“You make a good point,” Nikki said, as Damien laughed, and then steered his wife toward the elevator since it was the fastest way back to their room on the third floor.
“It’s been a day,” Nikki said once they arrived. She tugged him to her, and he simply held her, breathing in the scent of her hair. After a moment, she pulled back, then pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Are you okay?”
He felt himself smile. Such a simple, practical question, but he heard the deeper meaning and felt her love in every syllable. “How could I be anything but with you in my arms?”
He saw pleasure light her face even as she tilted her head sideways and stared him down. “I’m serious, Damien. Tell me what you need.”
“You,” he said. “Always you. Shhh,” he added, pressing his fingertip to her lips before she could protest. “I know what you’re asking,” he continued, leading her to the bed. He climbed on, his back to the headboard as he settled her in his lap. She was on her knees, her legs on either side of him, and the pressure of her body against his cock fueled his growing need. Because when did he ever not need her?
“Damien—”
“When that video showed up,” he began, interrupting her, “I thought I was cursed. I looked back over all the shit’s that happened to me over the years, and for a moment there, I seriously thought that I was really and truly cursed. Born under a bad star. I mean, hell, considering who my father is, that’s not a foolish assumption.”
“You’re not. Of course you’re not.”
“I know,” he said. He kept one hand on her rear, but lifted the other so that he could run his fingers through her soft, blond waves. “I felt that way, but then I thought about you.”
Her eyes widened, but he didn’t give her a chance to respond. “I thought about what’s between us, because it’s rare, Nikki. So goddamn rare. And I realized that I’m not cursed at all. I’m blessed. Maybe overly blessed. Hell, maybe all this shit is the universe’s way of balancing the scales because I have an abundance of good in my life. You, the kids, our friends. You,” he added again, winning him her wide, delighted smile. “And I can handle the shit because I know that’s true. Maybe I forget it sometimes and take it out on a punching bag—”
“—on me,” she said firmly.
“On you,” he conceded with a laugh. “But I know what I have with our family and friends, and despite all the bad that it’s propped up on—my father, Richter, scandal, and all the rest of it—I wouldn’t trade our life for anything.”
“I wouldn’t either,” she said, before he pulled her in for a long slow kiss. The kind that filled him up and made him crave more. But when they broke apart, he saw the shadow in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“I love what you said, and I feel the same way. It’s just that you haven’t said everything that’s on your mind.”
He had to fight back a laugh. Dear God, she knew him well. “What haven’t I said?”
“You’re worried. Everything you said is true, but you’re worried.”
He exhaled, then nodded. “It was different before, when it was only the two of us. I had more ego then, too. Thought I could just put my arms around you and keep you safe. Thought my intelligence and my money could battle back anything.” He stroked her hair, his eyes hard on hers. “That changed.”
“Anne.”
He closed his eyes in silent acknowledgment, then opened them again to find her studying him, her expression soft with love.
“You’re not infallible, Damien, and no one expects you to be perfect, least of all me.”
“I used to expect it. And now, whatever rose-colored glasses I wore have been stripped off and ground beneath my heel. We live in a world with dangers I can’t control, and we can’t even hide away in our fortress, because nothing is impenetrable. We have an amazing life, baby, but we’re vulnerable.”
“But we always have been. Nothing’s changed except awareness. That, and the fact that now you care. Before me—before the kids—you just flipped the bird at whatever threats might be looming against you. You don’t do that anymore. And honestly, I think that’s a good thing.”
“A frustrating thing.”
“You? Frustrated that you can’t control the world? I’m shocked.”
Despite himself, he laughed. “Careful, wife. Sarcasm will get you spanked.”
“Oh, well, I’ll definitely be quiet, then,” she retorted, the sarcasm even thicker. He took her by the waist and tossed her back on the bed as she squealed with laughter. Then he rolled her over, landing one sweet spank to her ass before stretching out beside her.
Slowly, he stroked her hair as she turned to meet his eyes. “I will always protect you and the children,” he said. “Everyone under this roof.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?”
“I know that you believe it. I just hope I can live up to it.”
Her brow furrowed. “Do you think we should postpone our ceremony?”
The question cut through him like a knife, and he shook his head. “No.” No way in hell was he sacrificing their special day because some asshole was playing with them. “I have things under control. Everything will be perfect.”
She snuggled closer. “You know what, Mr. Stark? I believe you.”
9
By the time I wake on Sunday, Damien’s side of the bed is already empty. I’m not surprised. Most mornings, the man’s up before dawn, usually to get in a workout before settling in to buy Albania or something.
I roll over, craving the warmth of his sheets, but he’s been up long enough that his side of the bed is cold. I frown and check the clock, only now realizing that it’s almost ten, which means that today is truly a day of miracles, as I don’t think I’ve slept this late since we adopted Lara. How can I with three pint-sized alarm clocks living under the same roof?
I splash some water on my face and brush my teeth, then pull on my favorite two-piece bathing suit. I top it with my ratty University of Texas T-shirt and a pair of terry cloth shorts, then toss some lip balm, sunscreen, and a novel into my tote. I grab a Stark Security ball cap, then head out to take inventory of my family.
I find Damien in the third floor kitchen talking with Ryan and Gregory about plans to increase security around the house and the property in general.
“Jamie’s out by the pool,” Ryan says after I mutter some sort of hello. “She said she’s ready to head down to the beach whenever you and the kids are.”
“And Sylvia’s down in the playroom with the kids,” Damien adds.
“Awesome on both counts,” I say, feeling only a smidgeon of guilt for being the last one up.
“I gave Mrs. Hunter the picnic baskets,” Gregory adds, despite us having repeatedly told him to just call her Jamie.
“You are the best,” I tell him, then drift toward the coffee pot, secure in the knowledge that I don’t have to be part of the conversation I interrupted, because Damien will make sure our metaphorical castle is as impenetrable as the real Buckingham Palace.