Lost With Me (The Stark Saga Book 5) Page 11

  From the pool, I hear Lara squeal as Damien lifts her up and tosses her into the deep end from where he stands waist-deep in the water. I peer over the rim of my sunglasses at the descending sun, then raise my hand to signal Damien. We changed our timeline so we could hang with Rory and Bree, but the plan is still to take the girls down to the beach. A walk in the surf to look for shells, then dinner on the patio followed by the original 101 Dalmatians. Or, as Anne calls it, Puppies!

  After a day of sun and water, I doubt she’ll make it all the way through, but that’s okay. I can’t think of a nicer way to spend my evening than leaning against Damien on the couch with my youngest in my arms and our oldest sprawled out with her head resting on her daddy’s leg.

  “About ready?” I call to Damien.

  He nods and starts herding the kids out of the pool.

  “Anything you need from me?” Bree asks. “I’m so sorry for the crazy day.”

  I shake my head and smile. “It’s all fine now,” I say.

  And I hope like hell I’m not tempting fate.

  12

  “And this is the moat,” Lara says. “See, Anne? It goes around the castle.”

  “Moat!” Anne says, then splashes her hand into the seawater-filled trench. “More water!”

  “No, no, no.” Lara wags an imperious finger. “Croca-dolls live there.”

  Croca-dolls? Damien mouths.

  I shrug, wishing I’d thought to videotape this entire exchange.

  “Croca-dolls?” Anne repeats, frowning at the water. “Where the crocs-dolls?” She bends closer, then splashes again before frowning at her sister. “Nah-uh.”

  Lara looks me straight on, then rolls her eyes so dramatically, I have to clench my teeth together so as not to laugh.

  “What’s in the middle?” Damien asks, deftly deflecting what would otherwise devolve into a serious discussion about the lack of crocodiles on California beaches. He crouches beside the sandcastle. “Who lives here?” He points to the bucket-shaped pile of sand that sits on the little island inside the moat.

  “Daddy!” Anne yells.

  “The king!” Lara corrects.

  Anne points to Damien. “King Daddy!”

  “That’s right,” Damien says, grabbing both girls around the waist as he rises, then spinning slowly so that they squeal as they fly. “King Daddy says it’s time to go in.”

  “Nooooooo!” Lara’s protest rings out across the beach.

  “Oh, yes,” I say as Damien deposits them both on their feet. “Unless you want to skip the movie tonight and go straight to bed?”

  Lara looks like she’d willingly agree, but Anne looks frantically from me to Damien and then back to me again. “No puppies?”

  “Yes, puppies,” I say. “So long as two little girls scoot on into the house. Take your toys,” I add, pointing at the mesh bag that holds their collection of plastic buckets and shovels.

  While they gather toys, Damien and I scoop up the towels, then follow as the girls race to the door. Despite her earlier protests, Lara seems to be completely down with the puppy plan, and by the time Damien and I reach the outdoor shower at the base of the stairs, Lara’s already rinsed off the sand and is racing up to the deck.

  We follow quickly with Anne, and soon everyone is clean and dry and settled on the sofa in pajamas. At first the kids are calm between us, but Anne is in constant motion, and when we see Cruella driving her car, Anne has somehow managed to get herself completely upside down on the couch.

  She’s asleep—still upside down—before the movie’s over. And although Lara makes it all the way to the end, her eyes droop all through her protests that she’s not sleepy at all.

  “Well, that’s good,” I say, as Anne blinks her eyes and yawns as we settle her into bed. “That means you’re awake enough to read Pajama Time to your little sister.”

  She looks up at me with big, brown eyes. “What about Goodnight, Sleep Tight, Little Bunnies?”

  It’s her favorite story, and unfortunately the book is in the main house. But when I tell her that, she just smiles. “That’s okay. I know the words.”

  She does, too, and as Damien and I sit on the edge of the bed, she “reads” her favorite book to her little sister. “That was awesome,” I tell her as Damien carries her from Anne’s toddler bed to her twin on the other side of their room in the bungalow.

  I bend down to kiss Anne, who’s already out again, her little fingers curled around the satin edge of her favorite blanket. Then I move to Lara and kiss her goodnight as her eyes flutter and she loses the battle with sleep.

  We pause in the doorway, and I tilt my head for a kiss from Damien before looking back at the kids, their faces softly lit in the glow of their nightlight. I press my back against Damien, and as his arms encircle my waist a shudder runs through me, like a cold chill coming off the ocean.

  “Hey,” Damien says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “What is it?”

  I just shake my head and lead him into the kitchen, then pass him a bottle of wine to open. He does, then pours two glasses. “Tell me,” he says, as he passes me one, then leads me back onto the porch, the baby monitor clipped onto the waistband of the sweatpants he pulled on after the beach.

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “It’s just—” I shake my head, cutting off my words as I try to gather my thoughts. “I never thought we’d have kids. Not at first. I didn’t think…” I raise my shoulders in a small shrug as I take a sip of my wine. “Well, you know.”

  He nods, his expression serious. There were other reasons, of course, but mostly I feared that my history of cutting would mean I’d never be a good mom. Or, worse, that the stress of parenting would feed that urge I’d worked so hard to suppress.

  Damien knows all that, of course. Just as he knows that I got past it. Or, rather, that we got past it together.

  “Now I can’t imagine life without them. And standing there, watching them tonight…”

  “Nikki.”

  I put down my wine and hug myself, and my voice is hoarse as I whisper. “I can’t imagine losing them. I don’t think I could survive.”

  “Oh, baby.” He has me in his arms within a second. I’m not crying, but I feel dried out and hollow, as if I’ve shed a thousand tears, and have a thousand more left. “You’ve had a hell of a day.”

  I nod. He’s right, of course. This isn’t about the kids. It’s about everything that’s happened today. “Have you heard from Ryan about the office?”

  Damien’s face goes hard. “The lobby security camera shows a teen with a plastic shopping bag going in. And he had a security card. Probably stolen. Probably hired by someone to get in and tag your office. I’m still guessing this Mary Lee person. Ryan didn’t have anything more on her when we talked,” he adds, anticipating my question.

  I nod. “Well, that’s more than enough for today. Tomorrow’s going to be a doozy, too.”

  He nods in acknowledgement. “You haven’t mentioned your speech at all today.”

  I raise a shoulder, then slide out of his arms so that I can reach for my wine. He takes my free hand as we head back inside to our bedroom. “I’ve been in denial,” I admit, making him laugh. “A speech. What the hell was I thinking?”

  “That the foundation means something to you, and you want to share that with the guests.”

  He’s right. That’s why I agreed to give the keynote speech tomorrow. “That’s not the part that has my stomach in knots,” I tell him. “Public speaking isn’t one of my fears.” I don’t have much for which I thank my mother, but at least her obsession with entering me into every pageant imaginable eventually made speaking on a stage to large groups of people seem as natural as breathing.

  But it’s one thing to give a speech that welcomes the guests and tells them about the mission of the Stark Education Foundation. It’s something entirely different to publicly share my battle with cutting. To reveal such a private part of myself, even if it was my idea, and for an exceptionally goo
d reason like bonding with the kids that make up the heart of that organization.

  “I know.” His voice is soft, and he gently cups my chin then meets my eyes. “Have I told you how proud I am of you?”

  “More times than I can count.” I squeeze his hand that’s holding mine. “I’m nervous, though.”

  “Why wouldn’t you be?”

  I can’t help but smile at that.

  He shifts on the bed so that he’s facing me more directly. “I know how hard it can be to reveal something so personal,” he says, and I nod in understanding, my heart squeezing as I remember what he went through when he talked about everything he and Sofia went through with his tennis coach, Merle Richter. Secrets that he released so they couldn’t be held over his head, holding him hostage to a dark past. Instead, he embraced that darkness. He sacrificed privacy, and in doing so called on a strength beyond what he knew that he had.

  “You were my anchor through all of that,” he tells me. “Tomorrow, I’m yours.”

  “Tomorrow?” The corners of my mouth tug up into a smile. “You’re always mine.”

  “Oh, yes,” he says, then pulls me close for a gentle kiss. “If I’m not mistaken, I believe I promised that I’d make love to my wife tonight.”

  “You did,” I agree, my breath coming faster as his hand moves down over my T-shirt until he reaches the bare skin exposed between the shirt and the waistband of my baggy sleep shorts. “And my husband is a man who always keeps his promises.”

  “Definitely.” His lips brush mine, softly at first and then with more intensity. The scruff of his afternoon beard rubs enticingly against my chin, and I shift on the bed, opening my mouth to deepen the kiss.

  With one hand, he cups my head, his tongue working magic on my mouth, teasing and tasting as his fingers find their way under my waistband, then slip down, lower and lower over my bare skin.

  I gasp as his fingers form a V, so that he’s stroking me, dancing around my core, but not yet touching me the way I crave. I shift my hips, and Damien chuckles. “Problem, Mrs. Stark?”

  “Never,” I say as I spread my legs, silently demanding more before I slide my fingers through his hair and pull him even closer, deepening the kiss, our tongues clashing as my body burns hotter, desire pouring through me.

  His fingers continue their tease, stroking me intimately, but never enough. My clit is throbbing, desperate for a touch that doesn’t come, and I whimper, then close my legs, trapping his hand. “Please,” I beg, my body screaming for release. For Damien.

  He pulls back, his dark eyes searching mine. Then he pulls his hand free, the sound of my protest lost in a gasp when he roughly tugs me down the bed so that I’m flat on the mattress. He straddles me, his hands sliding up my body under my thin shirt to cup my bare breasts, his thumbs and forefingers tight on my nipples.

  The sensation is exquisite, and I gasp, arching up as he bends over, his lips dancing over mine before moving slowly down along my jawline, then my neck. He replaces the hand on my left breast with his mouth, but keeps a tight grip on my right nipple, twisting and teasing.

  At first, his tongue dances lightly over my areola. But soon he’s flicking my hard, sensitive nipple. As he teases me, his fingers slide down under my shorts again, only this time, it’s a different kind of tease. Light brushes over my clit, then a finger sliding inside me.

  I’m wet, and with every intimate touch—with every long suck on my breast—I become more and more aroused. It’s as if a hot wire of pleasure runs from my breast to my core.

  My body is throbbing. Longing for him. And though I don’t want these wild, glorious sensations to end, I also want more. Need more.

  “Please,” I beg.

  He lifts his mouth off my breast, and the sensation of air against my damp nipple makes me shiver. “Tell me what you want.”

  “You,” I beg. “Inside me.”

  “Like this?” he asks, making me gasp as he thrusts his fingers deep into me. I close my eyes and arch back, my hips moving of their own volition as my body craves more and more and more.

  “Yes.” My voice is breathy. “Yes, but more. Damien, please.”

  “Please, what?”

  “Fuck me. Please, Damien. Take me now.”

  Our eyes meet, and the heat I see reflected back almost melts me.

  He slides down my body, then lifts my hips as he pulls off my sleep shorts, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the bed. I expect him to tug off his sweats, but instead he spreads my legs wider, then kisses the inside of my thigh.

  I moan with pleasure, then cry out when he moves higher until his tongue is stroking my clit and his fingers are thrusting into me. I curse, begging him to fuck me, but at the same time lost in these glorious sensations. I want more—I want him inside me, filling me—but I don’t want this to end. This growing, consuming pleasure.

  Shamelessly, I grind against him, surrendering completely as my body tenses with my approaching release. I’m close—so damn close—and I crave the explosion. Right now, I need it more than I need air. I’m trembling on the edge, Damien’s mouth sucking my clit, his fingers sliding in and out in a glorious rhythm until finally, finally, the world falls away, and my body breaks into a million pieces, an entire universe of pleasure spread out before me—

  —and then hurtling me back down to reality when I hear that one little word.

  Mommy?

  I crash back to earth, see that the door is moving slowly open, then catch Damien’s eye before we both start laughing.

  “Well, her timing could be worse,” I say, scrambling to put my shorts back on.

  His eyes narrow with mock reproach. “I believe you owe me.”

  “Definitely,” I say, then nod toward the door and the little girl creeping into the room. “But later.”

  “Somebody’s supposed to be asleep,” Damien says to Lara.

  She blinks big, watery eyes. “I had a bad dream.” Her lower lip protrudes, quivering a little. “Croca-dolls.”

  “Oh, no.” Damien smooths back her hair and kisses her forward. “Well, it’s safe here with Mommy and me, okay?”

  She nods, then wraps her arms around his neck as she snuggles close. He brings her to the bed and she shifts her snuggles to me.

  From the monitor, Anne’s sleepy voice calls for her sister. I catch Damien’s eye and grin. “Well, we did come down to the bungalow for family time.”

  His mouth quirks up on one side. “I’ll go get her,” he says, then returns quickly, adding a second sleepy girl between us.

  I’m sleepy myself, and as I close my eyes, I reach across the girls to find Damien’s hand. Our fingers twine, and I open my heavy lids long enough to see him watching me. I sigh, content, then let sleep pull me under.

  Or I try to at least, because the next thing I’m aware of is a soft punch to the chin. My eyes fly open, and I realize that some time must have passed, because Anne’s upside down, and her foot is in my face. How such a little person can manage to take up so much of the bed is beyond me, but every time she shares our bed, she manages to get completely twisted around.

  On top of that, she’s a light sleeper, and whenever I try to adjust her in bed, I inevitably wake her. Since Damien is much better at rearranging our youngest without disturbing her sleep, I yawn and stretch toward his side of the bed, intending to shake him gently awake.

  Except he’s not there.

  I collapse again on my pillow, a tiny bare foot under my chin. My brain’s not awake yet, but I think that it must be morning. I reach for my phone to check the time, and see that it’s only one-fifteen.

  So maybe he’s in the bathroom?

  I call quietly for him, but get no response, and even though I know I’m over-reacting, tiny frissons of panic spread through me. I carefully extricate myself from the bed, then move quietly through the house, looking for him.

  When I don’t find him, those fingers of panic tighten their grip, and I hurry to the patio, wondering if perhaps he’d stepped outsi
de to look at the stars. He’s not there, and I’m about to go back inside to find my phone and text him, when I see movement on the beach. Just a shadowy flicker, but when I look closer I can see that it’s a man. Damien. Even from this distance on an almost moonless night, I recognize him, and I exhale with relief, then take a step toward the stairs, intending to go join him.

  Except, of course, I can’t. The girls are in our room, so there’s no monitor in there, and I’m not about to leave them alone.

  I stand there, the door to the house open behind me, hoping that he turns and sees me. Something must be on his mind to send him wandering in the night, and I hope that he’s not worried about me and tomorrow’s speech.

  He moves, a dark figure shifting on the beach, illuminated only by the dim light from the sliver of a crescent moon. I see him take a step toward the house, then see something white fluttering near him. I bend forward, as if an extra three inches is somehow going to magically make everything clear.

  It doesn’t. Because even though I’m hit with a sudden understanding of what the fluttering thing is, I have no idea what woman Damien could be talking with on the beach in the middle of the night.

  Because that is definitely a skirt. Now that it’s clicked in my mind, I can see that there is a second shadowy figure by Damien. A woman. There’s no question in my mind.

  But who is she? And what are they talking about?

  I run back inside and take the monitor from the girl’s room, then put it on the dresser in the master bedroom.

  Then I grab a bathrobe to cover my tank and sleep shorts. I shove my arms through the sleeves and tie the belt around my waist as I step out onto the patio again. I have the receiving end of the monitor in the robe pocket, and I start down the steps, only to realize that the woman is gone and Damien’s on the path back to the bungalow.

  “Nikki?”