyrating movements with my hips, the pressure of the seam of my jeans against my throbbing sex taking me so very, very close.
“Do you understand?” he asks.
“Mmm.”
“And when you get my text that I’m pulling in to the garage, I want you to go in the bedroom and lie facedown on the bed. Then spread your legs. I’ll be there soon, and when I step into the bedroom the first thing I want to see is you wide open and wet for me. I’ve missed you today, Nikki,” he adds, his voice a low, demanding growl. “I need to touch you. I want my hand on your cunt when you come, and I want to hold you tight as you tremble in my arms. Mostly, I want to hear you scream my name.”
I can’t help myself—I moan aloud.
“What?” Jamie calls from her bedroom. Her voice fills the apartment. And completely erases the sensual haze to which I have succumbed.
I sit up, my head throbbing with both the motion and the realization that I was very close to getting off with my best friend in the next room.
“Nothing,” I shout to her. “I’m just talking to Damien.”