by Leslie Kelly
Others in the lobby—the staff, a few early guests and her obnoxious siblings—all started to chuckle. And within a second, Damien did, too. That handsome face softened, his devastating dimple appeared and he couldn’t contain a smile.
Drawing her into his arms again, he murmured, “If you ever tell anyone about this...”
“Are you kidding? The photographer’s been snapping away for the last five minutes.”
He quickly scanned the lobby, trying to spy said cameraman. Viv took pity and said, “Gotcha.”
“You’re a vixen, Vivienne Callahan.”
“So I’ve been told.”
They kissed again, but this time, when they parted, Damien said, “Can we go somewhere to talk for a few minutes?”
She glanced at her brothers, all of whom wore approving expressions. She imagined they liked a guy who’d make himself look like an idiot for the woman he loved—their sister.
At least...she hoped that’s what he was doing here. Coming to admit he loved her. If he did, well, she suspected she could get over all the other issues and just let him.
Promising the others they’d be at the party soon, she led Damien upstairs to the room she’d booked for the night. With its two uncomfortably hard double beds, it was as drastic a departure from the penthouse as was possible.
“I can’t believe you came.”
He cupped her face in his hands. “I can’t believe you left.”
Licking her lips, she replied, “I had to.”
“For my sake?” He shook his head and tsked. “Do me a favor, would you? Don’t ever run away because you think you need to protect me. And God, don’t ever do it because Sylvia taunts you into it.”
“She didn’t taunt me,” Viv explained. “I didn’t run because I was afraid or because of her name-calling.”
He stiffened at that, but she didn’t pause to explain.
“She just pointed out how different we are.”
“No, we’re exactly the same,” he insisted. “Bad and wicked, maybe. But still two people who are perfect together.”
“When she mentioned the difficulties you were having because of me, I couldn’t stand it. The last thing I would ever want is to cause you problems with your family, your business...the team.”
He scraped his lips across hers again. “The only difficulties you cause me are a perpetual hard-on and this strange ache in my chest that could be heartburn or could be crazy, once-in-a-lifetime love.”
Viv blinked rapidly, trying to make sure she’d heard correctly. “What?”
“I love you,” he said, his voice unwavering, as if reading her mind and seeing what she most wanted to hear. “I really, truly, with all my heart, love you, Viv.”
The world grew brighter, bells began to chime in her head. Most importantly, the fear and sadness she’d been carrying around for a week fell away in a rush, leaving her feeling clean, whole and new.
“I didn’t believe I was capable of love or commitment.”
“I remember,” she said. “So what happened?”
“I was wrong,” he said simply.
Then he fell silent, waiting for her. Not for a second did she consider denying him. She merely slid her fingers into his hair to pull him close and whispered, “I love you, too, Damien. I have for a lot longer than I’ve been willing to admit, even to myself. Walking away from you was, believe it or not, an act of that love...even if it was the most painful decision of my life.”
“I know,” he said. “And I forgive you for it, even if you did leave me a miserable mess for two days.”
They kissed again, slowly this time, with warm emotion. Viv put all her love and joy into the kiss, and tasted all the same on his lips. He stroked her body, tenderly and passionately, making her feel cherished and desired.
They embraced for several long moments and then she murmured, “About your family. I will try to get along with them.”
“Not necessary,” he said with a shrug. “At least, as far as Sylvia goes. She hates your guts.”
Viv flinched.
“But that’s okay, because she hates mine, too.”
She wasn’t shocked at the words, but tried to say the right thing. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Oh, yeah, it definitely is.”
Damien didn’t sound at all dismayed by that. In fact, he seemed almost cheerful.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I finally got her to admit how she really feels about me. And why. Are you ready for this?”
She was ready for anything, as long as he was with her.
“She’s not my mother.”
Viv gasped. Okay, she hadn’t been ready for that.
Damien held her tightly as she swayed on her feet. “Shocker, right? It turns out my biological mother was my dad’s college sweetheart. Dad, being a typical dumb twenty-one-year-old dude, got drunk and cheated on her one night at a party.”
Not unusual. Still sad, though.
“She found out, dumped him and disappeared. Nine months later, after my Dad was with Sylvia, he got a letter.”
“From your mother?” she asked, fascinated by the story.
He shook his head. His light tone darkened, as did his gleaming eyes. “No, from her roommate. Apparently my real mother was from a pretty conservative family. When they found out she was pregnant, they cut her off. She’d moved to Atlanta and was living with a friend when I was born.”
“You were a love child,” Viv murmured.
“Sylvia preferred to use the word bastard.”
“Yeah. She would.” The bitch. “Why didn’t your father marry your mother when he found out about you? If he really loved her, I mean?”
“The roommate wrote the letter to tell Dad about me...and to let him know my mother was dead.”
He swallowed visibly. Finding out he had a different mother, one who’d been dead for decades, must have been devastating. Again, Viv mentally kicked herself for running away the other day. She should have been there, waiting for him in the penthouse, ready to share his grief over the truth of his parentage. Instead, she’d left him alone to deal with all of this, as well as her own defection.
Stupid. How could she have been so stupid?
Apparently not noticing her mental self-flagellation, he continued. “She’d had no insurance, no decent prenatal care. There were complications that weren’t diagnosed until she was in labor, and they couldn’t save her.”
Tears welled in her eyes for this latest loss, among the many Damien had endured in his life. Viv cupped his cheek and stroked his face. “I’m so sorry.”
He kissed her palm. “So am I. I wish I’d known her. Sylvia had nothing nice to say, but considering my father loved her until the day he died, she must have been pretty special.”
His father had been in love all his life with a girl he’d wronged. Perhaps that’s why he’d stayed with a cold, uncaring wife. Maybe he’d been punishing himself all along.
“When Sylvia found out, she told Dad she’d marry him and raise me as her own, be a mother to me. But only if he agreed never to reveal to me that she wasn’t my mother.”
“I can’t believe he would say yes to that.”
“He didn’t. He got her to agree that he’d explain everything me when I was an adult. I wonder if that’s a conversation we might have had the weekend of my graduation.”
The one his father had tried so hard to get home to.
Tears were spilling from Viv’s eyes now as she imagined the years he must have spent, wondering why he’d had to lose his father, and his grandfather, and be left with a parent who didn’t seem to give a damn about him.
“I’m so very sorry, Damien.”
“Me, too,” he said, holding her hands. “But honestly? Sylvia d
id me a favor. I’d been worried, you see.”
“About?”
“About whether I could really ever love anyone. I had never witnessed any evidence of love growing up. Now I understand why—my father was in love with someone else, and his wife could never forgive him for it.” He shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with me at all.”
“God, of course there isn’t!” She slid her arms around his waist holding him tight. “You are one of the most loving people I have ever met.”
She should know. She’d been the recipient of that love even before she recognized that it existed.
“So you’ll come back with me? Everything’s going to be fine with the business, and the team,” he said. “I have the best lawyers in the country—Neeley won’t get anywhere with his threats, and he’s going to be behind bars for many years.”
“To hell with him, with everything else,” she said, smiling up at him. “Yes, I will most definitely come back with you.”
He hesitated, drawing a deep breath, and then asked, “As my fiancée?”
Viv’s heart skidded around and her mouth fell open. Before she could respond, Damien had reached into the pocket of his stiff jeans and pulled out a small velvet box. Flipping it open with his thumb, he revealed an amazing, beautiful ring. An enormous sapphire was at the center, surrounded by smaller sapphires and diamonds.
“We can exchange it for a more traditional one, if you’d prefer.” He sounded hoarse. “But diamonds are icy. You are warm and vibrant, colorful. And this reminded me of your eyes.”
She held out her hand, unable to speak, watching him slide the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly—in fact, it was perfect in every way. Exactly what she would have chosen for herself.
“So?” he asked. “Will you marry me?”
“Oh, yes, my love,” she whispered, kissing him softly. “I’ll definitely marry you.”
Then, knowing he loved his vixen, she had to teasingly add, “But only if you wear that costume downstairs to the party. I want my parents to meet you dressed just like that.”
He grinned. “Can we tease up your hair and put you in a pair of black leather pants?”
“I’m fresh out.”
“Well,” he said, reaching for the waistband of her skirt, “you’ll just have to put on something else to make it up to me.”
“What would that be?”
He unzipped the skirt and pushed it down, stroking her hips as he leaned close and whispered, “Me.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from A SEAL’S TEMPTATION by Tawny Weber.
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A SEAL's Temptation
Tawny Weber
Prologue
Last Month
“HEY, LARK. WE need two double-whipped, triple-caramel mocha lattes.”
“And one of those passionflower tarts.” The woman leaned so close she was bent over the counter, then said in a faux whisper, “You know, the ones Heather makes. She told me the ingredients in one of those is enough to make a girl irresistible to any man.”
“Heather said what?” Lark Sommers stopped in the act of ringing up their order to stare.
“You know, that the baked goods here are aphrodisiacs,” Cassia said with a wide grin.
“Hey,” Sara O’Brian whispered at the same time, smacking her cousin on the shoulder. “I thought you said that was a secret.”
“Right, like Lark doesn’t know that Heather’s making her aphrodisiacs for the coffeehouse,” Cassia said, rolling her eyes.
Lark frowned at two of her favorite customers turned good friends, then blinked. First at the curvaceous redhead, then at the kewpie doll blonde. The cousins looked nothing alike. Cassia was as sassy as Sara was sweet. And both were usually pretty perceptive.
Sure, Heather baked for the coffeehouse. Lark’s aunt also baked for the market, for the high school and for three local restaurants. She provided everything from cupcakes to croissants to half the town. So why would Cassia think the tarts were a turn-on?
Before Lark could ask, Cassia continued.
“Look, I haven’t had sex in eight days. That’s more than a week. At this rate, I might forget my best moves.” The busty redhead sounded as if she was about to cry.
And knowing Cassia, Lark Sommers figured she probably was. The only thing Cassia Moore loved more than herself was sex.
Still...
“C’mon, Cassia, you know better than to listen to Heather’s crazy talk,” Lark chided, not caring that she’d just thrown her aunt under the bus. That’s what Heather got for trying to stir everyone’s imagination.
“Then they aren’t real?” Cassia huffed, slamming her hands on her hips so hard her bracelets jangled like bells. “But I need sex. Soon. Today. Now. Otherwise, I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Oh my God, hush,” Sara hissed, hunching her shoulders before looking right, then left to see if any of their fellow caffeine addicts had overheard. Color washed her sweet face from her dimpled chin to her pale blond roots. “Do you think everyone in The Magic Beans wants to know that you’re desperate?”
“Desperate? You go a week without sex and see how you feel.”
It only hurt for the first thirty weeks. But Lark didn’t figure sharing that little tidbit of knowledge would help, so she kept it to herself. As the cousins bickered, she tried to remember what went into a double-whipped, triple-caramel mocha latte—and what was up with multiples? And why wasn’t regular coffee good enough for people?
She slid a quick glance toward the counter, with its old-fashioned cash register, antique metal tin of honey sticks and vintage cake servers, one piled high with tiny yam scones under the domed glass, the other with a variety of muffins.
Lark bit her lip, and as soon as she was sure that the two women were totally engrossed with their debate, she slid her laminated cheat sheet out from its hiding place tucked between a commercial coffee machine that looked as if it should be on a spaceship and the midnight-blue wall.
After a quick glance at the ingredients and steps, she began measuring, whipping, mixing and stirring. While she did, her friends debated the reality of magical tarts and if it was fair to use them to get a guy into bed. As she so often did over the past year, Lark felt as if she’d fallen down a very dark rabbit hole.
She pursed her lips, studying the only part of the café that felt like her—a half wall of shelves holding ceramic cups, bowls, mugs and dishes. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d made them for her mom when the older woman had decided to open a coffeehouse. Scattered around the place on high shelves and display cabinets were a few bigger pieces that she’d shipped from her studio in San Francisco. Guilt pieces, she called them, because she’d sent them instead of taking time out of her busy life and dream career to visit her mom’s new home in Idaho. And now they were all that was left of Lark’s dream life. Just like the coffeehouse was all that was left of her mom.
Knowing if she thought about it too long, she’d sink into a funk that would inevitably have her drinking chocolate syrup from the bottle, she blocked the thoughts. Instead, she carefully chose two of her favorite style, the t
all fluted ceramic cups a rich blue glaze dripping over teal.
“Lark, if you did believe in magic, would you think it was okay to use it to get a guy naked?” Sara asked as Lark filled the mugs with the mocha-caramel-caffeine mixture.
Once upon a time, Lark had believed in all sorts of magic. In positive energy and thinking good thoughts and wishing on stars. But that was then—she frowned—and this was now.
“Nope. I’m not getting between the two of you.” Grabbing the whipped cream dispenser, Lark shook her head. When a single strand of hair, black and silky, slid out of her French braid, she blew it out of her way. She’d missed her last two hair appointments because she was too busy to leave the café. And maybe, just maybe, because she couldn’t work up much enthusiasm for her haircut at a place called Budget Cuts—the only salon in Little Lake, Idaho—population ten thousand—that didn’t sport a barber pole.
“Okay, fine,” Sara said, shooting her cousin a sideways look. “How about this question. Do you think it’s okay to talk about your lack of sex in public?”
Lark held up a shaker bottle of mocha magic, a chocolate dust her aunt made for the drinks. When both women nodded, she shook a dusting over each mountain of whipped cream and considered the question.
“I think it depends,” she said with a shrug, relaxing now that they were served. She leaned one hip against the counter, trying not to yawn. This getting up at five in the morning thing was for the birds.
“Depends on what?”
“On whether the discussion is between good friends or virtual strangers. On if it’s held in quiet, considerate tones or put out there loud enough for the guy in the corner to hear.”
The three women glanced across The Magic Beans. The café was on the small size so they didn’t have to strain their eyes. Seated in the corner at a table made of a tree stump was a man who looked older than the dirt the tree had grown in. Grizzled and Grumpy, Lark had nicknamed the café’s regular. But he wasn’t paying any attention to them, so obviously the sex talk hadn’t reached his hairy ears.