I think about what Evelyn said about Damien learning to control the press at a young age. Apparently, she was right. I wonder what other bits and pieces of his life Damien Stark has kept close to the vest.
I lift the camera and look through the viewfinder, aiming it first at the sea, and then at Damien, who puts up his hands as if to ward me off. I laugh and snap a few images in quick succession. “Bad girl,” he says, and I laugh more.
“You bought the camera,” I say. “You have no one to blame but yourself.”
“Oh, no,” he says, and he’s laughing now, too. I dance backward as he lunges for me. I’m happy to see him smiling again and the melancholy of visiting the past fading from his eyes. I lift the camera and take another set of shots.
“And she keeps piling on the punishment,” he says, following his words with a tsk-tsk noise.
I let the camera hang from its strap as I raise my hands in mock surrender. “I’m a free agent today, remember.”
His grin is positively devilish. “I may not be allowed to act on it,” he says, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep a list for future reference.”
“Oh, really?” I snap another picture of him. “If I’m going to be punished anyway, it might as well be worth it.”
His expression is all heat and promise. “I assure you I’ll be very thorough.”
“Of course, I don’t think you’re being very equitable. I mean, fair is fair. You’re going to have a portrait of me. I think I should have some photos of you.”
“Nice try,” he says. “But the punishment stands.”
I ease in close to him and slide my arm around his neck. Only the bulk of the camera is keeping us apart, and I’m suddenly enveloped in the heat of him. I lift myself up on my tiptoes so that I can whisper in his ear. “What would you say if I told you I was looking forward to it?”
He stands completely still, but as I ease back, I see a single muscle in his cheek twitch. It’s not much, but it’s enough. I’ve surprised Damien Stark. More than that, I’ve turned him on.
With a light laugh, I skip back, overflowing with feminine self-satisfaction.
We’ve reached the wharf, but we don’t go out onto it. Instead, we turn around and head back down the beach toward Bath Street and the hotel. As we walk, I take a few snaps of the Channel Islands, then manage to get an excellent shot of two seagulls flying so close together they look like one creature. We’ve almost returned back the length of the beach when Damien settles on a bench. I think I see a sand dollar and squat in the sand in front of him.
“I’m looking forward to tonight, Ms. Fairchild,” he says, his voice ripe with quiet urgency. He’s looking right at me, and I see the heat in his eyes that has become familiar to me. “It’s hard to be so close to something so precious and know you don’t yet possess it.”
“Possess?” I repeat.
His grin is slow and confident. “Possess. Have. Hold. Enjoy. Control. Dominate. Pick your verb, Ms. Fairchild. I intend to explore so very many of them.”
I lick my lips. “Now you’re breaking the rules.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” He lifts his hands. “No touching. No demands. You’re not mine yet.” He glances at his watch. “Not for a few more hours,” he adds, and I have to stand up. My legs are too weak, my body too tingly, to let me remain squatting in the sand.
“Totally free for now,” I agree, but I’m thinking about those hours. About what will happen when they pass.