“Well,” said Louis, the security guard. “How’d it go?”
“Fine.” Damon gestured toward Natasha’s well-kept duplex apartment and flower-bordered yard. She’d seemed so different today. So casual. So open. So ... well, so unexpectedly
sexy
in her bare feet and loose hair, in her jeans and her T-shirt, in her overall warmth and vitality. Pacey, he thought for the millionth time, was an unfairly lucky man. Damon frowned. “As you could see, I didn’t have any nefarious intentions.”
Louis shrugged. “I didn’t really think you did, Mr. T. But rules are rules. At Torrance Chocolates, we take care of our own.” Proudly, he patted the ID badge clipped to his uniform’s shirt pocket. “Natasha helped get me my job at the company. She’s a great girl. You can see why I had to look out for her.”
Right. Damon already knew that Natasha had inspired endless devotion from everyone at work. The entire staff, from janitors to board members, adored her. When she’d quit, everyone had unanimously (and accurately) blamed Damon. Animosity had ensued.
Things had gotten bad enough, rapidly enough, that Jimmy had even cited the need to resolve “morale problems” when he’d asked Damon to take his leave of absence from the company.
“For all I knew,” Louis went on cheerfully, “you were gonna stalk Natasha or something. Not on
my
watch, you’re not.”
“You’re very dedicated,” Damon told him wryly. He clutched the steering wheel, feeling weirdly reluctant to leave. He should have felt great, he knew; he’d successfully gotten Natasha’s forgiveness. Any second now, his usual good luck would kick in, and things would be fine again. Somehow, though, Damon
didn’t
feel great. “I’ll take you back to the office.”
“Aw, we don’t have to go back right away.” Louis gave him a hopeful look. “You’re a legend when it comes to knowing how to have a good time, Mr. T. Everybody knows that. Now that I know you don’t mean any harm to Natasha, I don’t have to keep any eye on you anymore. Jimmy said so.” He grinned. “How about we go grab a beer or something? You know, for old times’ sake?”
“‘For old times’ sake’?” Exasperatedly, Damon stared at him. “I haven’t
left
the company, Louis. I’m on leave.”
“Yeah, well ... leaving has a way of becoming permanent, doesn’t it?” the security guard pointed out. “Especially if the leaving is involuntary, like yours was.” Louis brightened. “Say! We guys in security have a bet going about whether you ever come back to work. Do you mind giving me a little inside info?”
“If I had it to give,” Damon said, “I would.”
Louis gave a disgruntled sound. Trying to ignore the suddenly pervasive feeling that he was disappointing everyone around him, Damon started the car. Frowning, he scanned the quiet street. He didn’t like knowing that his absence from Torrance Chocolates was the subject of speculation. He didn’t like knowing that everyone thought he was down for the count.
At least Natasha didn’t know about his unwanted leave of absence. It had been hard for Damon not to tell her about it. Especially when she’d been grilling him about why he wasn’t at work, at his staff meeting, trying to make his parents proud—trying to develop his family’s company and do something worthwhile.
Telling Natasha about everything that had happened to him over the past few days—like being temporarily forced out of his job, seeing his house flooded, losing his car, and having his bank accounts frozen and his identity stolen—would have worked instantly to gain her forgiveness, Damon knew. Natasha was empathetic and kind and giving. She would have wanted to help him—if for no other reason than she felt sorry for him.
That’s why Damon had kept his struggles a secret from her. It hadn’t been easy, especially when she’d asked him directly if everything was all right. He wasn’t surprised that Natasha had somehow been able to intuit the truth: that things were awful for him. But he
was
surprised he hadn’t caved in and told her exactly how bad they were. Usually he would have felt no compunction about playing the sympathy card, if necessary.
Maybe he
was
becoming a better person, Damon thought.
Mentally congratulating himself on that, he pulled away.
Simultaneously, Louis shook his head. “I’m sorry, dude. It won’t be the same around Torrance Chocolates without you.”
“Louis, I’m not leaving! I’m coming back. You’ll see.”
Doubtfully, the security guard gazed outside. Slowly, Natasha’s apartment retreated from view. “Not without Natasha, you won’t come back. You can’t do it without her.”
Since that was Damon’s most closely held secret fear, Louis’s prediction hit him hard. But since Damon couldn’t allow anyone else to know that ... “You just watch me, Louis. I’ll be back bigger and better than ever,” he assured him. “Bet on it.”
Louis cheered up. “Hey, thanks for the tip, Mr. T!”
In that moment, as Damon drove away from Natasha for the first and probably last time, he made a promise to himself.
He
would
be back at Torrance Chocolates. He’d triumph, too. With or without Natasha to help him do it.
But first ... “Hey,” Damon said to Louis after a quick glance at the car’s center console, where he’d stowed his remaining loose change, “do you know where I can get lunch for $8.75 or less? I’m starving. If it’s cheap enough, I’ll even treat.”
“Sure.” Louis pointed straight ahead, where the freeway exit swerved southward. “I know an awesome food cart down by the Embarcadero. We can both eat cheap, and I’ll buy the beer.”
“Sounds good to me,” Damon told him.
Tasty food, free beer ... what more could a man ask for?
It looked as though his luck was changing for the better already.
Chapter 12
Just as the sun was beginning to cast long orangey shadows across Natasha’s front yard, her doorbell clanged again.
Instantly, she thought it must be Damon. Again. Only this time, she decided as she strode barefoot from her kitchen to her front door, she would not be such an easy mark for his charm. This time, Natasha promised herself, she would be a
lot
tougher.
Her determination lasted about as long as it took to open the door. As soon as she spied Damon standing there, she almost melted on the spot. No sane woman could have blamed her. Not while Damon stood in the waning rays of sunlight, still wearing his suit, with his dark hair tousled and his eyes fixed on hers.
“I can’t do it without you,” he said. “I thought getting your forgiveness would be enough. But it wasn’t.”
“Hello to you, too,” Natasha joked. “Long time, no see.”
Long time, no see
? What was she, twelve? So far, she’d demonstrated all the innate coolness of a preteen with a crush.
Which, technically, pretty accurately described her attitude toward Damon. She
did
have a crush on him. She ought to be honest about that—at least with herself. She’d realized that much during their time apart. Still, Natasha didn’t want to be defined by her feelings for her unattainable, spoiled-rotten boss. Inwardly, she groaned. But she couldn’t seem to tear away her gaze from the sight of Damon’s handsome, beseeching face.
“I need you, Natasha,” he said, and she wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t dreaming. “I’ll do anything,” Damon promised. “I swear I will. I’ll do
anything
you want. Just name it.”
“Okay.” She crossed her arms. “Um ... howl like a wolf.”
He looked puzzled. “Seriously?”
“Absolutely.” She nodded at him. “Go ahead.”
“All right. It’s your kinky party.” Obligingly, Damon tossed back his head. Then he opened his mouth and howled in the direction of the fuchsia bougainvillea arching over her porch.
Her neighbors—if they noticed—were unperturbed.
Natasha approved. “Hey, it’s fun to be the one giving orders. It must be awesome being the boss of people.”
“It is.” Looking adorably disgruntled, Damon raised his eyebrow. “Are we done yet? Can I come in? I need to—”
Be with you
, she imagined him saying, then cut him short. As much as that idea segued nicely with her fantasies, it didn’t exactly gibe with her need to keep Damon “out of sight” and hence “out of mind” long enough for her to get over him.
However, now that he was here, maybe she could have some fun with him first. In the spirit of getting while the getting was good, she decided to push Damon a little further.
“Now do a little dance,” Natasha instructed, just because she could. Just for the hell of it. Because this opportunity might not come around again, and she had to make the most of it. She swiveled her finger in the air. “Include lots of hip action while you’re at it. Pretend you’re bringing sexy back.”
“Bringing sexy—” At her overt request that he make like a former boy band member, Damon scowled. “You’re enjoying this.”
“More than I ever expected,” she agreed gleefully. “Go on.”
“No.” He pouted. “I’m not your dancing monkey.”
“Oh, I think you are. You already volunteered.”
“I meant I’d
pay
you to come back to work with me,” Damon told her. “I meant I’d apologize again or try to make amends.”
“Maybe. But what you said was, and I quote: ‘I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Just name it.’ So I’m naming it.”
He exhaled. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
She waited. A long time. “Do you want some music? My iPod is in the other room. I could just grab it and—”
“No.” Stubbornly, Damon closed his eyes. He appeared to be getting himself focused. He inhaled deeply, then shook his arms.
Just when Natasha was about to prompt him to start, he did.
By the time he’d finished his impromptu hip thrusts and rhythmic gyrations on her front porch, Natasha was left gawking. She could hardly breathe. She was pretty sure she was blushing.
“I know,” Damon said upon seeing her face. “I should be careful where I unleash that kind of raw sex appeal, right?”
He said it self-deprecatingly, with a trace of humility that she’d never quite glimpsed in him before. But with the memory of his mini performance so fresh in her mind, Natasha couldn’t focus on Damon’s emotional state. She couldn’t even form words. All she could do was remember ... longingly.
How had he made suit pants look so sexy? How had he
moved
that way, so uninhibitedly? So committedly? So affectingly?
All at once, Natasha wanted to lay out a whole itinerary’s worth of special requests for Damon—starting with the suggestion that he come inside ... and ending with a demand that he kiss her (at the very least) or love her (at the very most).
Clearly, Damon’s
Dance Dance Revolution
had melted her brain. She didn’t have a lick of common sense left.
Now she wanted Damon to
love her
? Oh, boy ...
“Your neighbors will never look at you the same way again,” Damon prophesied. “From here on, you’ll be the woman who demands that men gyrate on her front porch before they come in.”
Natasha grinned. “If that’s some kind of double entendre—”
“It’s not. I promise.” Damon’s serious, slightly panicked look made her wonder exactly what he thought she was proposing. “You’re you, and I’m me,” he blathered uncharacteristically, “and there’s always Pacey to think of... .” On that baffling note, he paused. He smiled straight at her. “So can I come inside?”
No
, her good intentions nagged.
Out of sight, out of mind
.
“Yes.” Natasha stepped aside. “But you’ll have to hop.”
Damon went still. “You want me to hop in?”
“Like a bunny,” she specified. Just to clarify matters, she added, “I’m not through messing with you yet. So ... hop.”
Hop
. With his whole future hinging on his ability to make like Bugs Bunny, Damon took a deep breath. He glanced at Natasha. She still looked unbelievably luscious, even while wearing jeans with holes in the knees and a worn-thin T-shirt with nerdy cartoons on it. She confirmed her outrageous request with a grin, then waited for him to deliver on his promise.
I’ll do anything you want
.
Just name it
.
“I never pegged you for the dominatrix type,” he grumbled.
“I never pegged you for a welsher,” Natasha said cheerfully. With offhanded curiosity, she looked him over. “After you’ve done all this—to
my satisfaction
, of course—”
To her satisfaction
. At that, Damon almost groaned. He was
trying
to be good. He was. But with Natasha tossing out naughty jokes, looking fairly adorable, and (after his stupid dance) practically devouring his body with her “I want you” gaze, he was having a hard time with the whole concept of staying honorable. So far, he hated it. It was not a natural fit.
“I can deliver satisfaction,” he couldn’t resist saying. Hell, machismo was baked into his nature. It was part of him. “Don’t worry about that. But as far as the hopping goes, I—”
“—exactly what,” Natasha persisted, “do you get in return? Why are you so keen to do what I want? I don’t have anything—”
“You have
everything
,” Damon told her, and it was true.
She had everything he needed and more. Because this afternoon, contrary to his deeply held hopes, Damon hadn’t become magically lucky again. Things were as bad as they’d ever been. That meant he still had more work to do. With Natasha.
Ignoring her perplexed expression, he gestured grandly.
“Stand aside. I’ll need lots of room,” Damon told Natasha intently. “Because my hopping is going to
blow your mind
.”
Grinning now, Natasha complied. As she did, he couldn’t help noticing that her nipples poked against her T-shirt in an especially mind-scrambling way. Galvanized, Damon could think of nothing else. For a split second, his whole being focused on ...
Hop, you weasel!
his inner drill sergeant commanded.
Hop!
So Damon did. Desperate, confused, and suddenly horny, he hopped like crazy. Two paces in, he crumpled to the ground.