by Lydia Rowan
When she went to discard her trash, she saw the bottles that filled the garbage and frowned.
Damien hadn’t been a drinker, and she could remember him telling her how he hated the stuff, how he watched his father drink himself to death and almost destroy his family in the process, swearing he’d never end up like that.
When she looked down at the bottles, expensive, empty, she could see he’d changed his mind. Had Damien been pushed to the bottle by her desertion?
She tried to chase away that thought by reminding herself Damien was no innocent, that of all the things that had gone wrong in his life, her absence wouldn’t even rank. She didn’t believe it, not really, and her heart again squeezed with guilt.
“Rummaging through my trash?”
Damien’s voice was raspy, grated from disuse, and despite the obnoxiousness of the question, Lacey was relieved to hear it.
She quickly closed the trash bin and then washed her hands.
“It’s good to see you,” she said, and then she grabbed her plate and made her way to the eight-person table centered in the kitchen and sat.
She heard him moving, but refused to look at him.
Wanted to talk to him, but refused.
She had made her peace offering, but Damien would have to come to her in his own time and on his own terms. Lacey wasn’t going to beg.
So, using discipline that was rarely tested as much as it was now, Lacey focused and kept her mind on the food, suppressing not only her natural instinct to question him but also her instinct to chatter.
The steak was pretty damn good. Damien really had an amazing kitchen, and Lucian was excellent at selecting grocery delivery. She also really liked the plates, though they struck her as slightly more feminine than she would have thought of for Damien.
Maybe they’d been his mother’s. Or the housekeeper’s, the one who clearly kept up the place and gave it something of a woman’s touch, which Lacey could see here and there.
Those thoughts, others, raced through Lacey’s head, but she kept them all inside, stayed silent and ate her food.
The scrape of the chair against the floor didn’t even get her to look up, nor did the sound of Damien slamming his plate on the table and then sitting down in the chair.
She also didn’t respond when he began to eat, though she felt oddly victorious.
Not because he was giving her a concession, which this most assuredly was, but because he was getting something in his system, and though a hot meal wouldn’t fix everything, it was a start.
Lacey finished, but still stayed quiet and stood, went to the sink, and quickly took care of the dishes.
Then she returned to the table, and finally looked at Damien, who was finishing his own meal.
He looked at her, but still continued eating, his movements efficient, but unhurried, possessed of the control she so often thought of with regard to him.
The sight made her heart squeeze, lurch.
She still didn’t speak.
Damien finished, and Lacey smiled inside when she glimpsed the look on his face that said he’d had a satisfying meal.
He wiped his mouth and then folded his napkin next to his plate.
Those little flourishes were things she had noticed before, something he had always done, which made sense now. There had probably been many etiquette lessons at some point in his life, and though he had been a rough military man, he hadn’t shaken all those habits.
He peered at her, his blue eyes far less bloodshot than before. He still looked guarded, though, his lashes lowered, partially shielding his eyes from her view.
Though his eyes were somewhat shielded by his lashes, she could see that he was assessing her as he leaned back in the solid wood chair.
The motion was probably intended to be casual, but Lacey didn’t buy it for a second. Rather than looking casual, Damien reminded her of an animal about to pounce, and she didn’t know whether to be thrilled or afraid of being his prey.
“I’m flattered, Lacey. You made a meal for me,” he said.
“Don’t be,” she replied, ignoring the way his voice grated over her skin, the way the gravelly smoothness of it made her sex clench. “It was an easy meal, and you had everything—”
She cut off quickly when she looked at him, realizing that the simple sentence was enough to partially open her floodgates. Also belatedly realizing that Damien was being sarcastic, and she had been too fucking anxious to notice at first.
“Some things never change I see,” he said.
She shrugged, embarrassed but determined not to let him see it. “I like to talk. So sue me.”
He lifted the corner of his mouth, this time more of a smile, but not the one that she was used to, not from him.
“Yeah, but as much as some things never change, it seems like others do,” he said, going serious again.
In that instant, any air of casualness, any sense of connection that might have given her some relief was completely gone.
All that was around her came crashing back in then. She was in Damien Silver’s kitchen. Damien Silver whom she’d never thought she’d see again. Damien Silver who hated her.
Damien Silver who had saved her. From what she did not yet know.
“You’re fucked, Lacey,” he said.
She glared at him but tried to retain control of herself.
Damien was helping her. She was very obviously clearly fucked. She didn’t need him to tell her that, but she also figured pointing that out to him would be a less than stellar move.
“I gathered,” she said, trying to remain calm, even as Damien seemed to be doing his best to get a reaction, his causal stance completely at odds with his hostile line of conversation.
“So how did you do it?” he asked, genuine curiosity on his face.
She shook her head and then shrugged. “How did I do what?” she asked.
“How did you get on Tremaine’s shit list?”
6
Damien refolded the already folded napkin next to his plate, each movement slow, deliberate. It was also an attempt to dispel some of the nervous energy that coursed through him, though he was barely aware of what he was doing.
All of his attention was focused on her.
Her eyes, always expressive, were even brighter now, and through them he could see her mind racing as she processed what he’d said.
“Tremaine’s?” she finally whispered, the sound a mix of pure disgust with an undercurrent of fear. Appropriate for Tremaine.
One thing Damien didn’t hear: surprise.
“Yeah,” he said.
His own word didn’t reflect his emotion, but nothing could really. The depth of his hatred for Tremaine was something Damien had long ago come to accept. It, along with all the things he felt for Lacey, had kept him alive.
Damien would see Tremaine pay for what he had done to him, what he had done to others, and when he hadn’t been thinking about Lacey, it had been those thoughts of vengeance that got him through the day.
But when Artemis Crow, an old Navy friend, had called and told him Lacey was in danger, he had been pushed out of his stasis, left with no choice but to act.
To protect Lacey, yes. There was no question of that now, and the hours since he had entered her home only made that truth that much more crystal. But he would also see this through, make sure that Tremaine couldn’t hurt Lacey.
Assuming, of course, Lacey cooperated.
He looked at her again, saw the way her eyes dampened and then began to narrow.
Cooperation wasn’t her strong suit. Never had been.
But she’d always been honest. Or at least he’d thought she was, but she was holding back now.
“How should I know? The guy’s a madman and an asshole. Who knows what gets his attention?” she said.
Damien again stared at her, agape, surprised that she still had the capacity to surprise him, angry that she thought he would believe her protestations.
“Lacey, cut the shit. Y
ou think Tremaine picked your name out of a hat?” he asked, incredulous, angry at her for being so damn foolhardy she had gotten onto Tremaine’s radar. Now she was refusing to tell him why.
He glared at her, and she glared back, her eyes flashing her own anger, her righteousness. “No, Damien, I don’t think Admiral Tremaine picked my name out of a hat,” she said, her words at complete odds with her expression, delicate, almost gentle.
All the more devastating for it.
Damien froze, his anger abating enough for him to see what he hadn’t before. Tremaine hadn’t picked her name out of a hat. Tremaine wouldn’t even know her name were it not for her connection to Damien.
“You’re going to try to lay this at my feet? No,” he said, spitting the last word on a wave of bitterness and disbelief, “you’ve always excelled at making enemies on your own, Lace. You aren’t putting this on me.”
He wished what he said was true, wished there was some other reason, one that didn’t involve him. Yet when she schooled her features into a smooth mask, Damien knew she was going to deny it, and in the most self-righteous way possible. He could practically see her climbing on her high horse.
“For the purposes of this conversation, I’ll concede your point, accept that I ‘excel’ at making enemies,” she said.
“You deny it?” he asked, voice more a scoff than words.
She frowned but quickly returned to a neutral expression. “As I said, for the purposes of this conversation, we’ll say you’re right, say that I make enemies left and right. Answer this question: would any of my enemies have the power and personality to invade my home in the dead of night?”
Eyes glued on him, she waited, and Damien was surprised she didn’t impatiently tap her foot. “Well, Damien?” she said a moment later.
Were there any room for humor, Damien would have laughed out loud at the umbrage that marred Lacey’s features. She lifted her head, pursed her lips just so.
With each word, she sat a little taller until her posture was ramrod straight, her expression a mix of haughtiness and a touch of defensiveness.
Humor again threatened. Lacey hadn’t changed in all these years, was still more than happy to let him know how wrong he was, how right she was, and all without saying a word.
The humor of the moment passed quickly. Tremaine was no laughing matter, he needed to get to the bottom of this.
It was the only way if he had any hope of protecting her.
“What do you have on him, Lacey?” he said.
There was a slight crack in Lacey’s superior facade, and she glanced at him curiously. “Why would I have anything on Tremaine? Do you know what I do for a living?”
“Yeah, you’re a reporter,” he said.
“Is that what you call it?” she replied.
“What do you call it?” he shot back.
She heaved a deep exhale. “I call it rent money,” she said.
“You seem pretty passionate about it,” he said.
“You read my blog?” she said, looking shocked.
He nodded. “Yeah, when I have a free minute.”
Damien had spoken quickly, hoping to cover the fact that he obsessively checked her blog, had read every single post on it, most more than once. It was the only way he could be close to her, so it was his lifeline, though it angered him.
Yes, because the thought of Lacey and how she’d betrayed him still made his throat close up with anger. But that stupid fucking blog made him hurt, too. Every post, every picture of Lacey demonstrating how to properly plant a seedling for a home garden or how to best tend livestock in a small space, or do any of the other things she talked about on her city homesteading blog was a reminder of the life he could have had, but one he never would.
“If you read it, then you know there’s nothing that would get Tremaine’s attention unless he has deep-seated feelings about compost,” she said.
He shrugged, moving nonchalantly, or as nonchalantly as he could with Lacey sitting across from him. “You’re saying it’s not a front?” he said.
She frowned. “Front? For what?”
“You used to devote yourself to exposing corruption, to seeing that people who betrayed the public’s faith were made to account for their misdeeds,” he said.
“I used to devote myself to a lot of things,” she whispered, her eyes locked on his.
Damien thought he would vomit from the stab of pain that pierced him. She had devoted herself to him, or so he’d thought. Maybe he was as wrong about this now as he had been back then.
He stared at her, searching her face.
No, he wasn’t wrong.
Despite what she might say about her blog, no matter how hard she tried to argue there was nothing else, Lacey was still committed to her role as truth teller, still held on to the belief that facts, that good intentions, mattered.
There had been a time when Damien had agreed, but life had proven how wrong he was. Lacey was headed to that place, somewhere worse, if he didn’t intervene.
As angry as he was, as hurt, he wouldn’t allow that to happen, not while he still drew breath.
He looked at Lacey, who looked back at him, neck still stiff, but there was still a softness to her, a gentle call that was always there, or maybe he’d just imagined it.
Back then, Lacey had been a local, dedicated Maryland reporter, but not one who would garner much attention. Damien had been so in love with her, he had sworn nothing would end that.
Damien had known that his continued relationship with her had been a hindrance on his career. Tremaine had told him as much, told him that getting rid of her would be the only way he could advance.
He’d never considered it, not even for a moment. In fact, he’d left the Navy and started Silver Industries, more than happy to give up his military career and anything else for Lacey.
The choice had been made for him, though, and not for the first time, Damien was shocked it had been Lacey who’d made it. It didn’t help that she had done so as his world had been crumbling around him, leaving him with nothing at the same time he’d lost the career he’d invested himself in, the future he’d invested in.
His business still survived thanks to his brother, but the career he’d invested himself in, the woman he’d loved with all his heart were gone. Neither was coming back, so Damien forgot the past and focused on only what mattered of the future, and that was seeing that Lacey had one.
“I’ll ask again—if you haven’t gone after Tremaine, what do you think has his attention? And don’t say me, Lacey,” he added, his voice warning her.
The change in Lacey was instant. She went from indignant to closed off in the blink of an eye, and the change was so swift that Damien wondered if he had misread everything that happened before.
“I have no idea,” she said icily.
Everything about her, from the set of her shoulders to the way she blinked her eyes rapidly and wouldn’t meet his, told Damien that he was on to something.
She was hiding something, and Damien would get to the bottom of it.
“Lacey?”
“I have no idea, Damien,” she said.
“You’re lying,” he said.
She blinked, looked surprised, but he didn’t give a shit. The old Damien would never have spoken to her so harshly. The Damien he was now didn’t have the time or patience to indulge in her games.
Lacey didn’t have time for him to indulge in them either. Tremaine wouldn’t stop, not until he got what he wanted.
He hoped whatever Lacey was protecting was worth her life. Knowing how she was, he wasn’t sure, but he’d ultimately decide and would protect Lacey from everyone, including herself.
She dropped her head, her shoulders sagging. “It’s…complicated,” she whispered.
Damien’s face twisted in a grim expression he wouldn’t dare call a smile. “Complicated. What the fuck does that mean?” he said.
Damien was losing sight of the matter at hand, but he couldn’t stop himself,
the intensity of being with Lacey after he believed he’d never see her again overtaking him.
“Damien…” She sighed, refusing to make eye contact and instead looking past him into the cavernous kitchen. “It’s…complicated.”
“You’re full of shit, Lacey,” Damien growled, his voice coming out in a thick whisper. “Why can’t you just tell me the truth?”
His frustration was near boiling at this point, and he speared Lacey with a stare.
“Think of this from my perspective,” she said, voice calm. Suspiciously so.
“Your perspective?” he said.
She nodded tersely, and Damien watched her, trying to figure out what she meant.
Then her meaning hit him like a kick in the stomach. He smiled, still grim, but this time he also managed to laugh, the irony of this situation not lost on him.
“You think I’m working with Tremaine?” he said.
She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t deny it either, and Damien laughed again, finding this beyond hysterical.
“Tell me where I’m wrong. Admiral Tremaine took everything from me, my career, my reputation. Almost cost me my freedom. Made the woman who swore she loved me leave without looking back.”
She flinched when he said the last, which gave Damien perverse pleasure and forced him to continue.
“After all that, you think I’d work with him?” he said.
Lacey still sat silent, her expression flat, confirmation she did believe he’d work for Tremaine. All Damien would ever do was kill the man on sight if given the opportunity, but Lacey didn’t believe that, which was crushing.
“So what, I show up in the middle of the night, whisk you away, and what, you’d spill your secrets, which I would promptly report to Tremaine?” he said.
“Carrot, then the stick. That was always Tremaine’s approach,” she said.
“And which am I?” Damien asked.
That got more reaction out of her. “Damien, I…”
“You what, Lacey?”
She looked at him, a mix of regret and sadness on her face, but also steely determination. “I want to trust you, Damien, but I don’t know if I can trust you with this.”