I draw a calming breath. No matter how horrible this is, at least I am not alone.
“What do you mean that someone might be fucking with me?” I ask after I’ve drawn enough breaths to feel capable of carrying on a reasonably coherent conversation.
“Just that it’s interesting timing, isn’t it? You’ve just gotten married. You want to enjoy your honeymoon. And you have access to more than enough money to easily pay off a nuisance lawsuit.”
“Access,” I say with a mirthless laugh. “If by access you mean that I can cozy up to my mega-bazillionaire husband and ask him to pay the son of a bitch off, then yeah. I guess I have access.”
Damien knows damn well that I have no intention of using his money to take care of my business. But that doesn’t change the fact that his expression is entirely serious when he nods and says, “If you ask, you know I’ll give you whatever you need. But I hope you don’t ask.”
I’m not surprised. Damien isn’t any more inclined than I am to kowtow to blackmail.
I pinch the bridge of my nose as exhaustion starts to settle on me. The travel, the stress. It is all beginning to wear me down. “Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding,” I say.
“I sure as hell hope so. Because if it turns out that someone is fucking with you—” His voice is as sharp as a blade.
“Damien.” My voice rises with warning. I know what he is capable of—the lengths he has gone to in the past to protect me from those who would hurt me. And while I don’t give a rat’s ass what happens to somebody who is trying to use my company and my reputation to scam a settlement from me, I don’t want to see Damien thrust back into the mire.
I start to say that to him, but he shakes his head and tightens his grip on my hand. He meets my eyes. His are fierce. “I will slay your dragons, Nikki. I will keep you safe.”
“I know,” I say. What I don’t add is that that is what scares me.
I raise our joined hands to my lips and press a soft kiss to his knuckles. I am thinking of my dream—of the world trying to pull Damien and me apart—and I shiver.
“What?”
But I only shake my head and conjure a wan smile. “Just the whole thing,” I say. “I’ve never been sued. I don’t much like it.” True words, and yet not a true answer.
He doesn’t comment on my obfuscation, and yet I think he knows. How could he not? This is the man who can see into my heart.
He watches me for a moment, then nods. I tuck my feet under me and rest my head on his shoulder, exhaustion suddenly overtaking me as the adrenaline rush fades. I know that I would be more comfortable in the stateroom, but my body is limp and heavy and I doubt I can move. Damien brushes his lips gently over my temple. “We still haven’t had dinner.”
“Feed me in France,” I mumble, so tired I’m barely able to form words.
“It’s a date.” He tucks an arm around me and pulls me closer. “Sleep now,” he says.
And I do.
Chapter 8
Skin against skin.
A brush. A stroke. The butterfly touch of lips against my ear.
And a voice, soft but firm.
“Nikki. Sweetheart, we’re landing in less than an hour. Time to wake up.”
“Mmm. Sleep,” I protest.
“Food,” he says, trailing his fingers lightly over my lips. “And clothes. Parisians are pretty open-minded, but I think registration at the hotel might go more smoothly if you’re wearing more than a bathrobe.”
His words seem to float over me. I know he’s right, and yet I want to stay here in this soft place between sleep and dreams. There are heavy things out there—scary things—and right now I know only vaguely that they exist, and that for this brief time I have escaped them. I am safe here in sleep, with only Damien’s voice to blanket me and the gentle caress of his fingers to soothe me.
“Five more minutes.” My words are a soft mumble, and I shift a bit closer to him.
He says nothing, and once again the thrum of the jet’s engines starts to draw me down into the sweetness of sleep, safe beside this man that I love.
My descent is halted, however, by the soft stroke of his hand. His fingers ease down my neck in a gentle caress that makes me shiver. He tugs the shoulder of my robe down, exposing my skin. He kisses me there, gentle touches designed to sweetly tease me. Then he slides his hand down, moving slowly over my breast, making me gasp in delight and then sigh in regret when his hand continues on, having merely teased my nipple into tight, sweet arousal.
“Damien.” I’m not sure if the word is a protest or an exultation. All I know is that he has loosened the tie of the robe and now spreads it open. “Damien,” I say again, but this time the word is little more than breath, because his hand has slipped farther down and he is stroking me, playing me. I close my eyes and sigh as I let the power of my husband’s touch send sparks scattering through my body.
I’m aware of every part of me, as if every cell is crying out for more contact, and in answer to my own desires I raise my hands to my breasts, teasing my nipples, then tugging harder as the pressure of Damien’s touch increases, as the storm gathers, coming closer to releasing all of its fury inside me.
“Tell me you like this,” he demands.
“Yes,” I say as I raise my hips, urging him not to stop. To touch me harder, faster, deeper. To take and take until I am turned completely inside out. “God, yes.”
“You’re close, sweetheart,” he says, and I make some sort of noise in response. “Close,” he repeats, gently removing his hand and making me gasp at this sudden withdrawal of pleasure. “But not ready.”
I moan in protest and frustration. “Clearly you’re not familiar with the definition of ready.”
“Then educate me,” he says. “What are you ready for?”
“You.”
His smile is wide and satisfied and wonderfully sexy. “I like that answer. Stand up.”
I hesitate only a moment, because now I understand. “Yes, sir.” I stand, then move to the middle of the cabin so that I am right in front of where he sits on the love seat, his back to the side of the plane and a row of windows open to the night. I hope we don’t hit turbulence, but I am not overly worried. There are worse things than stumbling into Damien’s arms.