I pull away, breathless. “You’re going to be late, Mr. Stark.”
“Sadly, you have a point.” He kisses the corner of my mouth, and the pressure of his tongue at that sensitive juncture is almost as enticing as the feel of his erection hard against me. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me today?” he asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever fucked you in the helicopter.”
I laugh. “It’s on my bucket list,” I assure him. “But today’s not the day. I’m meeting with the cake lady.” Rather than a regular wedding cake, I’d decided to go with tiers of cupcakes, with only the top layer being the traditional cake with fondant icing. The baker, a celebrity chef named Sally Love, came up with an exceptional design for the icing on each individual cake, and she’s going to incorporate real flowers on the tiers, making the overall design both elegant and fun. Not to mention tasty. Damien and I went together to pick out the flavor for the top layer, and also selected ten possible flavors for the cupcakes. Today, I’m going back to narrow the ten finalists to the final five.
“Do you need me?” he asks.
“Always,” I say. “But not at the bakery. You did your part, I’m just finalizing the cupcake choices.”
“Don’t ditch my tiny cheesecakes,” he says.
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Is Jamie going with you?”
“Not today,” I say. My best friend and former roommate recently moved back home to Texas for the express purpose of getting her shit together. She’d come back three days ago determined to be the best maid of honor ever—which meant that I’d had to field a full hour of apology when she explained to me why she might not make it to the bakery today. “She drove up to Oxnard last night, and she’s not sure when she’ll get back today. She did a play there a few years ago, and the director’s a friend who now does commercials, and . . .” I trail off with a shrug, but I’m sure Damien understands. Jamie’s still trying to land a gig.
“And if she gets a job?” he asks.
I shrug again. I’m torn between wanting her to be cast and wanting her to take as much time as she needs to get her head back on straight. I miss Jamie, but Hollywood pretty much ate her up and spat her out, and although my best friend likes to pretend like she’s tough enough to take it, underneath the careless sex kitten veneer is the heart of a fragile woman. And it’s a heart I don’t want to see broken.
Damien kisses my forehead. “Whatever happens, she has you. That makes her one step ahead of the game already.”
I smile up at him. “Will you be back tonight?”
“Late,” he says, then trails a fingertip over my bare shoulder. “If you’re sleeping, I’ll wake you.”
“I look forward to it,” I say, then tilt my head up for a quick kiss on my lips. “You better go get dressed, Mr. Stark,” I say, then push him off toward the bedroom. He’s back remarkably fast, securing his cuffs as he walks toward me, then taking my hand as he tugs me onto the balcony with him. I follow him down the staircase and along the path toward the helipad.
We pause at the edge, and he kisses me gently one last time. “Soon, Ms. Fairchild,” he says, but what I hear is I love you.
I watch as he bends over and hurries under the spinning blades to board the helicopter, which has SI emblazoned on the side. Stark International. I grin, thinking that SU would be more appropriate—Stark Universe. Or Stark World. Damien is, after all, my whole world.