Complete Me (21 page)

Beside me, Jamie stands. “You know, I have a sudden urge to go reorganize my suitcase.”

I don’t even bother to nod; I’m too focused on Damien, who continues to remain stonily silent.

“Don’t do this, Damien. This time whatever secret you’re keeping is about me. And we both damn well know it.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, and I see the signs of weariness in his face. “Your car was trashed,” he finally says, his voice flat and even. Not with the tone of defeat, but with the level control of someone trying to keep a tight rein on fury.

“Say again,” I say stupidly.

“Someone threw paint all over your car,” he says. “That’s an irritation, but not irreversible. But they also jimmied a lock and filled it with raw fish. I sincerely doubt the smell will ever go away.”

“I—” I close my mouth, giving up. I have absolutely no idea what to say. “How do you know?”

He sighs heavily. “I’ve been concerned about the security at your condo for a while.”

“But you already installed an alarm system,” I say. After the first anonymous note, he’d asked Jamie if she minded. Because Jamie is not an idiot, she agreed, and Damien’s security dudes tricked out the condo’s security while he and I were in Germany.

“That’s clearly not enough. I arranged with the property management to install a security gate for the parking area and to enclose the entry foyer. Two days ago, my crew found your car. Needless to say, I stepped up the schedule to get that work complete.”

I remember him referencing a gate during the call he took while we were shopping. “You told me that call had to do with Sofia,” I say.

“No. I said there were things I had to take care of. And that I was worried about Sofia.”

“Dammit, Damien, don’t split hairs with me. You deliberately obfuscated the truth. Why?”

“Because I didn’t want that bubble of yours to pop yet. Not when I’d brought you here to escape reality for a few more days.”

“I—” I want to cry out to him that he can’t hide shit like that from me, and he can’t plunk me in the back of a limo and expect that will keep me safe.

I don’t, though. Because I get it. He would have told me eventually—hell, the conversation would be hard to avoid. But he wanted to give me the gift of peace for just a few more days.

“Fine,” I finally say. “You’re off the hook about not telling me. But I’m not carpooling with Edward.”

“You are,” Damien says firmly. “I can’t protect you from everything, but I’m damn well protecting you from what I can.”

“Forget it. I’ll have the car detailed. I’ll make it work.”

“The hell you will. That car’s too old for a decent security system, the smell isn’t going to disappear, and it’s been on its last legs for a while. You told me so yourself. Besides,” he adds more calmly, “I already had my men arrange to donate her for parts.”

I gape at him. “Are you kidding me? No.” I shake my head. “Absolutely not. That car has too much sentimental value. I’m not stripping her for parts. And who the hell do you think you are anyway?” I mean honestly, what the fuck?

“I’m the man who would die if something happened to you,” he says. He’s as calm as the lake beyond us, and his level-headedness in the face of my fury only pisses me off more.

“That doesn’t mean you get to micromanage my life. Or dissect my car.”

“You want to keep the car, fine. Keep the car. We’ll park it at Stark Tower. You can keep it forever for all I care. But I’m buying you a new one with a perimeter-based security system, a GPS, an anti-theft tracking device, and whatever else goddamned security devices my tech team can come up with.” He’s not shouting, but he’s coming pretty damn close.

“
You’re
buying?”

“Absolutely.”

“The hell you are.”

“Don’t fight me on this, Nikki. Not on an issue of your safety. You want to keep the Honda, then keep it. I’ll bronze the goddamn thing if you want me to and we can mount it in the entryway. But you’re getting a new car to drive.”

“Fine,” I say. I know he’s right. The Honda’s been crapping out on me at intersections for too long now. And, yes, there’s sentiment, but no, I don’t need to keep my fishy car. Damien can donate it—not that I’m going to tell him that. Not yet, anyway.

But there is no way in hell he’s buying me a car, and
that
I do tell him. “I’ll get one myself,” I say. “You want to shop with me and give your opinion, then fine. But I’m writing the check.”

“Fair enough,” he says. “Until you get it, Edward can drive you.”

“Oh, no,” I say. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it today.”

“Today?”

“There are dealerships all up and down the 10, right? So let’s just go home tonight instead of tomorrow morning. I’ll get a car on the way.”

He’s staring at me with an odd expression, as if he’s searching for another argument but can’t find one. The thought sends a little trill of victory coursing through me. Most people do not win arguments with Damien Stark.

“Fine,” he finally says. “Get packed. We can leave whenever you want.”

I nod, then stand to go pull my things together. I hesitate for a moment just to look at him.

“Something else?” His expression is unreadable.

“Just thanks,” I say, and watch as his features shift to something I think is relief.

“Does this mean you’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m pissed as hell. But I get where you’re coming from.” I cross my arms over my chest. “But, Damien? Don’t do it again.”

His mouth curves up into a lazy smile. “No promises. Where your safety is concerned, there’s not much room for compromise.”

I just shake my head. This is not a battle I will ever win, but all things considered, I suppose that’s okay.

“Sucks for Jamie,” I say, pausing once more before heading out of the room. “I think she was looking forward to another night.”

“She can have the entire weekend if she wants,” Damien says. “We’ll take the Jeep, but I’ve got a car in the garage. I’ll leave her the keys. Does she know how to drive a stick?”

“Yeah,” I say. “She does. What kind of car is it?”

“A Ferrari,” he says.

I burst out laughing.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I say. “Except that you’re one hell of a nice man, Damien Stark.”

By dinnertime on Thursday, I have a new love in my life. And although nothing and no one could ever replace Damien Stark, by the time we get back to LA in my brand-new, shiny red convertible Mini Cooper, I am completely and totally in love.

“I hope you’re not the jealous type,” I tell Damien as I lovingly stroke the leather-wrapped steering wheel. “Because I think Cooper and I are about to become inseparable.”

“Interesting,” he says, with a wry twist to his mouth. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have left the Jeep for one of my assistants to pick up. I mean, if you two want some alone time.”

“I know I must seem terribly fickle,” I say airily. “But when true love strikes . . . well, you simply have to go with it.”

“Yes,” he says, looking at me with unwavering heat. “You do.”

I take my eyes off the road long enough to grin at him. We’re almost to my condo, cruising along Ventura Boulevard. I turn on Laurel Canyon, but then drive right past the intersecting street that leads to the place I share with Jamie.

“Joyriding, Ms. Fairchild?”

I run my hand lightly over Cooper’s dash. “A little respect, please, Mr. Stark. We’re bonding.”

“I may have to call Coop out for a duel at dawn,” Damien says. “Because I’m not interested in sharing you. I want you all alone and to myself.”

“Do you? I have to admit, I like the sound of that.”

“I’m very relieved to hear it.”

“Remember what I said about a Lamborghini being almost like foreplay?”

“It will be a very long time before I forget that, Ms. Fairchild.”

“A Mini is, too.”

“Is that so?” Damien says. “I confess I’ve never thought of the Mini as sexy. Cute, absolutely. Eye-catching, most definitely. Sexy, I’m not so sure.”

“Don’t wound Cooper’s ego,” I say. “Besides, it’s not a question of appearance. It’s a question of power.”

“Is that so?”

“Feel that?” I ask, as I shift gears. Cooper does me proud, cruising up the hill toward Mulholland Drive without even the slightest hint of hesitation. “Power,” I repeat. “And endurance. Very important qualities. In a car.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he says. “Responsiveness. Handling.”

“Like I said, all things that turn you on. Ergo, foreplay.”

I turn right and pick up speed as Coop takes control of the famous curves along Mulholland Drive.

“And what turns you on?”

Since I don’t want to go careening off a mountaintop, I don’t look at him. “You do,” I say.

For a moment he says nothing, but I feel the weight of his gaze upon me. Then his voice, rough and demanding. “Pull over.”

“What?” We’ve rounded a curve, and are back on a straightaway, so now I shoot him a quick glance.

“There,” he says, pointing to a dirt-covered area overlooking the valley. It’s the kind of place where tourists snap pictures and teenagers come to park. “Pull over, stop the car.”

I do as he asks. “What on earth—” I begin, as soon as I’ve killed the engine.

I can’t finish the question, however, because his lips are upon mine, his hand on the back of my neck urging me forward. His mouth open. Hot. Demanding. Taking. I moan and lean forward, craving the feel of his body pressed to mine—then howl in pain when the gearshift stabs me in the gut.

“I think it’s Cooper who’s the jealous one,” Damien says with a wry twist to his mouth. “Are you okay?”

In my head, I’m running a monologue of very colorful curses. To Damien, I just nod.

“Stay put,” he says, then opens his door and gets out. He walks to my side of the car and opens the door for me, then holds out his hand. I take it and let him pull me to my feet.

“I think I destroyed the mood,” I say.

He turns so that we are both facing the valley and the panorama of lights stretched out against a blanket of night. “No,” he says. “Just changed it a little. But how can there be anything but romance when we’re floating above a blanket of stars?”

“Romance, Mr. Stark?” I tease. “Not hot and sweaty sex in the back of a tiny car?”

“Romance,” he says, with such passion that I have to lean against the side of the car to remain upright.

“Damien . . . ” My voice is soft, choked with emotion.

“I know.” Gently, he strokes his fingertips over my cheek. “Close your eyes.”

I do, my lips slightly parted. He touches my hair, strokes my back. And then I feel the butterfly soft brush of his lips at my temple, then the corner of my eye. I grin, not only from the sweetness of it, but because he is touching me so delicately that it almost tickles. And then his lips are upon mine, so achingly tender that tears well in my eyes.

“Hey,” he says when he breaks the kiss and cups my chin. Gently, he runs the edge of his thumb under my eye, wiping away an errant tear. “None of that.” His eyes are so full of love I could get lost in them.

I wrap my arms around him, then sigh when he folds me into him. “I love you,” I say, but my voice is so low that I doubt that he hears me. It doesn’t matter though. Right then, the words aren’t necessary. Right then, all we need is each other.

Chapter Fourteen

As Damien said, my building has essentially been turned into a fortress. The parking area is now gated and monitored full-time by security cameras. I pause at the security box, flash the card that Damien hands me, and watch while the electronic elves slide the massive thing open. The action is smooth, and we’re past the gate in no time.

“It looks nice,” I say, because despite feeling a bit coddled, I do appreciate all he’s doing to protect me. More, I understand that it’s not enough. That he’s going to worry. And the fact that I won the Edward-as-driver argument remains a sore spot with Damien.

“It does,” he says. “But I’m more interested in efficacy than in curb appeal.” He shifts in the car to look back at the gate. “Someone could climb that pretty easily.”

I glance at the gate in the rearview mirror. “Spiderman maybe, but not normal people.”

“That grid pattern could be a ladder.” He types something into his phone. “It’s the typical design for a property gate, but most gates only serve the purpose of keeping non-residents from parking in the spaces. They’re a deterrent. I want more.”

I hear the
ping
of his phone and realize he’s sent a text.

“Who are you—”

“Ryan. My security chief. I want him on this first thing.”

I roll my eyes, then slide into my parking space. I feel a twinge of regret at the absence of my Honda, but it passes quickly. She’s not gone, after all. Just relocated to the garage beneath Stark Tower until I decide what to do with her.

Since the mailbox is probably overstuffed, we exit the parking area through the pedestrian gate and walk up the sidewalk to the front entrance, with Damien rolling my suitcase and me schlepping my carry-on. When I’d left for Germany, the foyer was a somewhat shabby alcove with the mailboxes off to one side and a staircase on the other. Now, that alcove is protected by a massive—but tasteful—iron gate. More than that, the space has been given a face-lift. New paint, large pots with flowering plants. Even a water feature.

“Your doing?” I ask Damien.

He says nothing, just holds out his hand for my key, then gathers my mail.

I follow him up the stairs, a little amused, a little exasperated.

The front door is more or less the same, the “more” being the addition of yet another deadbolt to the two locks that were already there. I glance at Damien in question.

“Better,” he says, but he’s tapping out another text, and I know that “better” doesn’t mean “good enough.” Apparently Ryan can look forward to a busy Friday.

Inside, my apartment looks exactly the same, right down to the huge iron bed that dominates the living room and the white cat that blends in with the pile of pillows on the couch. Lady Meow-Meow lifts her head as we enter, then stands, stretches, and leaps daintily to the floor. I expect her to come over for a scratch and cuddle, but instead she just blinks her huge, accusing eyes at me, then turns around and strolls to the back of the apartment, tail lifted high, butt in the air. She pads up the stairs, turns into Jamie’s room, and disappears.