He lifts a brow, but his smile is gentle. “Are you under the impression that I don’t need you, Nikki?”
“I—no. But I—” I stop, confused. Because the truth is, that has been my fear, but now that he has spoken it aloud, I feel foolish. I think of the way he claimed me the night he lost himself in a flurry of tennis balls. And all the times that he has bound me, controlled me, as a counterpoint to a world spinning away from him. We soothe each other, and I know that. I see that. And yet I still cannot quell the fear that while Damien wants me desperately, he doesn’t need me the way I need him. That he doesn’t love me as desperately as I love him.
He runs his fingers through my hair. “Do you remember what I told you in Munich? About not wanting to touch you with those images in my head.”
Remember? How could I forget? But all I say is, “Of course.”
“I wasn’t entirely accurate.”
“Oh.” Since I don’t know what else to say, I simply wait.
“Pictures or not—those memories are always there. I can’t shake them. I’ve never shaken them. But you make them tolerable.” He is looking hard at me now, the emotion so raw it seems to cut right through me. “You’re what gives me strength. If I am what centers you, Nikki, then you are what anchors me. Every time I touch you, every time I bury myself deep inside you—Nikki, don’t you see? You are the talisman of my life, and if I lose my grip on you, then I have lost myself.”
“Damien,” I say, because I need to hear his name. His words swell inside me, as if they will make me burst at the seams. But I hold tight to them, for they are too precious to lose.
But though I believe his words, I cannot help but realize that however much he might think I anchor him, when the abyss loomed in Germany, I had no power to pull him back.
The thought makes me shudder, and I cling to him harder.
Because those photos are still out in the world. And they have the power to destroy the man that I love.
Chapter Twenty
By Tuesday morning, I once again feel like I have a grip on my life.
Damien and I did not stay at my office on Monday. He held me, fucked me, helped make me whole again. But that was not a place I wanted to be, and he took me to the Tower apartment, his penthouse at the top of Stark Tower. During the drive, he called Ryan, instructing him to go out to the Malibu house to check on both the security there and on Jamie.
In the penthouse, he settled me in a bath with a glass of wine. He pampered me with wine and cheese in bed. He coddled me with old movies, and he made love to me so sweetly my body sang, and when morning came I was willing to give the world another chance.
I am also acutely aware of reality, and that is why I am being driven to work by Edward, who I have learned is not only Damien’s driver, but part of the security team. And he has assured Damien that he will walk me into the office himself.
Which is why he balks when I tell him I want to stop first at Starbucks.
“Ms. Fairchild, this one doesn’t have a drive-through.”
“Just park in front. I won’t be five minutes.”
The privacy screen is down, and I can see his scowl when he looks at me in the rearview mirror.
I tilt my head and scowl back at him. “Do you really think someone is lying in wait in the coffee shop for me?”
“I think that anyone willing to call your mother for photographs is willing to study you, learn your habits, and be very, very patient.”
Since I can’t argue with that, I invite him to come in with me, sweetening the pot by offering to buy his coffee.
We’re standing in line, chatting about The Fountainhead—the audiobook he’s currently engrossed in—when the door opens and Monica comes in. She waves and hurries over. “I was hoping I’d see you today. I wanted to tell you to ignore them. They’re just money-grubbing pricks.”
I glance at Edward. I have no idea what she’s talking about. From the expression on Edward’s face, though, I think that he does.