by J. Kenner
“I was a bit distracted,” he says dryly. “What did I miss?”
“It’s one of Jackson’s designs.”
“Is it?” He studies the brochure some more. “You’re right. I should have recognized his style. His building, too?”
I shake my head. “No. Just architectural and construction services. Sylvia said the owner bought the building to use the ground floor retail space. Reginald Aubert.”
“I know that name. The son of Jerome Aubert,” he says, referring to the world-famous jeweler whose name, in the right circles, anyway, is at least as familiar as Cartier. “Reginald hasn’t reached his father’s level yet, but I hear he’s trying. And that he’s pretty skilled himself.”
“Apparently, he contacted Jackson about doing something clever with the rest of the building, and Jackson came up with the office rental and elite hotel concept.”
“That is clever,” Damien said. “But Jackson rarely has a bad idea.”
“Runs in the family,” I say, then lean over to give him a kiss as our driver pulls to a stop by the valet stand.
“I believe you’ve met my father…”
I frown. “Good point. I guess it must skip a generation.”
As Damien laughs, the driver lowers the privacy screen. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Stark?”
“No, thank you, William,” Damien says. He’s never met the man before, but he’s one of the full-time drivers for the Stark Century Manhattan Hotel, where we’ll be going tomorrow to meet up with Dallas, Jane, and the girls. “Feel free to take the rest of the day off,” he adds, passing William a generous tip. “I’ll let them know I authorized it.”
“Thank you, sir. Are you sure you don’t want me to wait? Will you and Mrs. Stark be needing a ride to the sights? Or to dinner later?”
We had lunch with Dallas, Jane, and the girls in Southampton, and it’s now already past three, so it’s a reasonable question. Damien looks at me, and I shake my head. “That’s very kind, William, but we’ll be dining in. You enjoy your night off.”
He nods, thanks us both again, and we slide out of the car as soon as the valet opens the door. It’s Saturday, and the jewelry store closed at two, but we spend some time looking at the pieces in the window. They sparkle and shine behind glass that is surely protected and armed to the hilt.
“A law firm will be on the second floor and an accounting firm has rented the third,” I say, looking at the directory before we take the pristine elevator to the fourth floor. “Sylvia said they’re not in yet. The store and hotel only opened last week.” I flash a grin. “Everything still has that new car smell.”
He laughs as the doors slide open and we step out into the classy, well-appointed reception area. The hotel may be new, but it’s clear the staff is experienced, and soon we’re following the bellboy to our suite, our two overnight bags slung over his shoulder.
We take the elevator up to the seventh floor, where the bellboy guides us to our spacious park-view suite. “My big brother did well,” Damien says, looking around the beautifully appointed space, complete with a kitchen, media area, and three bedrooms.
“No kidding.”
He tips the bellboy, and when we’re alone, he pulls me toward the couch. “I’m guessing we have dinner plans.”
“We do,” I say. “But the reservation isn’t until eight. I thought we could check out the bar downstairs before that. Sylvia says it’s classy as hell. Dark and intimate.”
He sits, tumbling me down with him onto his lap. “I like intimate.”
“Yeah?” I laugh as I squirm a little. “Me, too.”
He grins. “So you have me at your mercy. Whatever will you do with me?”
“All sorts of naughty things, Mr. Stark—but you’ll have to wait until after dark.”
His brows rise. “Oh? What do you have planned now?”
I slide off his lap and take his hand, then tug him to the huge windows. They open inward, and we step onto the narrow balcony. “That,” I say, leaning back against him as he wraps me in his arms. “I thought we could go to the park.” I twist so that I can look back at him. “A romantic carriage ride, then a shower, then drinks downstairs before dinner.”
“And after dinner?”
I spin in his arms, then lean back so that I’m looking up at him. I think about the little package wrapped up in my purse, and my pulse kicks in as I imagine him opening it.
“Then, Mr. Stark, we celebrate.”
“Do we?” His lips curve into a teasing grin. “What’s the occasion?”
“We are.”
Whiskey-Charlie, the bar just off the lobby, is as wonderful as Sylvia promised. Dark and atmospheric, with a warm glow coming from a wall of muted light behind the glass shelves that hold an array of liquor bottles.
The bartender waves to us as we enter—a tall man in his mid-thirties with the kind of broad shoulders that makes me think of football. He has shocking red hair, and neither Damien nor I are surprised when he introduces himself as Red and tells us to take a seat anywhere.
The bar is open to the public, but it’s not crowded. In fact, there are only three other parties in the place. A couple sitting at a two-top, both sipping wine, but neither looking at the other. A first date, I think. And not one that’s going well. An older couple sits near the window, beaming at each other and talking softly as they sip martinis. Anniversary, I tell myself.
Near the front is the third group, a threesome. A man with hair as dark as Damien’s laughs with a woman dripping with jewelry that gleams like starlight in the dim lighting. Another woman, not quite as decked out, talks on her cell phone at his other side. A double-date, perhaps, and the fourth has yet to show?
I assume the paucity of customers is because of the newness of the hotel. “You’re right,” Red says when I ask him as much when he comes to our booth to take our order.
He’s got an easy manner about him, as if we’ve all been friends forever. “These first two weeks we haven’t advertised the bar at all. Reginald over there—Reginald Aubert,” he clarifies as he points to the lean man with the two women. “He’s the building’s owner. He asked my pop to do a few weeks of dry runs before we start advertising. The operation of the bar reflects on the hotel overall.”
“Not a bad plan,” Damien says as we both look in Aubert’s direction.
He’s shifted in his chair, and I can see more of the man now. His dark hair sits in tight curls close to his head, and he sports a mustache so thin it could have been drawn with eyeliner. The blonde bathed in jewels tosses back her head and laughs as the other woman continues to study her phone.
“Looks like a celebration,” I say.
“It is,” Red says. “Aubert’s a jeweler. Designer.”
“We know,” I say. “Not as famous as his father—”
“But trying to get there,” Red finishes for me. “And he’s just acquired a red beryl. It’s in the hotel safe.”
“The hotel safe?” Damien asks at the same time that I ask, “What’s a red beryl?”
Red answers Damien first. “A seriously intense vault, from what my dad told me when the place was under construction. Aubert wanted it in the hotel instead of on the ground floor. Another level of safety, I guess.” He shrugs. “Also, the plan is for the hotel to appeal to the extremely wealthy. With such a small number of rooms, it will have to. So security is a big deal.”
“All part of the PR,” Damien says. “I get it.”
“And the red beryl?”
Red turns to me. “One of the world’s rarest and most valuable gemstones. I hear this one is seven carats. He’s creating a setting for it, and apparently there’s already a buyer on the hook. That woman with Aubert? She’s supposed to model it at his grand opening event in a week.”
“Wow.”
“So the bar has different ownership than the hotel?” Damien asks, less fascinated by this stone than I am.
“And dry run means the bartender comes out to mingle?” I add.
“Who’s the owner? You mentioned your father.”
“William Cooper. I told him I wanted a night behind the bar, and he was happy to oblige. I figured he’d stay around and keep an eagle eye on me but turns out he has a lady friend.” His smile widens. “Go figure.” He glances around, then waves at the table with the awkward couple. “You two doing okay? Your appetizers will be right out.” He taps our table, his attention returning to us. “I’ll get your drinks over and your order in. Meantime, shout if you need anything.”
We assure him we will, then I lean against Damien as I watch Red walk away. “That’s a guy who likes his job.”
“Seems to be,” Damien says.
I turn to him as he scoots further into the booth. “What? You don’t think so?”
“No, not that. I just—I just wouldn’t take him for a bartender at all.” He lifts a shoulder. “C’est la vie.”
“Mr. Stark. Can you be losing your edge about reading people?”
He slides even further, urging me along with him so that we are all the way in the booth. “So long as I haven’t lost my ability to read you, I’m not going to worry too much about it.”
“Oh? Well, maybe we ought to test that. Try to read me now.”
“Hmm.” He shifts to face me more directly. “You, Mrs. Stark, want me to kiss you.”
I tug on his tie, urging his face closer to mine. “Amazing,” I say. “You’re exceptionally gifted.”
I brush a kiss over his lips, then sit back and simply watch him watching me. “What?” I finally say when I catch the hint of humor flashing in his eyes.
“Just thinking that if this were our pre-parenting years I would have made a point of getting you worked up right here, right now. Simply because I can.”
“Oh, really?” I don’t say so, but those words alone are going a long way toward doing that very thing.
“Mmm,” he says, resting his palm on my thigh. I’m still wearing the same outfit from earlier; we both are. Since this is only an overnight trip and our dinner restaurant is casual, there didn’t seem to be any reason to bring yet another change of clothes. Now, the heat of his palm on my bare thigh seeps into me, warming me in the kind of way that almost makes me wish we hadn’t ordered anything but room service.
“Tell me more.”
His thumb moves back and forth, slowly teasing my skin as he leans closer and whispers, “What would you do if I told you to take off your panties and spread your legs?”
I lick my lips, my core already throbbing with need. “I’d tell you that I wasn’t wearing any.”
His throat moves, and I silently congratulate myself. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting that answer. “God, Nikki. I do love you.”
“I know,” I say, then uncross my legs and spread my thighs. I know that the tablecloth is keeping us hidden from view, and the bar is mostly empty. Even so, it’s still public, and that knowledge heightens the sensuality of the moment. So much that I can barely keep from squirming, desperately trying to find satisfaction even though I know it won’t come until Damien finally touches me.
My phone lights up, and I see that the call is from Abby, my partner in my software company, Fairchild & Partners Development, and there is no way in hell I’m answering that call right this second.
I grab the phone and slip it into my bag. Then I turn and look defiantly at Damien, as if I expect him to criticize me for wanting this—him—so much that I’m blowing off my partner.
But all he says is, “Do you remember Germany?”
I frown. Of course I remember Germany. He’d been on trial for murder. Not something either one of us is likely to forget.
“Do you remember the club?” he asks, not waiting for my answer. “That nightclub I took you to. You in that ridiculously short skirt. That sofa, right in the open. You straddled me, baby. Right there, where anyone watching would have known exactly how I was touching you—and just how much you were enjoying it.”
“I would have stripped naked for you that night,” I admit.
“You liked the danger. Being under my command.”
“I still do.”
“I know,” he says. He waits a beat, then lifts my hand. Slowly, he sucks on my finger, sending a heated thread of pleasure shooting from my mouth all the way down to my pussy. “Touch yourself.”
“What?” I wasn’t expecting that, but even I can hear the excitement in my voice. This is something new.
“You heard me, baby. I want to watch you come.”
Chapter Six
I want to watch you come.
Those words shouldn’t hold such power over me. But they do. I feel as if I’m melting into the leather bench. As if there’s nothing in this world I’m supposed to do except experience the pleasure of watching my husband watch me.
That’s part of what’s so remarkable. Husband. So many times I think that we’ve moved past that intense sensuality that marked our early years together. That wild, almost feral need for each other. We have children now. Playdates and pre-school, dance lessons and birthday parties. We have work and Disney movies. And our master bedroom that used to have all manner of sensual toys tucked away within easy reach now has a chair that plays home to a few stuffed animals, and those adult toys are locked away in a chest under the bed.
Things have changed. And yet right now, in this moment, I remember how much things haven’t changed, too. At the core, we’re still us. And I know we always will be.
I start to do as he asks—start to slide my fingers up my leg to my swollen, begging clit—but Damien’s hand stops me. Before I can question him, he’s nodding a greeting, and I turn around to find Red coming to a halt at our table, two glasses of Scotch, two waters, and a basket of fried mushrooms balanced on a tray.
“You look deep in conversation,” he says.
“Just enjoying an evening away from the kids,” Damien replies. “A bit of adult interaction,” he adds, and I’m sure I turn a thousand shades of red from the innuendo.
“That’s a lovely watch,” Red says when I reach for my water.
“Thank you. A present from my husband.”
“You have good taste, my friend,” Red says, then frowns.
“Problem?” Damien asks.
The bartender shakes his head. “You look familiar, Mr. Stanfield,” he says, using the name attached to the room number we gave him.
Ryan Hunter—Damien’s partner and my best friend’s husband—helped me set up the false IDs, complete with a fake driver’s license so that I could check in as someone other than Mrs. Damien Stark.
Now Red looks between the two of us, frowning slightly. “Must be one of those faces.”
“People say they recognize me all the time,” Damien says, and I have to fight not to laugh.
“At any rate, enjoy. And again, just signal if you need me.”
“Mr. Stanfield,” I say after Red is out of earshot.
“Mrs. Stanfield.”
I sigh, surprisingly content despite the ill-timed interruption. And as much as the thought of sexy times in the booth had turned me on, I realize that the moment has passed, and I want something different now.
“I love my watch,” I say softly. “I got you an early Christmas present, too.”
“You did? I’m intrigued.”
I reach into my purse to find the box, but of course it’s fallen to the bottom. I frown, then rummage around, pulling out my makeup kit and then my phone. I put it on the table, and the screen flashes, the SOS-Call me!!! message from Abby larger than life.
“I think she wants you to call her.”
I wince. “I’m so sorry. I told her she could call in an emergency.”
He kisses my forehead. “Then I’m sure it’s a real emergency. Abby wouldn’t interrupt you otherwise.”
“I know. That’s what I’m afraid of,” I admit. “We’ve got several updates pushing out over the holida
y.” I sigh, wondering if it had been a big mistake to leave LA.
Damien puts his hand over mine. “What was it you were telling me? That I hire good people? People I can trust to come through in a pinch. You’ve done the same, Nikki. Abby’s young, but she’s good. There’s nothing the two of you can’t deal with.”
Even as he speaks, the screen lights up again, and the phone vibrates. Damien grins, then reaches for it. “Hey, Abby. One minute, and she’s all yours.” He taps the button to mute the call, then slides closer, his hand returning to my thigh. I gasp as his fingers slide between my legs, then bite my lower lip as he fills me even as he bends close to kiss me, long and deep.
When he breaks the kiss, he withdraws his fingers. And I, of course, whimper.
“So you know what you’re missing,” he murmurs. “Just in case you want to scold your partner.”
“Yeah,” I say, my mouth too damn dry to say much more.
He starts to slide out of the booth again. I grab his tie and hold him in place. “Just so you know,” I say, “the moment you get back I want you to finish what you started.” I slide a few inches closer and lower my voice. “I want you to make me come. Right here in this full bar, where everyone can see us, and they might suspect, but no one will know for sure. And then—if I think you did your job well—maybe I’ll give you your present.”
“A woman who knows what she wants. I like it.”
“I love you.”
“Oh, baby. I know. That’s what makes me whole.” He brushes a soft kiss over my lips. “Men’s room. Back soon.”
I watch him turn the corner to the hall that led into the bar. I noticed the dark doors of the restrooms as we’d come in, but he’s disappeared from my view now. I sigh, then turn my attention to my partner. “What’s going on? Is it bad?”
“I hope not.” She sounds stressed. Which of course makes me stressed.
“Deep breath, Abby. Just lay it out for me.”
Ten minutes later I’m frowning. I was right. It was a problem with the software updates. But we’ve worked it through, and Abby’s got a plan for moving forward.