Embrace Me (Stark Ever After Book 7) Read online

  “That’s very convenient,” she said. “Because I love you, too.”

  He took her hand, and they crossed the street, then he held on even more tightly when they reached the sand, making sure that she didn’t trip and fall as the earth moved beneath them. As he’d expected, she regained her footing when they reached the packed sand near the surf.

  “Down there,” she said, pointing to an area with fewer people, the hills rising in the distance. He understood immediately what she intended, because if he stood at just the right angle, he could get Malibu in the picture behind her.

  “I thought about what you said this morning,” he told her as they walked hand-in-hand in the surf toward their photo spot. She’d worn slip-ons to work, as had become her habit, and they were now in his case, as were his work shoes. The camera itself was slung over his shoulder.

  She kicked her toes a little, and he couldn’t help but worry that she would fall. He didn’t say anything, though. She’d been through this before, and Anne was born just fine.

  “What I said? Oh, you mean about a nanny?”

  “Exactly. And as much as Gregory loves those kids, I have to say I think you’re right. He should have the privilege of enjoying them, not having them be part of his workload. I want him to be able to kick back and be Grandpa when he wants to.”

  She turned up her head, looking up at him, her smile so bright he wondered what he could’ve possibly said. All he’d done was reiterate that she was right.

  “What?” He pressed when she said nothing, just continued to smile.

  “I love that you called him Grandpa,” she said. “They’ve got Frank, of course, but that’s about it. It’s not like we’re going to be inviting Jeremiah into the fold any time soon.”

  “No,” Damien said, stifling a shiver. The thought that his father would ever step into the role of grandfather to his children came close to making him physically ill.

  “I was thinking about it earlier, too,” she said. “In the restaurant, I mean.”

  “Gregory?”

  “No, no. About family, and what it means. I was thinking that Evelyn is more or less their grandmother.”

  Damien chuckled. “And considering how close she and Frank are becoming...”

  “I would hip bump you if I didn’t think it would make me fall over and topple into the sand,” she said with a laugh. “And you’re right about that. But even if my dad wasn’t in the picture, that’s still who she is, you know?”

  He did. He and Nikki knew better than anyone that family was about where you found it. Not about blood. He squeezed her hand. “So we’re agreed? We’ll see if we can find someone to take the burden from Gregory? Even if we can only find someone part time at first.”

  “Absolutely,” Nikki says.

  “I’ll have Troy call a few services and we can see what kind of availability there is. But we’ll talk to him before hiring,” Damien said. “I don’t want to just spring it on him.”

  “No, of course not. He’s family.”

  “Exactly. And I think so long as he understands that we’re not kicking him to the curb, but hoping that he can enjoy the girls more in his own way, he’ll not only agree, but will be happy with the arrangement.”

  “I hope so,” she said. “We can talk to him when we get back.”

  He shook his head. “Oh no, no. No. I’m taking you home so you can get some rest.”

  “Damien—“

  He tapped a finger to her lips. “No,” he said firmly. “The girls are at his house right now watching movies, and he promised them both The Aristocats and Lady and the Tramp. Then Finding Nemo if they’re extra good and take a nap.”

  “In other words, they’re there for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening.”

  “Until morning,” Damien said. “Since we’re going out anyway, he thought it would be a fun adventure for them to stay at his place.”

  Her smile was wide. “Well, that’s very interesting.”

  “Oh, no,” he said. “You have to make a speech tonight, and you need to rest.”

  “The funny thing about pregnancy hormones is that I may be tired but I also desperately want my husband.” She slid into his arms as if in proof of the concept. And when her hands slipped between them to cup him, he knew she wasn’t just teasing. He pulled her close and kissed her gently.

  “You’re being naughty, Mrs. Stark.”

  “Only because you like it that way.”

  He grinned. His wife did know him well. He also knew he had to take care of her and the baby. And that she had an exhausting evening ahead of her. “Come on,” he said.

  “Home?”

  “A photograph,” he said, turning her so that he would get the hills and the ocean in the shot. “And as soon as we get the perfect image, I’m taking you home and putting you to bed.”

  Chapter Four

  I’d been exhausted on the beach, but now that we’re back in the house, I can’t seem to drift off. That’s the thing about hormones—they’ve made me completely wonky, and whatever sleep fairy had been tempting me has completely left the building.

  “Oh, no,” Damien says, as I start to sit up. “After almost nine months, I know that’s a bad idea. You don’t want to be dead on your feet at the foundation tonight. Sleep, wife of mine.”

  I fall back against the pillows, the light down comforter at my waist. I’d changed into a loose, pullover maternity dress as soon as we got home, and I’m still wearing it now, the soft cotton soothing against my skin.

  Damien’s sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling down at me.

  “I’m not much of a napper,” I say.

  “I know.”

  “But during pregnancy? All bets are off.”

  He chuckles. “I know that, too.”

  I reach for his hand. “But right now—I don’t know if I’m nervous about tonight or if the walk just got my blood flowing, but sleep isn’t coming.”

  “Let’s see what we can do about that,” he says.

  I narrow my eyes. “We?”

  “All the way.”

  “What?” I have no idea what he means.

  “Roll over and close your eyes all the way.”

  “Oh.” I lick my lips, wondering what he has in store for me, but I comply and shut my eyes as I roll to my side, the way I’ve been sleeping for the last few months.

  At first, I feel nothing other than his breath against back of my neck and the brush of his pants against my bare legs. Then his fingertips graze my neck as he brushes my hair to the side. Those fingers move to my arm, lightly stroking my skin, as his lips dance over the back of my neck, sending delicious sparks tingling all the way down my spine.

  “Damien…”

  “Shhh.” He doesn’t miss a beat as his hand moves from my arm to my hip, then slowly starts to hitch up my skirt. I draw in a breath, making a soft, needy voice in my throat. I’m not wearing panties—they’re so constricting and I wanted to be comfortable—and now I’m not sure if I should curse or applaud that decision, because Damien’s fingers are now stroking my leg, just above my knee, and the man himself is inching lower and lower in the bed.

  I start to open my eyes, but stop when I hear his quick tsk. Instead, I bite my lower lip, then draw in another breath when I feel the bed move as he sits up, one hand on my knee that’s pressed to the mattress, the other on my hip.

  “Roll over, baby,” he urges, even as he’s gently helping me do exactly that. I’ve been careful to sleep on my side because I’ve heard it’s better for the baby, and now I make a soft noise of protest as I look at him. He must understand, because he whispers. “It’s okay, baby. This won’t take long.”

  There’s a fire in his voice. A promise that shoots through me, and I sigh as he pushes my dress up, then runs his hands lightly over my belly. I close my eyes, both aroused and soothed by his touch, all the more so when he gently spreads my legs and slides up so that his hands are on either side of me and his lips are brushing the tight
skin of my belly.

  My pulse kicks up as he slowly kisses his way south, his hands moving to my hips, then the juncture of my thighs as his mouth trails over the mountain that is my body. My breath is coming in stutters now, and his kisses are trailing lower and lower. Then his mouth is on my public bone and I gasp, then bite my lower lip as he keeps going, his tongue flicking over my clit.

  Electricity zings through me, and I start to squirm, but Damien holds me in place, his tongue and mouth teasing me as wild sensations build inside of me, and though I try to shift, to move just enough to take some of the edge of these pounding, rising, incredible feelings, he isn’t letting me. I have to take it all, and I suck in air, my body filling up with something primal and powerful until I can’t take it anymore and I cry out as I explode in a shower of brilliant lights and vibrant colors.

  “Damien,” I murmur, as I finally come back to myself.

  “I’m here,” he says, moving up the bed, then brushing a kiss on my shoulder. I roll onto my side, then sigh happily as he spoons against me.

  “That was…”

  “Yes, baby?”

  “That was wonderful,” I say, the world feeling thick and heavy. “But I think I need that nap now.”

  And though I hear his soft laughter in my ear, it soon fades, as I’m tugged down into a warm and dreamless sleep.

  I’m still basking in the afterglow of both sex and my nap when we pull into the Stark Children’s Foundation grounds right on the dot at five. Technically, the event starts at five-thirty, with cocktails and conversation followed by my short announcement and Jamie’s longer presentation, but we came early to give us time to wander the grounds and chat with the kids who are actually in residence.

  Over the years, Damien has both supported and created several charitable institutions, and this one was one of his first. The SCF is dedicated to helping abused and neglected children find help, homes, and a proper education. Many even live and go to school on site until they find adoptive or foster families. Located on several acres in the Hollywood Hills, the foundation is an incredible organization and one I’m happy to be part of.

  I’ve recently stepped into the role of an SCF Youth Advocate, and I’ve been dealing primarily with kids who are cutting or otherwise working out their issues through self-harm. It’s a good role for me, as God knows I understand that compulsion well. I’ve always been a cutter—and I know I’ll always have to guard against that urge—but it wasn’t until after Anne’s kidnapping, when I relapsed and took a blade to my skin again, that I publicly said so. It had been a terrifying revelation, but in speaking out and sharing my story, I’d turned a difficult, personal revelation into something good.

  We’re in the cherry red Bugatti Veyron, one of Damien’s favorite cars, and two of the boys who are currently living on-site come rushing over, eager to see inside.

  “Just a quick look, Mr. Stark,” Joshua, a precocious fourteen-year-old begs.

  “Yes, please,” adds Allen, who, at twelve, has been Joshua’s wingman since they met.

  Damien laughs, then holds the door open, letting them take turns sliding behind the wheel. He catches my eye as I circle the hood, then adds a small shrug.

  I wiggle my fingers, letting him know it’s both okay and expected—what man could resist showing off that car?—and start to walk toward the main building so I can look over my notes before I’m behind the podium. I don’t get that far, though. I see two more kids, both girls, leaning against the fence post that outlines a field where the foundation’s four horses can run free or be saddled for lessons.

  Mellie, a pale thirteen-year-old with a mass of red curls, lifts her hand in greetings, but quickly drops her eyes. I frown, then put my speech back into my shoulder bag and veer in her direction.

  Tascha, her nine-year-old companion who is beyond shy, takes off running for the residence, but Millie stays put. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she says when I approach.

  Her words aren’t harsh, just sad, and they send a warning ricocheting through me. “I’m sorry about that, because I always like talking to you.”

  She looks up at me, her wide eyes damp. “I was afraid you’d be able to tell.”

  I force myself not to react, though I want to reach out and touch her and help carry her pain. “No, that’s one of the hardest things about it. How secret it can be, so nobody ever knows you need help.”

  Her chin rises. “I don’t need help.”

  “Don’t you?”

  We’ve fallen in step together, and now I sit on a bench, patting the seat beside me. “So what was the trigger?”

  She looks up at me blinking away tears. “My mom. What else?”

  I put my hand on her shoulder. “Yeah,” I say. “I get it.”

  She meets my eyes and nods. We’ve talked a lot about my cutting over the last few months, and how my own mother’s attitude and expectations affected me. She made me believe I was weak, and it came to a point where I needed to cut to get through most every trauma of my life. I’m past that now, my own resolve pushing me through, and Damian’s strong hand at my back helping me to stay steady. But I know how hard it can be, and I know that I will always have to fight that urge.

  “How bad?” I ask.

  “Hardly at all,” she says, her voice small as if that’s a bad thing. “I put it here,” she says pointing to her inner thigh, the place where I almost always dragged the blade, too.

  “It’s okay, Mellie.”

  “Is it?”

  “Everybody breaks sometimes,” I say, paraphrasing what Damien once told me. “That’s why I’m here. To help.”

  She nods and draws a breath.

  “How bad was it?” My voice is carefully level so she doesn’t hear the depth of my concern. “Did you have to go to the ER?”

  She shakes her head. “No. No, I didn’t even draw blood. But I put the knife there. And I wanted to. And then I didn’t want to want to.”

  I draw in a breath my entire body feeling lighter. And then I hold out my arms for her, and she hugs me like she was my own little girl, this thirteen-year-old, who came to the foundation lost and scared two years ago after her mom was convicted of assault, and is now serving time. “Oh, kiddo, don’t you know, that’s a victory.”

  “No it’s not. I haven’t cut in months and months. I haven’t even come close. Then I go and visit her because it’s her birthday and I figure she’ll be okay, but—”

  She cuts herself off with a violent shake of her head. I force myself not to speak about her relationship with her mother; that’s a tripwire for me, and better suited for her therapist. But I can talk about the result of that encounter, and I make a point of meeting and holding her eyes.

  “You need to believe me when I say this was a victory, not a step back.”

  She snorts, and I can’t help but smile.

  “It’s true. Because whether you like it or not, that’s part of you. It’s always going to be hard. And sometimes it’s going to be really, really hard. But you didn’t cut. You beat it back. Don’t you see? You won. It was a really hard battle, but you won.”

  “Really?” She blinks back tears, but one escapes, and she wipes it away. The motion so swift it seems almost angry.

  “Yes. Really. Don’t you remember when we met? I pretty much told the same story to the world, and you came up to me and told me that I should be proud.”

  “That’s because that’s what Annabeth said,” she says, referring to her therapist.

  I nod. “And Annabeth is right. Do you not believe her?”

  Mellie shrugs. “I did. When it was about you. But now it’s me, and I just feel like…” She drifts off, shrugging again.

  “You feel like you failed.”

  She nods.

  “Well, that’s one of the challenges too. Learning to accept the little victories. So let me accept this one for you, okay?” I take both her hands and look hard at her face. “This is a victory. I promise you. So even if you don’t believe it ye
t, will you at least take my word for it?”

  “You really think it’s a good thing?”

  “Honey, anytime you don’t cut, it’s a good thing. And anytime your mom starts to make you feel that way, you know you can call me. I gave you my number, remember?”

  Now she doesn’t meet my eyes. “I know, but I didn’t want to ... I mean you’re…” She trails off, indicating my stomach.

  I laugh. “I promise you, unless I’m actually in labor, I will take your call. I wouldn’t give you the card if I didn’t mean it.”

  She hesitates, then nods. “Thanks, Nikki.”

  I give her a sideways hug. “Any time. And will you do me a favor?”

  Her mouth turns down. “I guess so.”

  “I have to go make a speech. Will you come with me? I’d really love to have you in my corner.”

  “Absolutely,” she says. “I’ll always have your back.” We start walking to the center together, and she pulls me to a stop.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I just wanted to say, I liked Annabeth, and I think she’s a really good therapist. I’m sorry I didn’t believe her when she said it was a victory.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry.”

  “It’s just that it’s still not easy, and I want it to be.”

  “I know.”

  “I know you do and that’s why I wanted to talk to you. Because you’re so strong. And I know that if you are, then I can be too.”

  I try very hard to swallow the tears that have gathered in my throat. Because I never thought of myself as strong before Damien, and I don’t think I can express to this girl how wonderful it makes me feel to know that I now stand for her the way he does for me.

  “I’m glad, Mellie,” I manage to say. “I can’t tell you how glad that makes me.”

  Chapter Five

  “Gotta hand it to you, Damien. You did good.”

  Damien turned to see Evelyn standing beside him. She was smiling, and there was a kind of pride in her eyes he’d never seen before. A different pride than what he saw in Nikki, his wife and love, or his brother Jackson, or even from his friends and coworkers. Evelyn was smiling at him like a parent, filling that role she’d silently adopted so many years ago.