I scroll through his contacts until I find Edward. I could have used my own phone, but I’m going for dramatic flair here.
“Mr. Stark,” Edward says, answering on the first ring.
“It’s Nikki,” I correct. “But it’s Mr. Stark who needs you. He’s at Le Caquelon, and needs a ride home as soon as you can get here.”
“Of course, Mrs. Stark. I’m on my way.”
I thank him, then hang up and give Damien back his phone.
“I need a ride home?”
“You do.” I dangle his keys. “I’ll meet you there.”
His eyes narrow. “What exactly do you think you’ve figured out?”
“The clue,” I say. I’m absolutely positive that whatever my present is, it’s in our closet in one of the velvet-lined drawers that Damien had custom made for all the jewelry he buys me. Specifically, the drawer on the top left where I keep the diamond jewelry.
“And we’re going home separately because …?”
But at that, I only smile, then kiss him lightly even as I slide my hand down between his legs, stroking his now-stiff cock. “I’ll see you at home, Mr. Stark.”
And then I’m gone, leaving behind one very baffled husband.
Chapter 7
We drove into town in the Jeep Grand Cherokee, and though it is the easiest car for me to drive, I wish we’d brought the Bugatti. Right now, I want speed, because I’m racing to get home before Edward gets on the road with Damien.
I’d called Edward again as I waited for the valet to bring the Jeep around, and he promised to text me the moment that Damien is in the limo. He doesn’t know what I have planned, of course, but I think it amuses him to be in on my conspiracy, whatever it may be.
When I reach the house, I don’t bother parking in the garage. Instead, I leave the Jeep in the circular drive and use the key code to enter the house. Though we have a butler/valet/all-around general house guy, Gregory does not live on the property. On the contrary, Damien has rented an apartment for him nearby, and is building a small bungalow on the eastern portion of the property that will become Gregory’s home.
All of which is fine with me. I like Gregory. But I like being alone with Damien a whole lot more.
I take the stairs two at a time, then race into our closet, which is really more of a dressing room. For that matter, it’s really more of an apartment, considering the entire space is bigger than the efficiency I lived in for one semester during college.
The jewelry drawers are against the back wall, and a single code unlocks all of them. I punch it in, then pull out the black velvet–lined drawer that holds the various bits of diamond jewelry that Damien has given me. Right now, that means it has a pair of earrings and a stunning necklace that he bought for me when we attended a charity function.
Sometimes, the emerald and diamond ankle bracelet he gave me even before we were officially together is in this drawer, but usually it is exactly where it is now—on my leg, a permanent reminder that I am his.
At first glance, everything appears as it should. Then I realize that there is an additional piece of black velvet in the drawer. I run my finger over it and feel the bumps of something hidden beneath.
I grin, because I know damn well that I have found the prize.
I peel the velvet back to reveal a strand of pearls and a pair of silver nipple rings, connected by a serpentine chain. My body flushes with desire and memory. He’d given me the pearls in Germany and put them to deliciously erotic use. As for the nipple rings, he’d introduced me to those in the condo I used to share with Jamie, and I’d been astounded by how much my body responded to the intense sensation of not only the constant pressure on my erect nipples, but also to the demanding tug when Damien pulled on the chain.
Just remembering makes me wet, and I drag my teeth over my lower lip, thinking that both of these things fit in perfectly with my plans for the night. And, more, thinking that I want Damien now—like right this very instant—and I am grateful when my phone buzzes with Edward’s text letting me know that they are on their way.
Thank god.
The last thing in the drawer is an envelope that was underneath the jewelry. I take it out and open it to find an airline itinerary. Not a ticket, as that’s not necessary for a man who owns his own fleet of aircraft. But according to this, we’re leaving for Nassau tomorrow evening, then taking a puddle jumper to an island resort called Serafina Spa Retreat. We’re staying there three nights, then returning home on Valentine’s Day.
I sigh with pleasure. Damien took me to an island for part of our honeymoon, and while it was heavenly, the location was remote—just the two of us in a small cabin on an otherwise uninhabited island. Perfect for a honeymoon, and perfect for escaping the world.
But I can’t deny that a spa sounds absolutely delicious, as does three nights on an island with Damien.
Right now, though, I have something else delicious in mind.
I want to change, and so I do that quickly, ultimately wrapping myself in my favorite white, fluffy robe. Then I move into the bedroom and put my phone on the mattress beside me. I put it on speaker, and dial Damien’s number.
He answers on the first ring.
“Where are you?”
“At home. In bed.”
“Are you?” I hear the tinge of interest in his voice.
“But I’m imagining I’m with you,” I say. “Tell me, Mr. Stark, is the privacy screen up?”
There is a pause before he answers, and when he does, the heat in his voice is unmistakable. “It is now.”
“Close your eyes,” I tell him. I close mine as well, remembering the first time that I was alone in his limo with Damien’s voice stroking me, caressing me, getting me off. “Can you imagine me there? Sitting beside you? My hand on your thigh?”
He says nothing, and I take that as acquiescence—a sign that that he is willing to surrender to my game.
“I’m sliding it up,” I say. “Moving slowly over your slacks. Closing my fingers over your cock. Tell me something, Mr. Stark.” My voice is breathy, and it is all that I can do not to slip my hand down between my legs. “Are you hard?”
“Very.”
“I know. I can feel it. Can you feel me? I’m stroking you. Making you even harder until you’re begging me to tug down your zipper and slip my hand inside. Do it,” I whisper.