by Lydia Rowan
“The look on your face tells me there was something. A couple of springs ago, I’m guessing,” he said.
“No. He didn’t…” Lacey said.
“Do you know I’ve known Damien for his entire life? I had a hard time believing it too. But just think about it, Ms. Bowers. Why would the Navy and the United States government intentionally soil the name of someone like him? It reflects poorly on all of us, particularly me. I put myself on the line for Damien and his brother more times than I can count. No one feels worse about this than I do,” the admiral said.
“I’m sure someone does,” Lacey snapped.
He nodded, commiserating. “Of course. But I’m just trying to help you in a way that I couldn’t help myself. Damien’s in trouble, and he’s done things that he’s going to have to account for. I don’t want you, or anyone else who doesn’t have to, to suffer through that,” the admiral said.
Of their own volition, Lacey’s eyes dropped to the red folder. Even though it was closed, she could still see the images it held, tried to stop herself from thinking about what they meant.
“I…”
The admiral put his hand on her shoulder and then began to walk. Lacey’s feet moved without her mind commanding them, and soon she found herself back in front of the desk where she had spent so much time.
“Take care of yourself, Ms. Bowers,” the admiral said.
••••
“And so I did,” Lacey said, exhaling deeply, her body shivering as she remembered that horrible day. “I took care of myself, and I took care of my baby.”
“So that’s it?” Damien said, his voice tight with emotion.
She nodded sharply.
“As simple as that?” he said, voice stinging with hurt, disbelief.
“It wasn’t simple. Not at all, Damien. I didn’t want to believe them, I couldn’t believe them. But I…”
She trailed off, but his eyes flashed, and she hurried to continue.
“But like Tremaine said, you were someone. Why would they say that about you? What if I was wrong? I had more than myself to think about,” she said.
“So you believed them?” he asked, his voice weary, hurt.
“No…I didn’t…no,” she finally said. “But I never had the chance to look in your eyes, see the truth for myself. I couldn’t risk it,” she said.
His face, which had been twisted with hurt before, deflated and her heart kicked at the sight.
“Tremaine really did take everything from me, took the only thing that mattered,” he said.
“I’m so sorry, Damien,” she said, her voice breaking, but the sound not nearly showing how she felt. The hollow, shallow words didn’t mean anything, but she couldn’t stop herself from repeating them. “I’m so sorry.”
Even though she was living this moment, she couldn’t believe this was happening. Couldn’t believe all that had happened.
One minute they’d been together, in love, and figuring out a way to make things work.
The next, Damien had been taken from her, the hero he was replaced with a monster, a war criminal. The man who had ordered the bombing of an orphanage and hospital.
“I never got to see you. I wanted to reach out to you, but I wanted to protect you. But never, not once, did I think you’d believe them.”
She wanted to tell him that she’d never believed them, that her heart had known that what they’d said couldn’t be true. But her actions couldn’t be denied, so she asked the other question in her mind.
“What were you protecting me from?” she asked.
He’d turned away, but he looked at her now, his eyes dark, shadowed. “If I reached out to you, Tremaine would try to use you as leverage. I couldn’t let that happen,” he said.
“Leverage?” she asked.
Damien nodded, looked at her intently, seeming to come to a decision, one she hoped meant there would be no more secrets between them.
“Did I ever tell you about my father?” he asked.
She shrugged, but frowned, wondering where this conversation was going. “He was in the Navy. Had a drinking problem that eventually killed him,” she said, reciting what she knew of Damien’s father. He’d told her about him on one of those long nights when they’d shared everything with each other, Damien telling her of how he never wanted to be like his father.
“Yeah. He was also best friends with Tremaine. They met at the Naval Academy.”
Lacey’s eyes widened, and her mind began to whirl. It seemed impossible, but it wasn’t too difficult to connect the dots, something Damien did for her with his next words.
“They were also cut from the same crooked cloth. Had been skimming government money and doing a little freelancing since the eighties,” he said.
“How do you know this?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“Tremaine told me when he asked me to take my father’s place. Said he needed a partner, that he trusted me,” he said.
“You didn’t take him up on it,” Lacey replied, a statement and not a question, her stomach squeezing with sick realization.
“Told him to go fuck himself and that I would do whatever it took to see his ass behind bars,” Damien said.
“This happened three months before you were arrested?” Lacey said, her mind racing back to that time.
“Yeah. How did you know?” he asked, looking surprised.
She frowned. “You’d changed, and I was so stupid I thought it was about us,” she said, remembering well how, after he’d been withdrawn that spring, things had been perfect, better than. But then, the next year, he’d again withdrawn some, changed just enough that she noticed and wondered what it meant.
“I’m so fucking stupid,” she said, shocked she was so self-centered, so insecure she hadn’t even asked him. Just assumed, as she had when she’d made that fateful decision to run back to her family.
“I thought you’d think something like that. Hell, I may have even encouraged it. I didn’t want you even guessing at the truth,” he said, his eyes shining under the moonlight.
She frowned, wanted to reach for him but kept herself from doing so. “But you had to shoulder that alone. Wait”—she paused, thinking—“does Lucian know?”
He shook his head, and Lacey’s frown deepened.
“And you wanted to protect him and your father’s name?” she said.
“My father had no name, at least not one I would ever sacrifice so much to protect. But Lucian, my men…you, you all deserved better.”
“So you stayed silent, took the blame in exchange for…?” Lacey said, trailing off as she thought back to that time, all that Damien had gone through.
“Tremaine had doctored up some tapes and documents that implicated Lucian in arms dealing and me in the bombing. If he had released them first, nothing I could say or even try to prove would have saved him. Or me for that matter,” he said.
“So the orphanage, that was a hoax?” she asked.
“I wish. No, it was real, a bad op that backfired on the CIA. Tremaine offered them a way out, and they were more than happy to oblige and make the mess go away,” Damien said.
“Which explains the light sentence?” Lacey said.
Damien had gone to trial, but the proceedings had been classified. In the end, he’d been stripped of all of his medals and commendations, barred from contracts involving military operations, and sentenced to two years of house arrest.
After that had come the televised Senate hearings where Damien had become the face of evil, raked over the coals for being a remorseless killer.
And through it all, he’d said nothing.
He laughed bitterly, the sound shattering the quiet of the night and rending Lacey’s chest with the heartbreak in it. “It was an honest mistake. And given my years of selfless service, it seemed sufficient to establish that the United States doesn’t condone such reckless activity while it still recognized my brave and heroic efforts,” he said. “At least, that was what the judge who sentenced me sai
d.”
He laughed again and then began to pace, though his expression gave away the hurt he felt.
Tears welled in Lacey’s eyes as she watched him. How could she have been so stupid? Why hadn’t she trusted her love for him, her faith in him? How could she ever begin to make up for what she’d done?
Would he let her?
15
They walked back to the house in silence, Damien seeming lost in his thoughts, Lacey still too emotional to express hers.
Cade and Daniel nodded at them but didn’t speak as they walked through the house and back to the guest room where Damien would be staying. She entered and Damien came in behind her and closed the door. Then he leaned against it, looking forlorn, broken in a way that ripped at Lacey’s soul.
He kept his head down, eyes glued to the floor, but she heard him clearly when he spoke.
“You did the right thing,” he said. “I was no good for you, wouldn’t have been for him. You were right to keep him away.”
Lacey had walked a few steps away, but she quickly retraced them and went to stand in front of Damien. She cupped her hands against his face, his skin warm against her, his stubbled cheek prickling her palm.
When he finally met her eyes, she focused on him intently, hoped he could see the depth of her conviction, hoped he would hear it, believe her, when she spoke.
“I didn’t do the right thing. I should have trusted you, stood by you,” she said.
He shook his head. “No. You needed to keep away,” he said.
“I should have been there,” she said. Then she peered into his eyes, staring into them. “Damien, I am so sorry for what I did. I can never make it right, but I hope you’ll give me a chance to try. Give us a chance. Tremaine took those years from us, but I don’t want to let him take any more.”
Damien stood up straight, staring down at her, and Lacey dropped her hands. His eyes practically burned with emotion, but Lacey wouldn’t look away.
“What are you saying, Lacey?” he asked, his voice gruff, but underneath, she thought—prayed—she heard some hopefulness.
“I’m saying I want us to be together, Damien. I still love you. I never stopped. I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be, but I—”
His kiss crashed into hers, cutting off her next words.
Lacey stood frozen, surprised by his kiss.
As she’d spoken of why she’d walked away from him, how, she’d known that each word was only lengthening the abyss between them, making the space and distance that Tremaine and she had put between them unable to be bridged. Still, she needed to apologize to him, and even more, she had to let him know she loved him now, forever, that she wanted a chance to make things right and maybe allow them to live the life they could have had.
Even as she’d spoken the words, she’d known that was impossible, but she would never leave anything unsaid with Damien, not ever again.
But his kiss…
Before, he’d kissed her, taken her, out of rage, and while she felt that in his lips as they conquered hers, she had felt other emotions in that kiss. Felt his pain, his relief at finally knowing why she’d left. And maybe, she hoped, his happiness at being with her again.
He broke the kiss and stared down at her, his leaner but still powerful frame racked with his shuddered breaths, his blue eyes dark, shadowed, but still somehow hopeful.
“I…” He trailed off, scraped his hand against his face. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he finally said.
“Why not?” Lacey asked, not breaking his gaze, making no move to put any distance between them.
“Because things are complicated. We don’t need this”—he gestured between their bodies, which were so close, his hand brushed against her stomach—“clouding things.”
Damien dropped his hand, but Lacey reached for it and, ignoring the shiver that went through her at the touch of his fingers, lifted it to her mouth, pressed a soft kiss against his thumb. She released his hand, but he still held it up, and she stepped into it, stroked her face against his rough fingertips before she moved even closer.
Then she moved closer still, pressing her body against his, her breasts flattening against his hard chest, her soft stomach curving against his toned abdomen, her full thighs pressing into his lean ones.
He let out a stifled breath, one that she could feel move through his body as if it were moving through hers. His heart thudded in time with hers, and Lacey just stood, listening to it, remembering how much she’d missed it, reveling in how it felt to hear it again.
This was right; this was home. This was where she needed to be, and she knew Damien felt the same. Hoped he did. She would try her hardest to convince him, help him see it.
She stood up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss against his throat, moved up, kissing over his strong, stubbled jaw. When she reached the corner of his mouth, she stopped, pressed a kiss there quickly, but then locked eyes with him.
“Things are complicated, Damien. But this—us—isn’t,” she said. Then she pressed another kiss against the corner of his mouth and looked back into his eyes. “You and I are the only thing that makes sense in this crazy world, the one thing I can count on. The one thing I know to be true. Tell me it’s not the same for you?”
She waited, watched, knowing that her future hinged on his words. The seconds ticked by slowly, excruciating, but Lacey held on to her faith, her belief in him, in them. And when he lowered hooded eyes to meet hers, she felt relief unlike any she had ever experienced.
“It’s the same for me, Lacey. Always has been,” he said, his voice coming out on a grated whisper, one that brimmed with the emotion she felt.
“I love you, Damien,” she whispered, her lips not even an inch from his.
Eyes still locked with hers, he replied, “And I love you, Lacey.”
She shifted her head as he did his and they met halfway, lips coming together in a crash. Lacey kissed Damien with the years of pent-up emotion, kissed him with the hope she had for the future, kissed him with the love she had not doubted for a single moment.
He did the same, sweeping his tongue into her mouth, his breath coming out in harsh puffs. He locked an arm around her waist and flattened her body against his even harder, the pressure of his hard chest against her nipples sending a jolt of desire through her body to center at her core.
Her body practically hummed for him, her breath, her heart, her clenching pussy on a rhythm set by her need for Damien, need that left her light-headed.
Damien again broke the kiss, but this time there was no hesitation in his movements, no worry in his eyes. Instead, he kissed along her neck, across her collarbone, letting go of her waist so that he could work her shirt open.
Lacey sent a silent thanks for button-downs, doubting she would have been able to make it without his lips on her body, even if only for the length of time it took to remove a shirt. Fortunately, that wasn’t an issue, and Damien laid a kiss against the patch of skin that was revealed as he unbuttoned her shirt. He traced his lips along the edge of her bra, teasing at her full breasts, but not pausing to give them special attention.
He went lower, kissing at the bra-covered undersides of her breasts before moving to the center of her stomach, kissing a path down her skin. Lacey had been busily trying to rid Damien of his own shirt, but when he reached her belly button, she stopped, a surge of worry, embarrassment hitting her. Ridiculous since Damien had already been inside her twice, but there was something about this, the intimacy of him inspecting her body, one that was so different than it had been the last time he’d really looked at her, that it made her freeze.
“I could never get rid of the baby belly,” she said, words she followed with a nervous chuckle as she dropped her hands.
And it was true. Lacey had always been curvy, always would be, but those curves had been rearranged by her son’s birth, and she didn’t know how he would react.
Damien, who had kneeled down, idly kissing her stomach and side as he wo
rked her pants open, paused, looked up at her. He reached for her hands and put them back on his shoulders and then kissed her stomach, paused to smirk up at her.
She recognized the expression immediately, felt a profound sense of warmth as she watched it transform from a smirk to a full-blown grin.
“Is my Lacey shy now?” he asked, eyebrow lifted in question.
Lacey couldn’t help but smile back, her nerves having dissipated in those few moments. This was Damien, her Damien, the one who knew her well enough to know that she didn’t trust most reassurances, the one who, even without her having to tell him, had sensed that a challenge, spoken or implied, was the thing that always reminded Lacey of who she was.
Now, it reminded her that she was beautiful, desirable, that Damien loved her. She smiled down at him, and he nodded.
“Better,” he said.
“Good thin—” Her response broke into a low moan as he swept his tongue into her belly button at the same time as he slipped his hands into her panties.
His unerring fingers found her clit and squeezed, and Lacey moaned again and reached for his shoulder to stabilize herself, the mix of his warm tongue and pinching fingers making her knees go weak.
“Oh. Oh!” she said with a harsh moan when Damien pushed her pants and panties down and lapped along her mound until his tongue joined his fingers against her clit.
The sensation was almost overwhelming, his tongue warm and soft, his fingers rough and hard, both dedicated to bringing her pleasure.
“Come for me, Lacey,” he whispered, his breath warm against her pussy. “I wanna see you come with just my tongue and my fingers.”
He then buried his face between her thighs, licking at her clit as he stroked it. His words alone would have been enough to send her over. Between his tongue and his hand, it was a lost cause. She gave in to the climax that had been building, let it take her without trying to hold it back.
“Ahh,” Lacey cried, but the sound was cut off by Damien sealing his lips against hers, swallowing her cries as his fingers stroked her through her climax.