Complete Me (36 page)

I turn and meet her eyes. “I can’t believe she did it. I can’t believe that bitch sent those pictures to the press anyway.”

“Damien must be a mess.”

I nod, then pull out my phone.

“I thought he wasn’t there,” Jamie says.

I ignore her, keeping my fingers crossed, praying he is no longer forwarding the number.

But it is Ms. Peters, Damien’s weekend assistant, who answers the call.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Fairchild. We haven’t heard from him for weeks.”

“But the news—he—is he in town?”

I hear the softness in her voice as she says, “I don’t know. I wish that I did.”

“What else can you do?” Jamie asks, as soon as I’ve ended the call.

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” I’m pacing the living room, my fingers running through my hair, as I try to think where he could be. I have to find him. I can imagine how wrecked he is, and I can’t bear the thought of him suffering through all that alone.

And then, suddenly, I remember. I snatch my phone and turn back to Jamie. “It’s okay,” I say. “I know how to find him.”

The trouble with the phone-tracking app is that it doesn’t narrow the area to anything remotely useful. Which is why I’m wandering blind near the Santa Monica Pier. I am thankful—so thankful—that he is back in LA. But I’m beyond frustrated that I cannot find him.

I think that he might be at the Ferris wheel, since he once took me up in it, but when I arrive, there is no Damien. I wander all the way to the end of the pier, check in all the little shops, circle around all the rides.

I cannot find him.

Frustrated, I take off my flip-flops and start schlepping down the beach, but after fifteen minutes of that, I’m no closer to locating him. I cut perpendicular across the beach from the shore to the parking lot and start heading south again, this time through the lot. There aren’t many people out, and the lot is thinning, so I have a pretty good view, and I scan the distance looking for Damien’s gait, his build, his raven-black hair.

I don’t see him.

But I do see his Jeep.

At least, I think I do, and as I say a silent prayer, I take off running across the lot to the black Jeep Grand Cherokee that is parked in a secluded corner. I press my face up to the window so that I can see the interior, and my heart does a twist. It’s Damien’s all right; there’s his phone sitting right on the console.

Now I just have to sit here and wait.

It is a full hour before he returns. I see him walking up from the beach, looking desperately sexy in faded jeans and a plain white T-shirt. I know the moment he sees me. His perfect gait stumbles, and then he pauses. I cannot see his eyes in the dark and from this distance, but I know that he is looking at me. And then he continues forward again, that same long stride, only this time it’s just a little bit faster, as if now he has somewhere that he wants to be.

He passes beneath a circle of light thrown by one of the parking lot towers. I see the weariness on his face along with something else. Something harder.

I stand up straighter. I want to run to him, but I hold back, wanting more to watch him. I have missed seeing him move. Hell, I’ve missed everything.

And then he is here, right in front of me, his face all hard lines and angles, his black eye dark and accusing, and his amber one flat. I gasp, suddenly afraid. My heart pounds, then I cry out as he roughly grabs my arms, and yanks me to him. His mouth slams against mine, his hands closing painfully around my upper arms. The kiss is violent, harsh. A demand and an accusation all rolled into one. He bruises my lips, our teeth clash, I taste blood. And then he pushes me away so swiftly my back slams against the Jeep. “You left,” he says. “Goddammit, Nikki, you left.”

Tears stream down my face, and I open my mouth to apologize—to tell him I had to, that I didn’t have a choice—but then he’s pulling me to him again, only this time his embrace is soft and his mouth is full of need, consuming me, tasting me, as if he can’t quite believe that I’m real. “Nikki,” he says when he breaks the kiss. “Nikki, oh, God, Nikki.”

I cling to him, my hands in his hair, then press my mouth to his again. I cannot get enough of him. His hands slide over my body, his mouth opens to me. My tongue wars with his. I will never have my fill of him, and all I want is this moment, this reunion. I want to drop down to the asphalt and strip him bare right there, and in that singular moment I do not know how I have survived without him.

Then it hits me—I haven’t survived. I have been sleepwalking, not living. Because how can I really be alive without Damien?

“I’m sorry,” I say when we finally break the kiss. “I’m so sorry she did that. I can’t believe she’d do that. She said if I broke up with you—” I cut myself off. I hadn’t intended to tell him that.

“I know,” he says flatly. “Ollie told me. He told me what you did, and he told me why you did it.”

I’m not sure whether I want to slap Ollie or kiss him, but the conundrum soon evaporates under Damien’s touch. He strokes a hand along my cheek, his familiar touch firing nerve-endings throughout my body. “You’re a goddamn fool, Nikki Fairchild. And I love you desperately.”

I swallow tears and cling to him even tighter, savoring our connection and the way he makes me feel.

His hands roam my back, over my ratty Bermuda shorts, up along the backs of my thighs. I moan, craving a more intimate connection.

“I think maybe we should get in the car.” He unlocks it and we climb in. The backseats are down and the area has been filled by a mattress. I glance at Damien, amused. “Roughing it?”

“I haven’t wanted luxury. I’ve been living in motels, the backs of cars. I’ve been all over Europe and I don’t think I’ve really seen one inch of it.”

I swallow. Ollie was right. Damien has been just as broken as I have.

“Tonight, I was going to drive to the desert. I thought I’d sleep under the stars. I thought it might help.” He points to the roof. I don’t know if it’s a standard feature or the billionaire add-on, but there is a huge sunroof over the back of the Jeep.

“It wouldn’t have,” I say. I know, because nothing would have helped me. Nothing except Damien.

“No,” he says. “It wouldn’t.” His eyes roam over me, and he reaches out tentatively to touch me. “Dear God, Nikki. Are you real?”

I can only nod, because if I speak I will surely start crying again.

“Thank God you found me.” He pulls me down beside him. I feel like I’m in high school again, and I have to admit I kind of like it.

“I’ve been looking for you for hours,” I finally say. “Ever since I saw the news. Are you okay?” I stroke his face, expecting the same clammy skin from Germany. But the Damien in front of me looks as gorgeous and healthy as always, not to mention exquisitely happy.

“I am now,” he says.

“I don’t understand why she released the photos.”

“She didn’t,” Damien says. “I did.”

I sit up and gape at him. “You? But—but why?”

“Because I didn’t have any other choice.” He eases me back down, then slides closer. He twines our legs together and his arm goes around my waist. I snuggle in close, and press my cheek against his chest, wanting to be as close to him as possible. “I was dying without you, and once Ollie told me the choice you made, I knew that I had to make one, too.”

“But the photos—that’s the thing you’ve been fighting against all along. That abuse is the reason you wouldn’t testify. You were willing to go to jail rather than let it go public.”

“I was,” he says. “But I’m an arrogant son of a bitch, and I don’t think I ever really believed that the court would convict me. I don’t think I believed that I could lose you.” He strokes his thumb along my chin. “But I lost you anyway, Nikki, and I had to make a decision. And the truth is that I’m doing fine. I wouldn’t call it an ideal situation having my private life be the topic of editorials and talk shows, but I’m surviving. And it was my choice. Not a decision forced on me because my lawyers said I needed to put up a defense, but a real, honest decision where I weighed what I have and what I fear against what I want.”

I shake my head, not following.

“What I mean is that there is only one thing that could rip me apart more than those photos—that
did
rip me apart—and that’s losing you. So I balanced the weight of my past against the promise of my future.” He brushes a kiss over my lips. “The future won.”

My smile is watery. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. About secrets and shadows. I needed you to believe I was really breaking up with you.”

“You were right,” he says.

“No, not entirely. But we don’t have to argue about it. I know damn well your secrets aren’t going to start spilling out just because I won that argument.”

His smile is soft. “You probably have a point.” His eyes soak up my face, and a small smile plays at his mouth.

“What?” I finally say.

“I’m just happy you found me.” He frowns. “How did you find me?”

I allow myself the smallest of smug smiles. “Sweetheart, I will always find you.”

“I’m very happy to hear that,” he says. His fingers trail down my arm, bare beneath my paint-splattered tank top. I’d been too eager to find Damien to bother changing out of my crappy clothes, though I did manage to take a shower yesterday, so I’m not totally disgusting. The trajectory of his hand shifts, and he cups my breast, his thumb flicking lightly over my nipple, and each tiny tug sends a hot wire of electricity jolting through my belly and down to my sex.

As if he’s curious about the effect his touch has on me, Damien trails his hand down, leaving my breast to ease lightly over my tank toward the drawstring waist of my shorts. “I want to know everything you did these weeks we were apart. I don’t want to feel like we’ve missed a moment of our life together. But, Nikki, I don’t give a damn about that now. All I want is you naked and wet and open for me.”

I meet his eyes, wait a beat, and then peel off my tank top. It has a built-in shelf bra, so I’m now naked from the waist up. “You can take care of the rest of that yourself,” I say, putting my hand on his and sliding our joined fingers into the shorts. I’m not wearing underwear, and I buck with pleasure when his fingers stroke my clit, then slide inside me.

“I think you want me, Ms. Fairchild.”

“Desperately,” I say, then fumble to shove down my shorts.

I lay back, naked, as he leans over me. “Leave your T-shirt on,” I say as my fingers work the fly of his jeans. “You look like a sexy rebel.”

He laughs. “I am. I thought you knew.”

He kicks his jeans off, then brushes a soft kiss over my lips, then nips at my lower lip, catching it in his teeth and tugging lightly before easing his mouth down my neck, over the swell of my breast, to finally suck on my nipple. He draws it in, teases it with his tongue, and slides his hand between my legs to tease my clit in time with the pull of his mouth.

“I’ve missed your taste,” he murmurs. “I’ve missed feeling you slip beneath my fingers. The way your skin quivers when you’re excited. I want to watch you aroused, I want to watch you come. I want to tie you up and spank your ass and make sure you know that you are mine, and that you damn well better not leave me again. But right now, baby, all I want is to be inside you.” He straddles me and I feel the head of his cock press against my sex and see the answering rush of pleasure in his eyes. “I’m going to fuck you now, Nikki.” His words are low and steady with the quality of a growl. “Hard and deep and very thoroughly.”

“Yes,” I say. “Oh, please, yes.” I spread my legs and I am so wet, so desperately in need of him, that he sinks deep inside me with one long thrust. I am on my back, and I cup my hands on his rear, feeling Damien’s tight ass and strong muscles pound into me, harder and harder until all I am is a mass of sensation. Until all I want to do is spin off into space and take Damien along with me.

My orgasm takes me by surprise, building so fast and so furious that I cry out when it rips through me. I feel my body clench hungrily around his, and then the sweet tension and pressure of his own release before he collapses, spent, beside me.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I know,” I reply. I glance around at the Jeep and can’t help but smile. I prop myself up on my elbow and look down at his gorgeous face and sleepy, just-fucked eyes. “How many billions do you have, Mr. Stark? And we’re making out in the back of a Jeep? How very gauche.”

He flashes the kind of sexy smile designed to make me wet all over again. “Fuck my billions, Ms. Fairchild. All I care about is you.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

“I want you to know I’m not sad,” Jamie says as the moving guys lug my chest of drawers out of the bedroom and toward the front door. As of today, the last of my stuff will be in Malibu and I will have officially moved in with Damien. Despite the fact that I want this more than anything, there are little butterflies dancing in my stomach. But they’re soft and the dance is sweet and I’m actually enjoying the sensation.

“I’m completely excited for both of us,” she adds. “But you more than me.”

Jamie has rented the condo out for the next six months. She decided that Texas made sense—but that she wasn’t yet ready to give up on LA entirely. So she’s driving back to stay with her parents and, as she says, “think about her shit.” Hopefully she’ll come back. If not, she’ll sell the condo. But at least she doesn’t have to decide right now.

I hold tight to Damien’s hand. “I’m not going to say that I’ll miss you,” I say. “Because you’ll be back. I’m certain of it.”

“If nothing else, I’ll be back to bum a week in Malibu.”

“Anytime,” Damien says.

She glances at her watch. “I gotta go pick up my car,” she says. “I left it at the corner for an oil change and all that stuff. I don’t really want to get stuck in El Paso.”

“Call me tonight,” I say as we hug. I blink, not wanting to cry, but afraid I won’t be able to help it.

“Hell yeah, I will.”

She gives Damien a hug, too, and as soon as she’s gone, I turn to Damien, an odd mix of happiness and melancholy rumbling inside me. “We can go, too. I don’t need to hang out in my empty room for nostalgia purposes.”