He turns to face me. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He smiles, but I can see now that the tension in his shoulders is across his whole body.
“Damien? What’s wrong?”
“Lawyers and assholes,” he says, then shakes his head. “Sorry. It’s been one of those days.”
“Should I go?”
“Never.” He holds out a hand and I go to him. He pulls me against him and I feel his cock harden against my thigh. “Nikki.” He sighs, his lips in my hair.
I start to tilt my head up, longing for his kiss, but the sharp ring of his phone interrupts and he gently pushes me away.
“I’ve been expecting that,” he says by way of apology as he grabs the phone off a table. “Is it done?” he demands. “Good. Yes, I understand that, but I also understand that I pay you for advice. The ultimate decisions are mine. Yes, I do. Twelve-point-six? Fuck it, I would have paid more, and you goddamn well know it. I’m damn sure it was the right call; she’s not getting dragged into this mess. No—no, it’s done. I’m not interested in reevaluating the decision. I made my play, we’re running with it.”
There is a long pause, then, “Shit, Charles, that isn’t what I want to hear. Well, then why the fuck do I pay you?”
So he’s talking to Charles Maynard. I realize I’m being nosy, but I pay more attention, trying to discern meaning from a one-sided conversation. It isn’t easy.
“Right, right. Did your PI locate the man I’m interested in? Oh, really? Well, that’s a bit of good news. I’ll deal with it first thing tomorrow.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. I shift the conversation to the back of my mind and only half listen. Especially since the call seems to go on forever.
“What about London? She’s settled again? No, it can’t be helped. I’ll fly over next week. What? Well, she’s not leaving me much choice.”
He sighs and paces. “And the San Diego problem? I want someone on that. What? Are you fucking kidding me? Shit, how did they dig that up?”
I pick up Damien’s discarded clothes, intending to hang them up for him. But I’m overcome with a devilish little urge, and I give in to it, then tug the slacks over my hips and slip my arms into Damien’s sleeves. There’s something wonderfully sensual about being clad in Damien’s clothes, even if I am technically breaking the rules with the pants.
I’m so preoccupied with the shirt’s buttons that I don’t even realize the call has ended. More than that, I don’t notice Damien’s raw temper until I hear the sharp smash of plastic and glass colliding with the stonework above the fireplace.
He’s thrown his cell phone.
“Damien?” I hurry to him. “Are you okay?”
He looks me up and down, but I’m not sure he’s seeing the clothes. Not sure he’s hearing anything but the conversation that he must be replaying over and over again in his mind.
“Damien?”
“No,” he snaps. “I’m not okay. Are you—oh, God, Nikki.”
“Me? I’m fine. I’m—” He shuts me off with a kiss, hard and brutal. Our teeth clack together, and he twists his fingers in my hair to hold my head in place while he assaults my mouth with such force I’m certain my lips will bruise.
He moves us backward, then throws me down on the bed, his hands going to the waistband of the pants. They are loose on me, and he tugs them down, but not off, so they remain on my calves and ankles, like strange ropes binding my legs in place.
He scoots me back and roughly spreads my knees, and I’m wet, so damn wet as he moves to straddle me. Before I know it, he thrusts his cock deep inside me. He pumps, hard and fast and brutal. I watch his face. The face of a man fighting a battle. The face of a man who will keep fighting until he wins.
I reach for him, but some instinct has me dropping my hands. Damien needs this—he needs to take me. To truly take me.