“I’ll fight whatever dragons you want me to,” he says with a seriousness that belies my teasing tone. “But you don’t need a knight. You’re strong, Nikki. Hell, you’re exceptional.”
I conjure up the Social Nikki smile. “Is that a line you give to all the women you date?”
“Date?” I hear the hardness creeping into his voice. “I’ve escorted a lot of women around this town, and I’ve fucked a hell of a lot of them. But I didn’t date them.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure if I’m surprised or angry or sad or relieved. True, I need to end this with Damien; I need to protect myself and my secrets. But that implies that there is something to end, and now I fear that I was right all along—I’m just a conquest. A fast fuck before he moves on. And all that bullshit Jamie said about him wanting me was exactly that—bullshit.
Damien is watching my face, but I can’t get a read on his expression.
I turn back around and pick up an already dry bowl and start attacking it with the dishrag I’m still holding. “So that’s it? You just fuck them and dump them?”
“That’s a bit harsh,” he says. “Dump suggests they wanted something more, and I’m quite certain that all they wanted was to be photographed on my arm and have a bit of fun in my bed.”
“All of them?” I keep my back to him. This conversation has turned surreal.
“I’ve gone out with a few women who wanted more. I disentangled myself from those women. And no, I didn’t sleep with them.”
“Oh.” The dish is bone dry, but I’m still moving the rag over it. “So you just don’t do relationships?”
“Not with them.”
“Why not?”
His hand closes gently on my shoulder and I feel the now-familiar heat. “Because none of them was the woman I wanted,” he says as he turns me so that I have no choice but to look at him. His eyes are dark and intense, his voice is like a caress. My heart pounds in my chest, and breathing has suddenly become difficult. I think about the way he looked at me six years ago, that one glance that inspired so many fantasies. But that’s not what he means; I know it can’t be.
“But you did date someone not too long ago,” I say, then immediately regret the words when I see his expression darken. Nice turning to ice.
For a moment, I don’t think he’s going to answer. Finally, he nods. “Yes,” he confirms. “I suppose I did.”
So was she the woman you wanted? The question seems to hang in front of me, but I can’t say it out loud.
The silence thickens and I feel like an idiot for mentioning the woman in the first place. Finally, I lick my lips. “I heard that she died. I’m so sorry.”
His face is hard, his jaw tense with the effort of holding in a strong emotion. “It was tragic.” His voice sounds unnaturally tight.
I nod, but I don’t pursue it any longer. I don’t know why he told me that he didn’t date at all when it’s so clear that this woman meant something to him, but I’m not going to push. Considering the secrets I’m keeping, I can hardly fault him for holding on to a few of his own.
I’m tired now, though, and I want to be alone. I want to find Jamie and go to the corner store and get ice cream and cookies. I want to watch sappy old movies and sit on the couch and cry.
I want Damien Stark out of my head.
Mostly, I want to try to forget the way his touch makes me feel, because I need to abandon even the fantasy of Damien Stark. It’s too raw, too real. And despite the fact that I know I have to, the thought of pushing him away rips right through my heart.
I pull out Social Nikki and smile brightly as I toss my dish-towel on the counter. “Listen, it was nice of you to come by to check on me. But I’m fine. Really. And I’m actually in a little bit of a hurry. I don’t mean to be rude, but …” I trail off, looking meaningfully at the door.
“Do you have a date tonight, Ms. Fairchild?”
“No!” I blurt out the word, then immediately regret it. If I did have a date—if I was already seeing that special someone—I’d have the perfect excuse for brushing off Damien Stark.