Claim Me: A Novel Page 32

  “You pushed him off the roof?” I can barely hear through the pounding of my pulse in my ears.

  “No,” he says.

  I’m confused. “What happened?”

  “We fought,” he says. “I hit him with my racquet. He grabbed it out of my hands. Smacked me across the back of my head with it—I’m lucky the wound wasn’t visible, or the police might have been more interested in me at the time. But it was a nasty fight—and we were at the edge of the roof, an area without the fencing that was by the courts to keep stray balls from going over. I don’t remember exactly what happened. He lunged for me, and I got a good shove in. He stumbled backward and then tripped over something, I’m still not sure what. He was drunk, so maybe it was his own two feet. He went over, but he managed to grab the ledge. He was hanging there, and I was frozen to the spot. I couldn’t move. He called for me to help him.”

  I realize that I’m holding my breath.

  “I just stood there. He screamed for me, and I can remember the way my head was still throbbing from his blow, but I took one step toward him. One step, and then I stopped. And then he fell.” He closes his eyes, and I see the tremor that shakes his body. “I went back to my room, but I didn’t sleep. The next morning the assistant coach burst in with the news that Richter was dead.”

  “They can’t possibly convict you,” I say. “You did nothing wrong.”

  “There was a moment when I could have saved him,” he says. “I could have moved faster. I could have reached him.”

  “Don’t you dare feel guilty for ‘could have,’ ” I say.

  His eyes are hard when he looks at me. “I don’t. I don’t regret it for an instant.”

  “Damien, don’t you see? You just need to tell the police all of this.”

  “All of what? All of the abuse?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “Nikki, I said no.”

  I draw in a deep breath. “So what happens now?”

  “I called Charles from the limo. We’re going to Munich tomorrow. The legal team is already in place. I’m hoping that we’ll be able to present a decent defense.”

  “You have a decent defense.”

  “Don’t push me on that, Nikki. I’m not making that aspect of my life public. Richter took a lot from me, but he’s not taking my privacy, too.”

  I nod, because there is no point in arguing this right now. “So the tennis center bigwigs in Germany,” I begin. “Charles and your dad were hoping that if you endorsed the Richter Tennis Center here that those folks would pull strings with the cops?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But you said your dad started it all.”

  “I said that I think he did,” Damien clarifies. “I don’t know everything that goes on in my father’s head, but I do know that before I settled with Padgett, he had at least two meetings with my father. Considering your conversation with Carl, I think he may have been involved, too. I think my father must have told Padgett about the janitor—Schmidt apparently witnessed our fight, though he left before Richter went off the roof.”

  “That was how Padgett was going to hurt you before you settled?” When Carl said the shit was going to hit the fan, he must have meant the janitor. “He was going to get the janitor to go public?”

  “I think so. He’d request more money for himself and for my father, who was pulling the strings. But then when Padgett settled, my dad was frustrated that the plan went awry. So he tipped the German police. I don’t think he expected it to go this far. The case is very cold, after all, and was never officially treated as a murder. The threat was really to get my attention—and my money.”

  “But the German police heated it back up again.”

  “Yes. And so my father wanted me to appear squeaky clean. His house, his car, and much of his bank account are actually in my name. I get convicted—or I need funds for my defense—and all of that might go away. Worse for him, the public might find out that he was complicit in what Richter did to me.”

  “Your father is a son of a bitch,” I say harshly.

  “Yes,” Damien says. “He is.”

  “But you’re going to come out of this just fine.” I cannot even conceive of the possibility that he will be convicted.

  “I’m not so sure,” he admits. “But right now, I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

  I pull the covers back and hold out my hand. “Then don’t.”

  He meets my eyes. “I should have told you.”

  “Yes,” I agree. “But you’ve told me now.”

  For a moment all I can see is sadness in his eyes. Then he smiles, and it is as if light is filling my dim bedroom. “Don’t ever forget how much you mean to me, Nikki,” he says as he moves to my side.

  “I won’t. But nothing’s going to happen to you.”

  He is busy removing the T-shirt that I wear in lieu of pajamas, but he looks at me, his expression serious. “You know that I will always protect you. That I will do whatever it takes to protect you.”

  “Stop,” I say firmly. “You won’t be convicted. You aren’t going to jail. You’re staying right here. With me.”

  He says nothing, just leans in and presses his forehead against mine. My shirt is off now, his breath on my bare skin is magic. “I’m going to make love to you tonight,” he says. “Slow and sweet and as long as we can stand it.”

  “That will be a very long time,” I say, as he begins to trail kisses down my neck and over the swell of my breast. Already my body is tight with desire for him. Already I can feel his erection straining against his slacks. “Take them off,” I say. “I want to feel you. I want you against me. I want you so close that I can’t tell where I end and you begin.”

  He raises off me long enough to look at me. Slowly, his mouth curves into a smile. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, drawing a laugh from me.

  He rolls off the bed and slowly unbuttons his shirt. I watch, enjoying the show. Enjoying even more the knowledge that this perfect specimen of a man is mine. He folds the shirt and puts it on my desk. He toes off his shoes and eases his pants off. His briefs are gray, but even in the dim light, I can see his erection straining behind the cotton. He takes them off, and I realize that I am licking my lips. Damien notices at the same time, and his soft chuckle makes me blush.

  “What exactly does the lady want?” he asks.

  “I want to touch you,” I say. “I want to taste you. I want to take you to heaven.”

  “What a coincidence,” he says, as he climbs in beside me. “I want exactly the same thing.”

  He is on his knees, and he pulls me up so that I am kneeling in front of him. Slowly, he strokes my face, his eyes hard upon me. “I want to memorize you,” he says. “Every line, every curve. The way you smell, the way you taste. I want to lock you in my memory so that I will never be without you.”

  “You never will,” I say.

  “Nikki—”

  I expect him to say more or to kiss me, but my name hangs in the air. For a brief, odd moment, I feel a twinge of fear, but I shove it away. He will not be convicted; he will not be taken from me. I believe it. I do. But as I lie back, I reach for him and pull him down onto me, because I cannot stand him being away from me for even a second longer than necessary. “No toys,” I say, then brush my lips over his. “No kink. No games. Just you inside me. That’s all I want tonight, Damien. That’s all I need.”

  His hands stroke me, his lips dance over me. “That’s all I need, too,” he says. “You, Nikki. You in my arms. You burned into my memory. You, drawing me in deep. Keeping me, claiming me.”

  My hands are on his back, on the curve of his ass. My legs are parted, my knees up. I bring my legs closer so that his body brushes my skin as we move together, body against body, skin against skin.

  I do not want the sweetness of this moment to end, but I am wet and ready and I have to have him. I have to feel him inside me. I have to know that he is mine and that
I am his and that we are really together—and that we always will be.

  “Damien,” I beg. “Now. Please, please, I need you now.”

  He shifts on the bed, easing my legs apart, opening me up for him. Then the tip of his cock is at my sex, and he’s moving slowly, thrusting slowly, so maddeningly slowly, until I am certain that I shall lose my mind.

  “Now,” I beg. “Damien, now. I need you now.”

  “I need you too, Nikki,” he says and thrusts hard inside me, filling me, making me arch up with the pleasure that rockets through me as if we are a circuit and our joining is sending electricity spinning round and round between us.

  He works a magical rhythm, and I rise to meet each thrust, my body drawing him in, my muscles tightening, my orgasm building until I feel as though I am not lying on the bed, but floating above it. Until I am no longer a woman but an explosion of stars.

  Until all I am is Damien’s, and that is all I ever want to be.

  25

  Damien leaves early the next morning to go meet with Charles at the Tower apartment so that he can pack for Germany. I peek in on Jamie, but she’s dead to the world. I’m bummed, because I’m worried about Damien and I want someone to talk to, but I also know she needs to sleep it off.

  My worries can wait.

  I putter around the kitchen for a few minutes, debating between eggs or a bagel, and end up having black coffee. I can’t shake this sense of foreboding that has settled over me, and I finally decide that I have to see Damien. I don’t care if he is getting ready to leave for Munich, I need to see him one more time. I need to hold him and tell him in the light of day that everything he told me last night changes nothing. That I believe in him.

  I need to tell him that I love him.

  I change quickly into a peasant skirt, a pink tank top layered over a white one, and flip-flops, then limit my hair and makeup routine to lip gloss and mascara. I don’t know what time their plane is scheduled to leave, and I cannot risk being late.

  Since I don’t know if the paparazzi are clinging like leeches to the front sidewalk, I use the back route to the parking area. Yes, they might swarm my car as I exit the gate, but with any luck I’ll be down the street before they realize it’s me.

  As it turns out, I’m lucky. There is a lone photographer camped out on the sidewalk in a lawn chair. I manage a tight grin. As far as I’m concerned, he’s in league with the devil, and I can think of little that is more hellish than sitting outside during a sweltering summer in the San Fernando Valley when the beach and cool ocean breezes are only a few miles away.

  My thoughts, however, don’t remain long with the paparazzi. Instead, I’m concentrating on only two things: getting to Damien, and working the clutch exactly right so that the Honda doesn’t stall out on me.

  By some miracle, I get to downtown stall-free, and then it is only a few blocks before I pull into the underground parking structure that serves Stark Tower and the adjacent building.

  I grab the closest parking place, yank my purse out of the passenger seat, and sprint to the elevator.

  Joe is working the security desk and I wave at him as I jog by in the lobby. “I’m going to the apartment,” I call. “Buzz me up?”

  “Of course, Ms. Fairchild.” Yes, there are definitely perks to being the boss’s girlfriend.

  The elevator is open for me when I get to the proper bank. I step inside, press the button, and tap my foot for the entire ride to the top. I still feel antsy, and despite being an express, the elevator can’t move fast enough to suit me. The doors open onto the apartment side of the penthouse, and I step out into the foyer. I don’t hear Damien or Charles, but I assume that they have not left for Germany, since surely Joe would have told me.

  “Damien?” I call softly.

  I hear a thump from the back of the apartment and hurry in that direction, hoping that it is Damien and that he is alone.

  I find him in the bedroom, a suitcase open on the bed. His back is to me, but flip-flops are not quiet shoes, and he turns as I enter the room.

  I start to go to him—I want nothing more than to lose myself in his embrace—but something in his expression stops me. There is pleasure and surprise, yes. But there is also wariness. And something darker, too. Something I don’t recognize, but that I fear is … regret?

  “Damien?” I am scared now, and for no reason, and the rising of this unpleasant emotion bothers me. This is Damien. The man who would never hurt me. Who would move mountains to protect me. So what the hell am I afraid of?

  There is, however, a tiny part of me that knows what I fear—and hopes with a desperate fervency that I am wrong.

  “Nikki.” The smile that touches his lips is so warm and genuine that I am emboldened. Whatever gloom has settled over me is simply wrong, and I shove it away and hurry toward Damien.

  “I had to come say goodbye again,” I say.

  “I’m glad you did,” he says. “I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye to you. I’m going to miss you more than you can imagine.” There is nothing strange about his tone, and he is looking at me with such familiar adoration I think that my heart will burst. Even so, the sense of dread returns.

  I press on anyway. “I wanted you to know that what you told me last night changes nothing. I don’t care if you pushed Richter off the roof on purpose. What he did to you was reprehensible, and I will stick by you, Damien. No matter what, I am not running.”

  He looks at me with steady eyes and a sad smile. “I believe you,” he says.

  “Do you remember when you asked me to play our game again? You said that you wanted to know that I couldn’t leave you, no matter what I might learn about you. That you were afraid I’d leave if I knew your secrets. Well, I’m guessing I know pretty much everything now, and I’m not going anywhere. I love you, Damien Stark. And I’m staying right by your side.”

  He draws in a sharp breath, and the expression on his face looks almost pained, which really isn’t the reaction that I was hoping for. “I know you won’t leave.”

  “I won’t,” I say, warily. His mood is definitely off, but then again he’s about to fly to a foreign country to be tried for murder. I should probably cut him a little slack. “I won’t ever go.”

  “Which is why I have to be the one to leave you.”

  I freeze, then play back his words in my head. That can’t be right. Surely, he didn’t say what I think he said.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. This time the words are slow and clear and so gentle they bring tears to my eyes. “I’m breaking up with you, Nikki. It’s over.”

  A roaring fills my ears. I must be hallucinating. Dreaming. This is a nightmare. Because there is no way—no way in hell—that Damien Stark just said those words to me.

  And yet I am standing here, and I am looking at him, and the chill that has settled over me doesn’t have the quality of a dream. It is reality. It is desolation. I remember its cold harshness from my childhood, and that is not a reality to which I want to return.

  I realize that I have been slowly shaking my head, and I force myself to speak.

  “I—No. No, it’s never over. I’m yours, Damien. Forever. You said so yourself.”

  He winces and turns his head away as if he can’t stand the memory of those words. “I was wrong.”

  “The hell you were. What the hell is going on here?” I’m angry now, and I’m glad of it. Angry Nikki won’t cry. Angry Nikki will demand some goddamned answers.

  “I told you that I would leave if that was what it took to protect you.” His voice is so calm and even that I want to smack him.

  “Protect me? Damien, we’re doing fine. I’m doing fine.”

  “You’re not fine. You’re a mess with all the press about the portrait, Nikki. Don’t try to deny it. I saw the way you looked in the bathroom. You wanted to slice deep into your flesh. You were ready to break the mirror to get at the glass. You wanted blood, Nikki. You wanted pain.”

  I am silent. I can’t argue, b
ecause what he says is true. I can only say simply, “But I didn’t go there.”

  “It will get worse. It already has.”

  I don’t know what he’s talking about.

  “The press, Nikki. They’re not focusing on me. Damien Stark indicted for murder. You’d think that would be interesting, right? Apparently not as interesting as his girlfriend. Who, according to those assholes, isn’t really his girlfriend at all. Just an opportunistic little whore who’ll sleep with anyone who can help her get ahead, murderers included.”

  My stomach twists violently, and I’m grateful I only had coffee this morning. “I don’t care,” I lie. “I can deal.”

  “You shouldn’t have to.”

  “Dammit, Damien, I’m not a mom-and-pop food company. Pulling out isn’t going to save me. You’re going to destroy me. I need you. You. Don’t you get that?”

  “I can’t bear to see you broken. Not when I’m the one who is breaking you.”

  “You are breaking me!” I shout. “If you walk away from me, you’re going to snap me in two.”

  “No,” he says simply.

  I only realize I am crying when I taste the salt of my tears. “I thought you said I was strong. Or was that just bullshit?”

  “You are,” he says, his voice maddeningly calm. “Strong enough to stay despite me dragging you into hell. I’m the one who’s weak, Nikki, because I kept you in the spotlight for too damn long. I couldn’t leave you, and that hurt you. But I’m fixing it now.”

  He zips up the suitcase and hefts it off the bed. For a moment, he stands there, just looking at me. I am scrambling for words, trying to figure out the magic formula to make him take it all back—but this is not a fairy tale and I am learning the hard way that there is no happily ever after. Then he walks to the door.

  He is leaving me. Damien Stark. The man I trusted above all others to never hurt me. He is walking away from me, and he’s ripping my heart out as he goes.