Claim Me: A Novel Page 14

  “So are you getting serious about this guy?” Ollie asks her. “I mean, after a guy like me, it’s hard to imagine you could want anyone else.”

  He is clearly teasing, but underneath I think I hear a hint of wounded pride. I hope that I’m imagining it. For his sake, for Jamie’s sake, and mostly for Courtney’s.

  “Yeah,” Jamie says, a slow smile blooming. “Emphasis on the ‘getting.’ We’re not there yet. But, well, yeah.”

  “Good,” Ollie says curtly.

  I frown, trying to think of something pithy and cutting to say, but nothing comes to mind.

  “Now, if you want to talk serious …” Jamie trails off, her eyes on me, her eyebrows waggling mischievously.

  I smile innocently. “A lady never tells.”

  “It’s too damn soon,” Ollie says shortly. “And—” He cuts himself off.

  “What?” I snap.

  “The whole thing just worries me. Stark worries me.”

  “Jesus H. Christ,” Jamie blurts out. “Don’t you ever give it a rest?”

  I’m grateful for Jamie’s interference. I’d thought that the Ollie-Damien war would be off the table tonight after my talk with Ollie earlier, but apparently two glasses of green champagne have loosened his tongue.

  “That’s why I love her,” Ollie says, hooking an arm around Jamie. “She tells it like it is and doesn’t take my shit.”

  “And what?” I ask. “Courtney doesn’t tell you when you’re being a prick?” It is bad form for me to play the Courtney card right now, and I know it. But I’m pissed. Besides, I’m supposed to be Ollie’s best man at his upcoming wedding, and although I’ve never actually been a best man before, I’m pretty sure that one of the jobs is smacking down the groom when he crosses the line into being an asshole.

  “No,” Ollie says seriously. “She doesn’t.” He bends down and sits on the edge of the water-filled mattress inside the pod. His body shifts and rolls, and he reaches out and grabs the red molded plastic that forms part of the pod’s arching roof. “She just waits until all the shit has built up and then she breaks up with me.”

  I sit down next to him, ignoring the way our seat sloshes beneath us. “I thought you weren’t going to let any more shit build up.” Ollie and Courtney have been on-again, off-again for years. This is the first time they’ve made it all the way to an official engagement. I really like Courtney, and I hope it works out. But the more time that goes by, the more I’m afraid that Ollie’s going to fuck it up yet again. Or, to be more accurate, that he already has fucked it up.

  “I’m like Pigpen,” Ollie says. “Shit just follows me around. Not all of us lead the charmed life of a certain billionaire we know.”

  “Dammit, Ollie!”

  He holds his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry, I’m a total prick.”

  “Yes,” I agree. “You are.” I suck in a breath. “Look, I’m sorry you have a problem with Damien, but he’s important to me. And if I’m important to you, then you need to figure out a way to deal with that.”

  “That’s the point,” Ollie says. “You are important to me. And I can deal with Stark. I can even ignore all the shit on him I could dig up in just one hour in the Bender, Twain file room,” he adds, referring to the law firm where he works. “It’s not the man that’s the problem—well, not the big problem. It’s what’s around him.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Come on, Nikki, you practically disguised yourself to come here tonight,” he says, referring to the hat that I’d worn, just as Jamie suggested. “Do you want that life? Hell, can you handle it?” he adds, then brushes his hand lightly across my thigh before twining his fingers in mine. “I just worry about you is all.”

  My throat is thick, and I look down, not quite willing to meet his eyes. I know his concern for me is genuine—Ollie has seen my scars, and he has seen me break, too. More important, he’s helped put the pieces of me back together.

  “Damien’s worried about the same thing,” I admit quietly. “But I can stand it,” I add, looking up so that I can see his eyes. “I am standing it, and I want to, because Damien is worth it.”

  His shoulders droop. “Who would have thought I’d have something in common with Damien Stark?”

  I laugh out loud, and Ollie grins.

  “Seriously,” he says. “I may have my issues with Stark, but I also know he cares about you.”

  “He does,” I say. I’m about to add that I know that Ollie cares for me, too, but my words are stalled by the arrival of Steve and Anderson accompanied by two absolutely gorgeous men.

  “Thank God,” Jamie says. “You guys have perfect timing.”

  Since I am desperate for a change in subject, I agree wholeheartedly, and allow myself to be hugged and air-kissed and complimented by Steve and Anderson while Ollie shakes their hands and otherwise looks grim. I recognize the guy who has swooped Jamie into his arms as Bryan Raine, and it doesn’t take a huge mental stretch to identify the final member of my rescue party as Garreth Todd. After all, his face has been splashed on the movie screen all evening.

  “Well, hello,” he says, stepping into my personal space. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Nikki,” I say, my mask firmly back in place. I am no longer in a party mood, and right then all I want is to run through the social niceties and get the hell out of here.

  “I hope you’re having fun,” he says, moving even closer. I take a step back, and find myself bumping against Ollie. He puts a steadying hand on my shoulder, and that simple touch makes me want to cry. That’s the way it used to be—Ollie reaching out to steady me whenever I felt I might shatter.

  “We were going for a celestial theme,” Todd says. “Get it?”

  “It’s very colorful,” I say.

  “It doesn’t even come close to sparkling the way you do,” he says. He’s only inches from me, and I’m sandwiched between him and Ollie. It occurs to me that if Damien said those words to me, I would probably melt. From Garreth, however, they only irritate.

  I hope that Jamie will intervene, but she is lost in her Raine storm, and will not be rescuing me anytime soon. I’m on my own, and I know only one surefire way of regaining my personal space. “You have me at a disadvantage, sugar,” I say, with my brightest smile and my thickest Texas drawl. “You know my name, but I don’t have even a teensy, tiny clue as to yours.”

  “Oh.” He takes a step back, presumably allowing his hyperventilating ego to get some air. “I’m Garreth Todd.”

  “Very nice to meet you. And what is it you do?”

  Behind me, Ollie shifts, and I can tell that he is going to explode with laughter. Jamie, thank goodness, isn’t paying attention. “I thought we were going to dance,” Ollie says, curling his fingers around mine.

  “Of course,” I say, as he tugs me away. “So nice chatting with you, Mr. Todd.”

  “You just dissed a movie star,” Ollie says as he pulls me onto the dance floor.

  “Oh?” I say innocently, then bat my eyes for effect. “Was he a movie star?”

  Ollie ignores my silliness. “Jamie is going to kill you.”

  “I know,” I say. As far as Jamie is concerned, anyone who can help her climb the ladder must be treated with the utmost deference. “You have to admit he deserved it.”

  “I admit nothing,” Ollie says, but he’s smiling. “So we’re here. Are we going to dance?”

  It’s either that or head home, and right then I’m basking in the detente between Ollie and me. “Sure,” I say, then follow him onto the floor and let the music take over. It’s loud and heavy on the bass and just what I need to get my mind off everything. Still, I can’t help but wish that the song was slow and it was Damien on the floor with me instead of Ollie.

  The wish is so fervent, in fact, that my imagination conjures the man. His tall form, cutting through the crowd. His mouth a hard line, his face expressionless, his eyes like a storm at sea. It is only when all eyes turn toward him, drawn in b
y the pull of Damien Stark, that I realize this is the real Damien striding through the wash of colored lights—and heading straight toward Ollie and me.

  10

  “Go,” Damien says to Ollie, his voice colder and more commanding than I have ever heard it.

  I see my friend open his mouth as if to argue, but I catch his eye and nod. He frowns, then shoots Damien a look so full of disdain it makes my stomach curl. Damien doesn’t notice. He’s paid Ollie only scant attention, and his eyes have never left my face.

  “Damien,” I begin.

  “No,” he says. He pulls me roughly to him and wraps his arms around me. He practically trembles with anger, and I press my cheek against his chest, thankful to have this brief reprieve before the storm hits.

  The music is still loud and fast with such a heavy bass that the roof beneath our feet seems to throb. I imagine we must look ridiculous, holding each other as if in a slow dance, but I don’t care. And soon, to my surprise, the music changes to match our pose. I glance up, curious, and see that a small crowd has gathered around us. Damien Stark is at least as famous as Garreth Todd, and we have stolen Mr. Todd’s spotlight.

  I can only presume that the DJ is among the spectators, and has decided to match the music to our mood.

  Since we do nothing more than sway in each other’s arms, interest soon wanes. The crowd either drifts away or joins us on the floor, and I begin to feel less like a fish in a bowl. A chastised fish, ready to be scolded.

  He holds me through one song and then another, and though I am happy to spend my entire life inside the circle of his arms, I have reached the point where I can no longer stand the suspense. “Say something,” I plead.

  He stays silent, and a cold dread curls through me. I am about to beg again when he speaks, so low and so gentle that I have to strain to hear him, and even then I am not sure that I have actually caught his words.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re—what?” I step back so that I can see his face, because I am certain that I have not heard right.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeats. We have stopped swaying and now we stand still on the dance floor.

  “Is this some sort of reverse psychology? Because I know you pretty well, Damien Stark, and that wasn’t repentance I saw in your eyes when you crashed through the crowd. More like scary megalomaniac fury. Besides,” I add with a small grimace, “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  Damien’s expression doesn’t change, but for the tiniest of instants, I think I see a flicker of amusement. “First off,” he says, “I didn’t crash through the crowd. I walked, and quite calmly, too, considering the circumstances.”

  I swallow. I knew he was pissed.

  “Second,” he continues, “I believe a megalomaniac is someone who suffers from delusions about their own power. Trust me,” he says, and this time I am certain I see mirth dancing in his eyes, “I suffer no delusions about the extent of my power. And finally, you may have reason to be sorry. I, however, have more.”

  “I—oh.” I have no idea what to say. This conversation isn’t going at all the way I expected. But he’s right; I do have reason to be sorry. “I should have told you that Jamie and I were going out with Ollie.”

  “So you knew at the time?”

  “No. Raine called later and told Jamie about the party. Then Ollie called and ended up coming along. I actually picked up the phone to call you. But then I didn’t,” I finish with a shrug.

  “Because you knew I’d be pissed.”

  I nod. “And that’s why I’m sorry.”

  “Then we have that in common.”

  I watch his face silently, waiting for him to explain.

  “I don’t want to be the asshole who keeps you away from your friends,” he says. “And I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep things from me in order to see them. And I’m sorry because you obviously felt exactly that way.”

  Polite Nikki starts to protest, but what he’s saying is the truth. Slowly, I nod.

  “I won’t keep you from your friends, Nikki. But dammit, I don’t like the son of a bitch.”

  This is not exactly breaking news, but I still take a moment to consider how to respond. “I get that,” I say. “He hasn’t exactly earned your trust. But I’ve known him forever, and he’s one of my closest friends.”

  “He’s seen you naked, Nikki. He’s touched your scars.”

  I blink at him. Surely he’s not—“Are you jealous?” The possibility shocks me. I’ve already told Damien that Ollie and I never slept together. It was never like that between us.

  “Hell, yes, I’m jealous. I’m jealous of anyone who comforts you. Who pulls you into his arms and makes the hurt go away.”

  “I didn’t even know you back then,” I whisper.

  “And I’m jealous of the time that he’s had with you that I haven’t.”

  “You’re not being fair.”

  “I’m not being fair at all. But that doesn’t change the facts. You’re not just friends. You haven’t been for a long time. At least not since he got you through the hell with that asshole Kurt.” I close my eyes, remembering the boy who’d hurt me so badly years ago that I’d needed Ollie to help me pick up the pieces. “Ollie’s in love with you, Nikki. It’s the one thing I do respect him for,” Damien continues. “He has excellent taste in women.”

  These are not things that I want to hear. Ollie has only ever been my friend, albeit an extremely close one, at least until recently. I don’t like the way things are changing, and I don’t want to hear what Damien is saying.

  Mostly, I don’t want to suddenly realize that I’ve been foolishly, stupidly blind.

  I think of Courtney and feel a little sick. “He’s engaged, Damien,” I say, but the words are weak, and I cannot help but see Jamie in my mind. Fidelity is not one of Ollie’s strong suits.

  “I know he is,” Damien says. “And maybe he loves his fiancée, I don’t know. But I do know that he loves you. And one of these days, that’s going to cause a very big problem between him and me.”

  I manage a weak smile. “Don’t go all Wild West on me. Though with all your money, I guess it would be more Stark Manor than O.K. Corral, and a duel instead of a gunfight. But be careful, Damien. Ollie grew up in Texas. He’s a good shot.”

  “I’m a better one,” Damien says, and there’s none of my light teasing in his voice.

  “I really am glad you’re here.”

  “As am I. It’s good to hold you. This entire day has been challenging.”

  I wince, thinking of the paparazzi that accosted me outside of the office and those bullshit allegations of corporate espionage. “Sorry.”

  He gently strokes my cheek. “No,” he says. “Not you. But there are things.” He sighs, and I am surprised at the exasperation I hear. “Tapestries that I’ve woven carefully over the years are starting to unravel. I don’t like it when things don’t go as I plan or expect.” He aims a small smile at me. “You may not have noticed it about me, but I am most comfortable when I am in control.”

  “I’m shocked, Mr. Stark. Truly shocked.”

  He ignores my sarcasm, and when he speaks, his voice is low and even. “Actually, I suppose you do fall within those parameters. I wanted you at home. You said no. I didn’t like it.”

  I step close to him and slide my hands around his waist. “I suppose if it bothers you that much, you can simply tie me up and keep me permanently at your side.”

  I can feel the way his body stiffens against mine, and I am glad I’m holding on to him. My own knees are weak. How simple it is to slip into passion with Damien. Even when we quarrel, we’re never far away from the fire, and it’s so easy to get pulled into the conflagration.

  And always, always, there is the need to touch him, to feel him, to know that he is real and that he is mine.

  “Why, Ms. Fairchild,” he says, “I believe you’re thinking naughty thoughts.”

  “Very,” I confirm.

  “I may have to take
you up on your suggestion,” he says. He tugs on the end of my pink scarf. I feel the smooth brush of the material as it slides over my skin. “Tie you up,” he says, twisting the end of the scarf around one wrist. “Keep you close.” He gives the scarf a tight, quick jerk, and I stumble toward him. He catches me so that I don’t fall, and bends down so that his lips are close to my ear. “But first, I think you need to be very thoroughly spanked.”

  I tilt my head so that he can see my eyes. “I’d rather be thoroughly fucked.”

  He groans, and I know that I have won this round. “Oh, God, Nikki. What you do to me.”

  “No,” I say, my entire body on fire. “What you do to me. And please, Damien, do it soon.”

  “We’re leaving,” he says, and I can only nod mutely.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, as we take the elevator down. There are two other couples in the car with us, and only the tips of our fingers are touching. It is so intimate, though, that I feel like I’m naked before them.

  “The apartment,” he says curtly.

  Thank God. If he wanted to go all the way back to the Malibu house I was going to lose my mind. Even so, I’m not sure I can make it the few short blocks.

  But then the elevator doors glide open and as soon as our companions step off in front of us, we are accosted by the flash of cameras, the press of microphones, and the overlapping queries of a dozen demanding voices.

  Now I clutch Damien’s hand and move closer to his side.

  “Mr. Stark!”

  “Damien!”

  “Nikki, over here!”

  “What can you say about your refusal to speak at the dedication of the Richter Tennis Center?”

  “Can you explain your decision, Mr. Stark?”

  I hold tight to Damien and keep my head down as we press forward toward the street. I assume at first that these are simply the same reporters and paparazzi that had been hovering about when we’d arrived. But then I see that in addition to the TMZ and E! reporters, there are vans from CNN and even the Wall Street Journal.