Claim Me: A Novel Read online

  Cold fury whips through me, laced with desolation. Tears trail down my cheeks as I bend and unfasten the emerald ankle bracelet. I take a breath and hurl it at him. “Damn you, Damien Stark,” I whisper. “Damn you for giving up on us.”

  He pauses and I see the pain on his face. He glances down at where the bracelet has landed on his feet. He starts to reach for it, then stops. I watch his face, expecting words of comfort. But they don’t come. Instead, I hear only the two words I wish were silenced: “Goodbye, Nikki.”

  And then he is gone.

  I am not sure how I manage the drive to Malibu, but I do. And when I pull into Evelyn’s drive, I can barely see, what with the tears swimming in my eyes.

  “Good God, Texas,” she says as she pulls open the door. “What happened to you?”

  “He left me,” I say, choking the words out between sobs. “He thinks he’s protecting me, and so he dumped me.”

  She sucks in air. “Damn fool of a boy,” she says. “I don’t care what everyone says about him being a goddamned genius, he fucked this one up, Texas. He damn sure did.”

  Her words only make me cry harder.

  “Aw, hell, girl, get inside.”

  “Is Blaine here?”

  “He’s in the studio,” she says, referring to a separate building on the property. “It’s okay. Cry all you want.”

  “I don’t want to cry,” I say. “I want him back. But he’s so damned convinced he’s doing the right thing.”

  “What the hell does he think he’s protecting you from?” she asks as she leads me to the kitchen and sits me down at the table.

  “The paparazzi.”

  “Phhht,” she says. “Fuck ’em.”

  “I wish they were that easy to blow off.” I eye her critically. “Blaine didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  I don’t want to go into this, but I need help. And she needs to understand why Damien left. Why he thinks that he has to leave.

  “I have scars,” I finally say.

  She nods slowly. “There’s one on the painting. On your hip. Looks to be some on your thighs, too, but the shadows make it hard to tell. So what happened to you, Texas?”

  I swallow. “I happened to me.”

  The words hang there, and I wait for my tears, but they do not come. I don’t know if it’s me or if it’s Evelyn, but it’s easier to talk about now. No, that’s not true. I do know. It’s me. Damien has helped me change the way I look at my flaws.

  I grimace. Goddamn him for leaving me.

  “You’re saying that Damien thinks you’re going to start up with the cutting again?”

  I could kiss her for being so focused, so direct. “Yes,” I say. “I haven’t—not since I’ve been in LA. But I’ve come close.”

  “The paparazzi?” She puts a glass of water in front of me, and I sip from it gratefully.

  “And all this craziness about the painting. It—well, it got to me.”

  “Hell, that kind of crap would get to anyone.”

  “Now the press is saying all sorts of shit about me sleeping with a murderer, and Damien thinks—”

  “That he’s got to be the hero and walk away. Goddamn the boy, you two aren’t supposed to be a tragedy.”

  “Trust me,” I say wryly. “I’m not crazy about the last-minute script change, either. So what can I do?”

  “You can haul your ass to Germany and get the boy back.”

  “But he’ll just send me home again. He thinks he’s being chivalrous, remember? I have to prove to him I can handle it, but how? It’s not like I can go a year without cutting, and then say ‘I told you so.’ So what can I do to prove to him right now that I’ll be okay?”

  “Ah, now here’s why you came to the right place. Because this is exactly the kind of sneaky shit you pick up after a lifetime in Hollywood. You just need to give the press nowhere else to go.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “They’re interested in you as a story. So make the story go away.”

  I blink, trying to process what she’s saying. And then it all clicks into place. I leap out of my chair and throw my arms around Evelyn. “You’re brilliant.”

  “Damn right, I am. Why do you think I’m a legend in this town?”

  “Do you know someone who can handle the press side of things?”

  Evelyn’s smile is as wide as I’ve ever seen it. “Just leave it to me.”

  I do, and I watch in wonder as the pieces come together. Not two hours later, everything is on track for the first press conference of my life.

  “And what makes it really unique,” Evelyn says with a guffaw, “is that everything you’re going to say is one hundred percent true.”

  I spend the next hour organizing my thoughts. I’m not shy about speaking in front of a camera—I have my mother’s pageant obsession to thank for that—but I am nervous about making sure I’m clear and quotable. With lots of juicy sound bites.

  When the knock at the door finally comes, and Evelyn opens it to the camera crew, I am ready. “You sure about this, Texas?”

  “It’s the only thing I can think of to get him back,” I say. “And more important, I need to do it for me.”

  She nods. “Okay, then. Let’s make you even more famous.”

  I laugh, but have to acknowledge that she’s probably right. I also have to admit that this may not work, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that the princess is going out to kill the dragon instead of hiding in the tower.

  The crew consists of a cameraman, a reporter, and a producer. I’m not interested in being interviewed, so the reporter says she’ll tape the intro later at the studio. This is just me, and I should take my time. I stand in the spot they’ve lit, wait for the cameraman to signal me, and start talking.

  “My name is Nikki Fairchild, and I recently accepted one million dollars as a modeling fee for a nude Blaine original. The completed portrait now hangs in Mr. Damien Stark’s Malibu home, and it is an exceptional piece of art. It is both tasteful and erotic. And it does not show my face.”

  I pause to collect my thoughts. The reporter nods encouragement, and I smile. We’ve only spoken a few words, but I like her.

  “I agreed to the painting, and to the million, because I needed the money. It has not been spent, nor will it be until I am ready. But I also insisted that the arrangement be confidential and that no one except Mr. Stark and the artist know that it was me in the portrait. Somehow, though, my identity has been revealed, and Mr. Stark and I have been harassed nonstop by reporters and photographers who apparently have nothing better to do with their time. And the truth is, now I have regrets.”

  I wonder, as I say that, if Damien will see this tape.

  I soldier on. “Not about the painting. Not about the money. No, my regret is that I asked Blaine and Mr. Stark to keep my identity confidential in the first place. I will admit that there was a time when I was ashamed of my body, but that time has passed. I think the portrait is outstanding. And I think the modeling fee was fair. Then again, what is a fair price to paint a woman’s body? If Mr. Stark had paid me ten dollars, would the press now be calling me a cheap harlot?”

  I glance at Evelyn, who is grinning. “To be honest, I think Mr. Stark got off easy. If he wants a second nude portrait, he’ll have to pay me two million dollars. At least.”

  Near me, the reporter nods encouragingly. “As of this morning, the gossip about me has shifted. Apparently now I’m a woman who would sleep with a murderer to get ahead. Let’s think about that. Do I sleep with Damien Stark? I do, and gladly, but not to get ahead. Instead, I am honored and humbled that he wants me in his life and in his bed.”

  I realize suddenly that I am not nervous at all. I feel strong. This—these words—feel right. “As for the allegation that Damien Stark is a murderer, I can only say that I do not believe it. The evidence will acquit him. But if by some horrific fault in the universe he is convicted, then that will change nothing. I will not and woul
d not leave his side.”

  I draw a breath and move on to my wrap-up. “I do not intend to make any more statements to the press, so I will add one final thing for the record. I am in love with Damien Stark, and I am leaving for Germany in an hour to support him through his trial. He is an innocent man, and he has been wrongly accused. Thank you.”

  I stand in front of the presidential suite at the scarily luxurious Kempinski hotel in Munich and draw in a breath. I owe a huge debt to Sylvia, who could lose her job if Damien decides to be angry that his assistant told me where he was staying.

  I’m not sure how he’s going to react to seeing me here, and I have no way of knowing if he saw my interview. And even if he did, I have no way of knowing if it moved him.

  As for that interview, when I was in the taxi from the airport to my hotel, I read through Jamie’s half-dozen emails describing how the press was going wild. Apparently I am no longer a harlot and Damien is no longer a murderer. Now we are star-crossed lovers.

  The press is nothing if not fickle. This time, at least, we’re on the warm, fuzzy side of the press.

  More important, phase one of my plan worked. And knowing that gives me courage. Surely the next part will work, too. Because I really don’t want to have to call Sylvia and ask her to book me into the Munich equivalent of a Motel 6.

  Enough stalling.

  I draw a deep breath, knock firmly on the door, and wait.

  A moment later, I hear Damien’s voice. “One minute!” And then I hear the lock turning and I’m holding my breath as the door is pulled inward.

  And there he is. He’s wearing black trousers and his shirt hangs open. He looks both dashing and distracted. He’s got his arm up as he attempts to fasten the cuff, and when he sees me, he freezes.

  “Nikki.”

  “Do you want me to get that for you?” I ask.

  Wordlessly, he holds out his arm. I button the cuff from my position in the hallway, then step inside and do the other one. Then, without speaking, I start to work on the line of buttons on the shirt.

  His body is tense and wary, and I can’t tell if he’s happy to see me, angry, or uncertain that I am real.

  “I saw your press conference,” he finally says.

  “Oh?” I try to sound light and encouraging, but inside my heart is breaking. If he saw it and wanted me here, wouldn’t he have pulled me into his arms?

  “I didn’t expect you here so quickly.”

  “When you know you want to be with someone you love, you want to get there as fast as you can.” My smile wavers, and I’m suddenly afraid I’m going to cry. I hadn’t even let myself admit until now how much I wanted to hear those three little words from him. But I did—I do. And not only is he not saying them back, but he’s probably going to send me away, too.

  “Oh, Nikki.” There are too many emotions packed into my name, and I cannot sort them out. “No matter what you tell the press, you deserve better than a relationship with a man behind bars.”

  “I deserve you,” I say. “But if you think I can’t handle all of this, then you’re right. I can’t. Not without you. Damien, don’t you get it? I can’t just sit on the sidelines and watch them try you for murder. I need to be here. I have to be here. I need you.” I pause to draw a breath, and then tilt my head to look him in his eyes. “And I think you need me, too.”

  The weight of eternity seems to hang in the second that passes before he answers.

  “I do,” he says, and then, “God, Nikki, I do.” It is as if a glass wall around him has shattered. The life returns to his eyes, the smile to his face. Suddenly his arms are around me and he’s holding me close and I’m soaking up the rhythm of his heartbeat and breathing in the scent of this man I love so deeply.

  “Then it’s okay that I came?” My words are tentative, uncertain.

  “Oh, baby, yes,” he says, and the emotion in his voice almost brings me to tears. “You are my blood; without you, I’m nothing but a shell.”

  “You should never have walked away,” I say.

  “No,” he says firmly. “I had to. I had to give you that one fair chance to get free of me. Because you will be drawn into hell, Nikki, and though you may think I’m strong, where you are concerned I am weak. I am selfish. I walked away once to protect you, but I won’t do it again. If you want to go, do it now. Otherwise, I will keep you here beside me, because that is where I want you. By my side, Nikki. Always.”

  I am trembling with relief from his words, and can only nod stupidly.

  “I’ve been in hell without you,” he says. “Every minute was a fight against temptation. I wanted to send a plane for you. To say to hell with whatever was best for you and scoop you up for my own selfish needs.”

  I lick my lips. “I think I would have been okay with that.”

  “No,” he says, with an awed shake of his head. “I was so proud of you. Those things you said. The risks you took. You exorcised the demons, Nikki. The press may be an irritation, but you’ve taken their power away. They can’t destroy you. Not about that. Maybe not about anything.”

  “It was easy. I just remembered how strong you’re always telling me I am.”

  He brushes his fingertips across my cheek. Then he closes his mouth over mine in a long, deep welcoming kiss that makes my knees go weak and the rest of my body tingle in anticipation of his touch.

  “I want to make love to you,” he says.

  “Thank God,” I reply, which makes him laugh.

  “But we can’t.”

  I look up at him, suddenly afraid that I’ve been wrong and that he’s going to kick me out after all.

  “I have to go meet with my attorneys.”

  “Oh. Well, later?”

  “Most definitely later. And for a very long time. But right now, would you come with me? I want you beside me when I meet with the lawyers.”

  “Of course,” I say. “So does this mean I can stay?”

  “You damn well better.” He slowly smiles, his eyes bright.

  “What?” I say.

  “I’m just hoping that you’re not a mirage.”

  My smile widens. “I’m real.”

  “Prove it,” he says, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out the emerald ankle bracelet. I gasp. “Put it on,” he says.

  “But how—”

  “I went back,” he says, bending to fasten it around my ankle, the light brush of his finger against my skin sending shockwaves rippling through me. “I had to have you with me … even if only a talisman.”

  “Damien.” My voice is choked, my heart too full.

  He stands, then presses a finger to my lips. “Later. Say too much and we’ll never get out of here. I want you right now—but I can’t miss this meeting.”

  I grin and follow him to the door, anticipating later.

  He pauses at the threshold. “Just one more thing. When I said you could stay? What I meant to say was I love you.”

  I’m looking right at him as he speaks, and his eyes are shining. My mouth curls up into a delighted smile, and I find myself laughing like a child.

  So what that we’re facing a murder trial? Damien and I love each other.

  And right now, that’s enough for me.

  1

  Fear yanks me from a deep sleep, and I sit bolt upright in a room shrouded with gray, the muted green light from a digital alarm clock announcing that it is just after midnight. My breath comes in gasps, and my eyes are wide but unseeing. The last remnant of an already forgotten nightmare brushes against me like the tattered hem of a specter’s cloak, powerful enough to fill me with terror, and yet so insubstantial that it evaporates like mist when I try to grasp it.

  I do not know what frightened me. I only know that I am alone in an unfamiliar room, and that I am scared.

  Alone?

  I turn swiftly in bed, shifting my body as I reach out to my right. But I know even before my fingers brush the cool, expensive sheets that he is not there.

  I may have fallen asleep
in Damien’s arms, but I have awakened alone.

  At least now I know the source of the nightmare. It is the same fear I have faced every day and every night for almost two weeks. The fear I try to hide beneath a plastic smile as I sit beside Damien day in and day out as his attorneys go over his defense in meticulous detail. As they explain the procedural ins-and-outs of a murder trial under German law. As they practically beg him to shine a light into the dark corners of his childhood because they know, as I do, that those secrets are his salvation.

  But Damien remains stubbornly mute, and I am left huddled against this pervasive fear that I will lose him. That he will be taken from me.

  And not just fear. I’m also fighting the damnable, overwhelming, panic-inducing knowledge that there isn’t a goddamn thing in the world I can do. Nothing except wait and watch and hope.

  But I do not like waiting, and I have never put my faith in hope. It is a cousin of fate, and both are too mercurial for my taste. What I crave is action, but the only one who can act is Damien, and he has steadfastly refused.

  And that, I think, is the worst cut of all. Because while I understand the reason for his silence, I can’t quell the selfish spark of anger. Because at the core of it all, it’s not just himself that Damien is sacrificing. It’s me.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the tears to remain at bay. My anger is unfair, and I know it. But I’m just so damn scared.

  I take slow, even breaths, and after a moment, I feel calmer. I realize that I am splayed across Damien’s side of the bed, and I breathe even deeper, as if his scent alone can bolster me and erase my fears.

  But it isn’t enough. I need the man himself, and I peel myself away from the cool comfort of our bed and stand up. I’m naked, and I bend to retrieve the white, lush robe provided by the Hotel Kempinski. Damien brushed it back off my shoulders after our shower last night, and I left it where it fell, a soft pile of cotton beside the bed.

  The sash is a different story, and I have to dig in the rumpled sheets to find it. Last night, it had bound my wrists behind my back. Now, I tie it around my waist and tug it tight, relishing the luxurious comfort after waking so violently. The room itself is equally soothing, every detail done to perfection. Every piece of wood polished, every tiny knickknack or artistic addition thoughtfully arranged. Right now, however, I am oblivious to the room’s charms. I only want to find Damien.