“I wish I could say that you’re going overboard, but you have good instincts, Mr. Stark.”
I swallow, then look away so that I’m not meeting his eyes as I think about Ashton Stone. This mercurial racecar driver makes me nervous, too, especially now that this new video from Masque has shown up. The one that is still tucked away on my phone, unknown to Damien.
I know I need to tell him about it, but I also know this man. He’s not used to being denied, to not getting what he wants, and to not being wanted in the first place.
Hell, for years, he’s been the golden boy who everyone else clamors after, seeking attention. The fact that Stone walked boldly into his office and snubbed Damien to his face is obviously eating at my husband. As it would anybody.
If I tell him about the Masque video now, it will add fuel to an already raging temper, and I fear that I’ll lose him inside himself again. That he’ll beat out his frustrations in the gym or on the court. That he’ll let it all twist up inside himself instead of talking to me and letting me help him through it.
Which is why I decide to take the initiative. “How about we take your mind off it? In case you’ve forgotten, we have a lovely apartment with a comfy bed just a few short steps away. And it’s very conveniently right at the lunch hour.”
He chuckles, and I think I see genuine humor on his face. “Are you manipulating me Ms. Fairchild?”
“Maybe. Do you like it?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. With me.” He takes my hand, and we leave the office, pausing only long enough to give Troy a few instructions. Then we follow the back hallway to the Tower Apartment’s service entrance. We move through the dimly lit rooms to the large master bedroom.
Immediately, I slide into his arms and press my lips to his. I expect to be gloriously used. I’m certain he’ll work out his frustrations from the meeting on me, but instead, he tosses me back on the bed, straddles me, and pins me down at my forearms.
“This time, I think you really do need a spanking,” he says, one brow lifting.
I’m not opposed to the idea in theory, but I can tell from his tone that this isn’t about sex or working through his frustration. “Um. I don’t know what you’re talking about?” I mean it as a statement, but my words come out as a question.
“You forget how well I know you. Tell me what’s going on, Nikki.”
I exhale. “Fine.” I try to sit up, but he keeps me pinned down. Then he bends over, and kisses me very gently. “Whatever it is, I appreciate you trying to stave off my temper. But you and I both know that you came here to tell me something. So tell me.”
I consider arguing, if for no other reason than to delay the inevitable. I sigh. “Let me up. I need to get my phone.”
He does, and I pull it out of my purse, which I’ve dropped on the floor. I open to the text and the video inside it. “I got this when I was at the SCF,” I say as I pass him the phone.
I watch his face as he watches the video. I see his color drain and his expression go hard. Then he tosses my phone on the bed, turns, and leaves the room.
I go after him, only to bump into his back immediately outside the doorway. He grabs my shoulders and pushes me against the wall, then kisses me hard. This is the kind of kiss I’d expected. A claiming kiss. A kiss to get lost in. A kiss meant to soothe all of his demons. All of mine, too.
But then he pushes away with a curse and paces in front of me. Back and forth, and back and forth before slamming his fist against the wall so hard I’m surprised he doesn’t leave a hole in the drywall.
“How many times am I going to keep thrusting the woman I love into the glare of the spotlight?” he snaps. “The portrait, all the goddamn publicity during the trial, and now this? Jesus Christ, Nikki. I never thought. I don’t see how —”
“It’s okay, Damien. Just stop it. It’s okay.”
“What part of this is okay?” he asks. “There’s a tape of us at Masque. You’re half naked, for fuck’s sake. How is it okay? All of this shit going on. Personal images that we don’t control. Someone is mining for our intimate moments and using them to push our buttons. How is any of that fucking okay?”
I force myself not to sink back, but to stand tall against his fury. It’s red hot, yes, but it’s not directed at me. “It’s not,” I assure him. “It’s not okay. But we can deal with it. And as for this video, we knew there was a risk. You can’t deny it. That was part of the thrill, and you know that as well as I do.”
“A theoretical risk. Were you exposed? Yes. To other people in the club running the same damn risk. But that thrill? It came from the narrowest thread of a theoretical possibility. And I swear to God, if that irresponsible, self-centered, son of a —”
“Matthew Holt is on the phone,” Troy’s voice comes across the apartment’s intercom system. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but he says it’s urgent.”
Damien shoots me a sideways look that contains more fury in his face than I think I’ve seen in our entire relationship. He stalks to the phone in the kitchen, presses the intercom button to let Troy know that he’s taking the call, then puts it on speaker.
“Damien. Oh, God, Damien, I am so sorry. I swear to you, I’ll find out who filmed that.” Damien looks to me with a question in his eyes. He’s obviously not sure if I sent the video to Matthew or if our tormentor did.
Me, I mouth. I’d forwarded the tape to Matthew, and at the same time, I’d let him know that I was on my way to show it to Damien.
“I can’t tell you how mortified I am that this happened to the two of you,” Holt continues. “I will get to the bottom of this.”
“I thought the club was private, Matthew,” Damien says. “I thought it was anonymous.”
“I know who the members are, of course. And I have ways of finding out who violated my rules. I have security measures that are supposed to detect cameras and recording equipment. This shouldn’t have happened. I swear to you, I am as angry as you are.”
I see Damien’s shoulders relax just slightly. “I highly doubt that.”
“I’ll need a few days. But I’ll figure this out.”
“All right, then,” Damien says. “A few days. Then I want answers.”
“We may not have drinks regularly, but we run in the same circles, and we have many of the same friends. This isn’t something I’ll stand for, using my club as a way to blackmail a friend.”
My husband closes his eyes and nods. “Thank you,” he says, and I can hear in his voice that he means it.
“I’ll keep you posted.”
“Wait,” Damien says before Matthew has a chance to hang up.
“What?”
Damien clears his throat. “I just wanted to say that five minutes ago I could have happily killed you. Now I’m glad you have our back.”
For a moment Matthew doesn’t answer. When he does, I hear a subtle change in his voice. A softer tone, and one that’s full of respect. “The world can change on a dime, my friend. I learned that lesson the hard way. And from what I’ve heard over the years, so did you.”
“That’s true,” Damien says.