“But the photos—that’s the thing you’ve been fighting against all along. That abuse is the reason you wouldn’t testify. You were willing to go to jail rather than let it go public.”
“I was,” he says. “But I’m an arrogant son of a bitch, and I don’t think I ever really believed that the court would convict me. I don’t think I believed that I could lose you.” He strokes his thumb along my chin. “But I lost you anyway, Nikki, and I had to make a decision. And the truth is that I’m doing fine. I wouldn’t call it an ideal situation having my private life be the topic of editorials and talk shows, but I’m surviving. And it was my choice. Not a decision forced on me because my lawyers said I needed to put up a defense, but a real, honest decision where I weighed what I have and what I fear against what I want.”
I shake my head, not following.
“What I mean is that there is only one thing that could rip me apart more than those photos—that did rip me apart—and that’s losing you. So I balanced the weight of my past against the promise of my future.” He brushes a kiss over my lips. “The future won.”
My smile is watery. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. About secrets and shadows. I needed you to believe I was really breaking up with you.”
“You were right,” he says.
“No, not entirely. But we don’t have to argue about it. I know damn well your secrets aren’t going to start spilling out just because I won that argument.”
His smile is soft. “You probably have a point.” His eyes soak up my face, and a small smile plays at his mouth.
“What?” I finally say.
“I’m just happy you found me.” He frowns. “How did you find me?”
I allow myself the smallest of smug smiles. “Sweetheart, I will always find you.”
“I’m very happy to hear that,” he says. His fingers trail down my arm, bare beneath my paint-splattered tank top. I’d been too eager to find Damien to bother changing out of my crappy clothes, though I did manage to take a shower yesterday, so I’m not totally disgusting. The trajectory of his hand shifts, and he cups my breast, his thumb flicking lightly over my nipple, and each tiny tug sends a hot wire of electricity jolting through my belly and down to my sex.
As if he’s curious about the effect his touch has on me, Damien trails his hand down, leaving my breast to ease lightly over my tank toward the drawstring waist of my shorts. “I want to know everything you did these weeks we were apart. I don’t want to feel like we’ve missed a moment of our life together. But, Nikki, I don’t give a damn about that now. All I want is you naked and wet and open for me.”
I meet his eyes, wait a beat, and then peel off my tank top. It has a built-in shelf bra, so I’m now naked from the waist up. “You can take care of the rest of that yourself,” I say, putting my hand on his and sliding our joined fingers into the shorts. I’m not wearing underwear, and I buck with pleasure when his fingers stroke my clit, then slide inside me.
“I think you want me, Ms. Fairchild.”
“Desperately,” I say, then fumble to shove down my shorts.
I lay back, naked, as he leans over me. “Leave your T-shirt on,” I say as my fingers work the fly of his jeans. “You look like a sexy rebel.”
He laughs. “I am. I thought you knew.”