In that moment, I turn completely to ice.
That bastard. That slimy, wormy, mold-ridden bastard.
I jam the gearshift into reverse, and I cringe at the sound of tires squealing as I back out, certain I’m leaving streaks of rubber on the pavement. I race toward the exit, but it’s no good. I’m crying too hard, and I can’t see, and I have to pull over and mop my face with my sleeve and try to stop the painful, hiccuping tears.
I’m about to put the car back into drive when the passenger door opens.
I jump, terrified, then relax when I see who it is—Damien.
But I only relax for a second, which is exactly how long it takes for me to lose it. “You bastard,” I say. “The second I say no, you go and dive back into Carmela’s arms?”
I’m not being fair—I know I’m not being fair. But I wanted to believe I was special. More than that, I really did think that I was special. And knowing the truth—knowing that I was so very wrong—hurts like hell.
“Nikki—” He reaches for me, but I shove him away, then get really pissed when he starts to chuckle.
“What?” I snap.
“You’re mad at me for something you don’t understand.”
“Bullshit.”
“Sorry, my mistake. So I guess you do understand. Which means that you’re upset because I was telling Carmela I can’t see her again. That I’m not interested in taking her to New York with me. That I’d rather go by myself if I can’t have you.”
“I—” I frown. “Is that really what you were saying?”
“It really was,” he says, and I can see the truth in his eyes.
I lean my head back, all the anger draining from me, to be replaced by waves of mortification and embarrassment. “I’m an idiot.”
“That depends,” he says gently. “Are you moving in with your boyfriend?”
I shake my head. “No,” I say firmly, then turn to look at him. “I can’t. And he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Why not?”
I lick my lips, undone by the passion in his eyes. “Because there’s someone else I want in my life.”
“Oh, baby.” He reaches for me, then strokes my cheek. “You’re sure?”
I nod. “I don’t know where we’re going, but I know that it’s right.” And I do. I’ve never been so certain of anything in my life.
And that is strangely, scarily, wonderful.
“Kiss me,” I say, and I lose myself in the pleasure of this man that I realize I love. And who I know in my heart loves me, too.
When he pulls gently away from me, he is smiling. “So if you’ll take us back to the plane, I’ll take you to New York.”
“Damien,” I say as I start the car. “You can take me anywhere.”
As it turns out, he’s taking me there in comfort. I’ve been on a lot of planes in my life, but Damien’s private jet is exceptional. In fact, we’re not even seated in regular plane seats, but on a small sofa with a table bolted to the floor in front of us. And, since we’ve reached cruising altitude and there’s no turbulence, we even have glasses of wine and a plate of artisan cheese in front of us.
“This is really amazing,” I say.
“Whatever you want, just ask,” Damien says, and I feel my cheeks warm. I know that Damien is talking about snacks, but my mind is going in a decidedly different direction.
He notices and chuckles. “That, too,” he says.
“Yeah, well, it’s a very small plane, and Katie might come back to refill the glasses,” I add, referring to the flight attendant whom Damien had introduced before takeoff.
“See that?” he asks, nodding to an illuminated red light over the closed door to the galley. “No one comes through those doors when it’s red.”
“Oh. Why?”
His smile is sensual as he reaches over and unfastens my seat belt, then urges me onto his lap. One of his hands rests on my hip, but the other traces my lower lip. And his eyes stay firmly on mine. “Because sometimes I like my privacy.”
“Like now?” I am tingling all over. And it is taking all of my self-control not to draw his finger into my mouth and suck.
“Like now. Oh, Christ, Nikki.” The words sound ripped out of him, and I gasp as his hand moves to cup the back of my head even as his mouth closes hard over mine.
He kisses me deep, and I moan from the power of it. Of him. From the headiness of being lost in Damien’s arms.
I am straddling his hips, my skirt loose enough so that my legs are spread wide, and I can feel his erection hard against his jeans. Hard against me. And I’m so wet, so crazed. And all I want right now is this man inside me.
His hand on my hip slides down, and he eases my skirt up so that his hand is on my bare knee, then on my thigh, and then, as he starts to move higher, I feel my body tense. He notices, this man who is so incredibly attuned to me, and he breaks our kiss. “I want you, Nikki. But if this is too fast…”
“No,” I say, the firmness of the answer surprising me. “I want it. God, Damien, I want you so badly.”
He leans back so that he can see me, and the tenderness in his expression just about unravels me. “Then tell me, baby. Whatever it is, just tell me.”
“I—” I know it will be okay. I’m certain of it. As certain of it as I am of him. Of us. But it’s still hard. Opening that door, showing him my heart, revealing my secrets and fears and weaknesses.
“Nikki?”