Insatiable (Unrated! Book 6)

by Leslie Kelly

  “I’m fine,” she insisted, almost choking on the words. Her breaths were coming on hoarse gasps and she was caught between tears and screams.

  “He hurt you.”

  “No, no, it’s nothing.”

  He grabbed her shoulders and gently pushed her away so he could examine her face, which was probably reddened from the slap. Worse, she actually tasted a bit of blood in her mouth. Then he noticed her torn dress, and an almost inarticulate rage washed over Damien’s face all over again.

  She grabbed him tight and collapsed against his chest. “Just hold me,” she insisted, more to keep him from returning to pummel Bruno again than anything else. She was calming down, realizing that yes, she’d had a close call, but no, she wasn’t actually hurt.

  “I’m gonna kill him.”

  “Don’t. Please, let the police handle it.”

  “I’m sorry. Jesus, I’m so sorry, Viv. I should never have left you alone.”

  “How could you expect some lunatic would attack me?”

  “I should have expected it. He was furious when I had him traded, and more than one person informed me he’d been making threats against me. I should have realized you’d be a target, too, and that he hadn’t given up.”

  Viv had been slowly recovering from the trauma as she let herself soak up Damien’s warmth and comfort, but his words confused her. “Wait...what do you mean?”

  He kept touching her, caressing her hip, stroking her hair, kissing her cheek. “I mean, I should have had a bodyguard protecting you the minute I found out what happened. Or I should have had him escorted to a plane to take him to his new city, or convinced you to press assault charges. But I promise you, Viv, he won’t get near you again.”

  Viv scrunched her eyes closed, trying to get past the anxiety, trying to calm down and make sense of everything that had just happened. Bruno’s words about Damien had sounded crazy, a mixed-up amalgamation of resentments in the muddled mind of an alcoholic. But now, with what Damien was saying, she was beginning to visualize another possibility.

  “Damien, Bruno seemed to believe you had something to do with him being traded.”

  “Well, of course I did.”

  “How?”

  He stared down at her, puzzled. “The new GM and I made a lot of calls until somebody took him off our hands.”

  “You did that.”

  “Yes.”

  “But why?”

  “Because he hurt you.”

  “No, I mean, why would you be involved. Damien, was Bruno telling the truth when he said you own the team?”

  It was his turn to appear confused. “Well, yes, of course.”

  Such an easy thing to say. Yes, of course. But the words hit her like boulders thrown from a cliff. Her head was reeling, and it had nothing to do with the slap.

  Yes, of course he owned the Vanguard.

  Yes, of course he had arranged for Bruno’s trade.

  Yes, of course he would have been the one who’d gotten Viv her job back.

  Yes, of course he was the one who got rid of Stoker.

  Yes, of course he would want to make sure she didn’t sue the organization or cause them any more bad publicity.

  Yes, of course he had swept her off her feet until she would have done anything—absolutely anything—for him.

  But had he done it intentionally? Had all of it been some sort of plan to keep her from making trouble, to prevent a lawsuit, as Bruno had said?

  Could Bruno Neeley, in all his demented anger, have been right?

  “Viv, are you okay?”

  She shook her head slowly, trying to process it. “No, actually, I’m not.”

  The room began to spin, the floor rising and falling beneath her feet, as if she stood on the deck of a ship trying to stay afloat on a stormy sea. Her dress was torn, her skin bruised, her face sore, her body shaking and her heart...oh, her heart was playing all kinds of crazy games with her head.

  Yes, of course.

  It was all just too much. Everything overwhelmed her, and nothing made sense.

  And suddenly, without warning, all the strength drained from Viv’s body, and she fainted right into Damien’s arms.

  * * *

  DAMIEN SAT BY her hospital bed all night.

  He held her hand, consoled her when she cried out in her sleep, barked at each doctor or nurse who came into the private room to make sure they kept her safe and well.

  She wasn’t badly hurt, thank God. Not physically, anyway.

  But she’d been stalked, terrified and assaulted. Her emotional reaction to Bruno Neeley’s attack had left her confused and frightened.

  After she’d fainted, he’d insisted that paramedics take her to the hospital, and had further insisted on riding with her in the ambulance. Lex and Amelia had followed, and they’d waited with him while doctors examined Viv. None of them were family, but Damien had lied and called himself her fiancé, finding the word a lot easier to utter than he’d ever have imagined.

  With no one else to talk to about her condition, the doctor had confirmed for him that Viv had no life-threatening injuries. Her ribs were bruised, and she had some other abrasions and cuts. Worse, she was probably suffering from shock. She’d been admitted and Damien hadn’t left her side since.

  Throughout the night, she’d ranged from dozing to crying. Eventually, somewhere around 3:00 a.m., she’d shared the details of the whole story in soft whispers while he’d lain in the narrow hospital bed, holding her.

  The recounting seemed to help, and she’d finally fallen into a real sleep. While she’d slumbered, Damien had sat in the chair beside her, keeping watch. Still wearing his tux, he’d tossed the jacket and tie aside, and unbuttoned his shirt. Nothing would induce him to leave, and he’d glared at anyone who suggested that he do so. He’d stayed there, for hours, sending up prayers of thanks that she was all right, fully aware of how close she’d come to calamity.

  If he hadn’t heard that scream, Viv might have been in need of a rape kit, or worse. Bruno Neeley had been enraged, drunk and, apparently, high. There would have been no stopping him, and she would have been helpless to fight him off.

  “Thank you, God,” he mumbled again as he brought her pale hand to his lips and kissed it.

  “Damien?”

  He immediately rose from his chair and leaned over her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  She blinked and glanced around the room. Early morning sunshine had brightened the room. “I guess I really slept.”

  “The doctor said that was the best thing you could do.”

  He would have urged her to get even more rest, but the police officers who’d taken Neeley into custody last night had said they’d be by first thing this morning to get Viv’s statement.

  “So it wasn’t a dream,” she whispered.

  “Nightmare, maybe”

  “Yeah.” She took a deep, calming breath. “You stayed all night?”

  “Of course.

  “Thank you.”

  “Lex and Amelia left at around midnight. Amelia said she’d come again this morning.”

  “She doesn’t have to do that,” she said, struggling to sit up.

  He helped her, tucking the sheet and blanket around her, then pushing the button to raise the bed to an inclining position. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

  “Water?”

  Glad to have something to do, he crossed the room and poured her a glass from the plastic pitcher a nurse had left. Bringing the glass to the bed, he held it to her lips, supporting her head while she sipped.

  She winced as the cup scraped against her swollen, bloodstained lip, and Damien flinched. His hand tightened on the cup, but he managed to hold it steady and not spill it, not wanting to reveal his fury. It
had been hard enough not to bellow with rage when he watched the rising sun send shards of light over her face, highlighting the faint bruises on her jaw.

  “Thanks.” Then, apparently remembering some of their jumbled conversation during the night, she added, “You didn’t call my family, right?”

  He frowned down at her. “I should have, but no.”

  She’d argued with him about it last night, begging him not to worry her parents or brothers since she wasn’t seriously hurt. Damien had almost done it anyway, but understood Viv wanted to prepare herself for the conversations she faced. Hearing their daughter—their only girl—had been attacked and almost raped would not be easy for her parents. Christ, he could hardly stand the thought of it himself.

  “When can I get out of here?”

  “The doctor should be here soon.” He brushed a long strand of hair away from her face, touching her gently, not wanting to hurt her further. “The police, too.”

  “Oh, God,” she groaned.

  “It’ll be fine,” he said, bending to brush a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be right here with you.”

  She stiffened the tiniest bit, and shifted her eyes to gaze past him. “To look out for the team’s interests?”

  The muttered comment shocked him so much, he jerked up and took a step away from the bed. “What?”

  Shaking her head and closing her eyes, she mumbled, “I’m sorry. I didn’t... I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “You don’t really believe it.”

  “No. Of course not.” She didn’t sound terribly convinced.

  “What, exactly, did Neeley say to you?” he asked, still confused over some of what Viv had relayed to him during those late-night hours.

  She didn’t answer the question, instead countering with one of her own. “Why didn’t you let me know you owned the team?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s a simple question. Why didn’t you say anything about it?”

  He had to wonder if Viv was suffering from more than shock. Maybe she had a concussion. “I really don’t understand.”

  “It’s a simple question.”

  “Viv, you knew I was one of the owners.”

  She gaped, her brow furrowed, her mouth open. “No. I didn’t.”

  “That’s not possible. The day—that first day at the hotel, you left me a note saying you’d found out who I was. That’s why you took off on me!” Realizing he’d never actually voiced it, he assured her, “I swear to you, I had no idea who you were or who had fired you until I saw that story on the news.”

  Viv rubbed at her temples, as if to soothe an ache. “That note, I left it because I’d learned you owned the hotel.”

  He stiffened. “And?”

  “And nothing. That was it. The salesclerk mentioned you were a billionaire, that you owned the building I was standing in. I was...well, I was pretty mad at men at that point, and felt lied to.”

  The truth began to sink in. “Are you saying you ran out because I was rich? It had nothing to do with me being CEO of Black Ice, the company that owns the Vanguard?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” She slapped her hand down on the bed. “I had no clue you were the team’s primary owner until last night, when that disgusting pig said he’d been traded because of my relationship with you.”

  Damien’s thoughts reeled. It made no sense, how could she not have realized? All these weeks... Well, of course, he’d never done any work with the team while she was present. He’d steered clear of the office for her sake. But still...

  “You never wanted to talk about work,” he mumbled. “I assumed it was because you were trying to keep your professional life separate from your personal one. Trying to keep the owner-employee thing totally away from us.”

  “No, it was because I live sports nine-to-five, five days a week, and I just didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Especially after what happened.” She licked her lips. “I didn’t want you worrying about me and my problems. I wanted it to just be about you and me.”

  He stepped to her bedside again, stroking her unbruised cheek. “It was just about you and me.”

  He stared at her, willing her to believe him. He hated the idea that she’d believe he’d only been involved with her as some way to avoid a lawsuit or trouble for the team. The concept was ludicrous, and he could beat Bruno Neeley all over again for putting it into his head.

  Of course, Sam and the other attorneys had certainly floated the possibility, too. So Viv might have gotten this impression anyway. But, damn it, that still didn’t make it true.

  “Viv, listen to me,” he insisted, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I hate what happened to you, all of it, from that TV fiasco to last night. I’d do anything to make it not have happened.”

  “I know,” she said with a weary sigh.

  “No, you don’t,” he persisted. “If you want to sue me, you go right ahead. I won’t fight it. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I mean it.” He leaned closer to her, searching those blue eyes for some sign she believed him, wanting her to understand, wanting most of all for her to stay.

  “I’ll do anything you want,” he whispered. “Just, please...don’t leave me.”

  Her eyes grew misty, luminous, and he saw she was trying not to cry. “Leave you?”

  “I don’t want to lose you.”

  It wasn’t a declaration of love. Damien still wasn’t entirely sure he was capable of that emotion, much less say it out loud. But the idea of something happening to her—the way Bruno had hurt her, or the possibility of her cutting off their relationship because she no longer trusted him—threatened to crush the heart of him.

  He would do whatever it took to keep that from happening. If it cost him the team, or every penny he had. Whatever it took.

  “Damien?” she finally asked.

  “Yes?”

  She reached up and brushed her fingers through his hair, cupping his cheek. “Would you please take me home?”

  “As soon as I can, Viv. And I promise, nobody will ever hurt you again.

  10

  AFTER VIV WAS finally released from the hospital, following another checkup and a police interview, Damien made good on his promise to take her home. She’d been wheeled to the exit, and he lifted her out of the wheelchair and into the backseat of the limo, holding her on his lap.

  Damien asked Jed to head for her apartment, but as they drove through Arlington, Viv realized she wasn’t ready to go to her own place yet. She wasn’t frightened, precisely; Bruno was in custody. He hadn’t even had a bail hearing yet.

  But her nerves were still rattled. She didn’t know if she would be able to fall asleep without fearing she might be awakened by a coarse hand covering her mouth and a powerful arm crushing the breath from her body.

  Damien would stay with her if she asked him to—he’d spent one or two nights with her in the past. But she would feel more secure, more capable of keeping herself safe, if they were in the penthouse, behind security, elevators and locked doors.

  “Would you mind if we went to your place?” she asked, having come to consider the penthouse Damien’s home, since she’d never seen him living in any other.

  He frowned. “Are you sure? I mean, after what happened there?”

  That was another reason to return to the Black Star. She’d grown to love the place, and didn’t want her feelings about it ruined by the attack. Viv had given Bruno Neeley control over enough of her life in recent weeks.

  “I’m sure.”

  Damien called Jed and changed their destination. He kept his arm around her waist as they walked through the lobby, positioning himself so she wouldn’t even have a view down the side hallway that led to
the scene of her nightmare, his protectiveness intuitive.

  Once they were inside the penthouse, Damien insisted on taking care of her. She’d barely removed her jacket before he was sitting her down on the couch and heading into the bathroom to draw her a steamy, relaxing bath.

  “I’m fine, I can walk,” she called after him.

  “Let me do this,” he insisted, returning to carry her. She was beginning to feel like one of those petite, fragile women whom men could easily sweep into their arms, and couldn’t deny she kind of enjoyed it.

  Once in the bathroom, Damien stripped off her clothes—a sweater and pair of jeans Amelia had brought to the hospital for her this morning—and lowered her into the bubbles. Even then, he wasn’t finished. He kneeled beside the tub, washing every strand of her hair, gently bathing each sore and scrape. She felt boneless and relaxed even before he began to massage her shoulders and aching muscles.

  “This is heavenly,” she murmured.

  “I’m going to spoil you.”

  “I’m really fine, Damien,” she insisted, reaching a soapy hand up to brush against his cheek. “I appreciate all of this, but I promise you, I’m not in pain.”

  “Not physically, maybe,” he muttered.

  She couldn’t argue that, because he was right. Emotionally, she was still in a great deal of pain, unable to forget the violation of Bruno Neeley’s hands on her. Which, she realized, was probably why Damien had so lovingly washed every inch of her. As if he could remove those memories by his tender touch alone.

  And perhaps he could.

  As the water grew cool, Damien lifted her out, dried her off, carried her into the bedroom and tucked her into bed. She lay there as he ordered room service, surprised when he asked for chicken soup, ginger ale, chocolate pudding and ice cream. All the comfort food anyone could want. When it arrived, he wouldn’t allow anyone to enter the bedroom, bringing it in himself. He’d fed her, coaxed her into eating all her soup before she could have the junk.

  Afterward, he did the most important thing of all.