by J. Kenner
The possibility amuses me, and I'm so lost in thinking about apps for lovers and scavenger hunts that I don't hear Damien come in. I am sitting on the bed, my laptop bag beside me and my suitcase propped up in front of me like a desk, and I'm busily scribbling notes when he knocks lightly on the door frame.
I look up, confused for a second, then leap off the bed and rush into his arms. He kisses me with equal enthusiasm, then nods at the notebook that has fallen to the floor. "What did I interrupt?"
"I'll tell you when I work out the details. Right now, I'll just say that you have inspired another app." I grin mischievously. "I'm certain it will be a best seller."
He looks at me, amused. "How could it not, with you designing it? Are you ready?"
I am, and we gather our things, then take the elevator to the roof. The helicopter takes us to the airport where the now familiar jet waits for us, along with Grayson, the pilot, and Katie, the Stark fleet's senior flight attendant.
We get settled in, and Katie brings us both champagne before she returns to the crew area and leaves us alone.
"I didn't have the chance to thank you yesterday," I say after we're airborne. "First, you distracted me--"
"I believe you started the distracting, Mrs. Stark."
"Maybe." I am unrepentant. "But after that we were distracted by less enjoyable things. At any rate, a spa getaway sounds like the perfect Valentine's Day present."
"I'm very glad you think so."
I lean over to kiss him. "So tell me about the Serafina Spa."
"Remember when I told you that I'd been looking at islands to acquire in the Bahamas with the goal of opening a resort?"
"Sure. Did you decide to just buy this one?"
He laughs. "No. It's an excellent resort with a fine reputation, but it caters to everyone. We're staying in the private section, which has its own spa, bungalows, and the like. But the main areas are available to anyone. Singles, spring breakers, couples, families."
"Sounds to me like my husband is trying to sneak in some business during our romantic getaway," I tease.
He chuckles. "I assure you that wasn't part of the plan. I've done enough research on Serafina already to know that not only is there plenty of room for a competitive couples-only resort to move in and still have both resorts flourish, but that Serafina is an exceptional spa and resort. And until I've built a Stark couples' resort in the area, Serafina is the one resort to which I will take my wife."
"Very nice save, Mr. Stark."
He shoots me a stern look, but it's clear that he's amused.
"You gave yourself away, though."
He frowns. "What do you mean?"
"You said it wasn't part of the plan. Does that mean business is part of the plan now?"
"You, Mrs. Stark, are too smart for your own good."
I smirk.
"Something unexpected came up. Would you mind? Just one short meeting if I can arrange it?"
I take his hand and squeeze. "Are you kidding? Of course I don't mind." I don't tell him that I pretty much expected it. "What came up?"
"I'll show you." He turns on his iPad and pulls up an image of a skyscraper. "The Winn Building in New York," he says, then taps the screen and pulls up another image, this one of a lovely building still partially under construction. "The Amsterdam Art and Science Museum."
"They're amazing."
"They are," he says. "The architect is Jackson Steele." Another tap and I see a still photo from what looks to be a television interview outside at a construction site.
I have to admit the man is exceptional. It's hard to tell from the grainy image, but I'm guessing that he's in his thirties. He stands straight, looking as if he owns the world, with a strong jawline and wind-tossed hair that appears to be as thick and dark as Damien's. But it's his eyes that are the most striking--a vivid blue that seems to burst off the screen, even despite the very poor quality of the image.
"I've had my eye on him for a while," Damien says, "specifically for the Bahamas resort."
"Really?"
"I think he'll jump at the opportunity." He passes me the iPad, and I scroll through the images. "He's done a number of projects, but nothing like I'm envisioning. An entire island redesigned. A blank slate. I think it will intrigue him."
"No kidding." I mean it, too. Steele's buildings are spectacular, but Damien's right. What he's describing is unlike anything that Damien has included in Steele's portfolio. "So you invited him to Serafina?"
Damien shakes his head. "Aiden called this morning," he says, referring to Aiden Ward, the vice president of Stark Real Estate Development. "Turns out Steele is vacationing on Serafina this week. I'm hoping to steal an hour or so of his time." He squeezes my hand. "Unfortunately, that means I'll be taking time away from you, too."
"Are you under the impression that I resent your work?"
His smile is slow and wide. "No." He kisses me, then puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. "No, I have never been under that impression."
I bump his shoulder lightly. "Of course, you will have to make it up to me."
He trails his finger up my thigh, sending little shocks of awareness through me. "Trust me, sweetheart. I fully intend to do just that."
A private jet makes traveling much more comfortable, but even my husband cannot change the speed at which the earth rotates and jets fly. Which means that even though we flew from Los Angeles to the Bahamas in fabulous comfort, it is so late by the time we get to Nassau and then to Serafina that we barely even look at our bungalow before we peel off our clothes and fall into the soft warm bed that dominates the master suite.
Morning, however, is a completely different story. I am awakened by the sun streaming in through the open windows. The ocean is just steps away, and even though I know that this is a resort, with the exception of Damien's voice filtering in from the next room, I can hear nothing that even hints at other people on this island.
Nothing except Jamie's voice, that is.
Jamie?
I frown and pull on one of the robes that hangs on a hook by my side of the bed, then head out of the bedroom to figure out why my best friend is inside my romantic getaway bungalow.
I realize soon enough that she's not, of course. Just her voice over a speaker and her face on Damien's computer screen.
I stand in the doorway, out of view of both of them, and listen as my best friend tells my husband that he's being an idiot.
"You can't pay, Damien. You never do that shit."
"I have my reasons, Jamie."
"What, you mean Nikki? No way does she want you to pay."
"Nikki is part of it, yes. But so are you. Have you considered that I don't want to see that footage of you spread all over the internet?"
I can see her face and the screen, and for a moment she looks touched. But the expression fades quickly. "I can deal," she says. "Seriously, you think I want that on me, knowing that you're caving--why you're caving? Trust me, I can handle it. I mean, dealing with shit like this is practically my hobby."
"My mind's made up."
"You're an idiot, Damien. I'm allowed to say that now because Nikki's like my sister, so that makes you like my brother."
"Fine. As your brother, I'm allowed to hang up on you. And that's what I'm doing now, Jamie."
She starts to protest, but he closes the screen. He sits for a moment, and though he doesn't turn in my direction, he reaches back and holds out his hand to me.
I walk to him and twine my fingers with his. "She's right, you know," I say quietly. "You pay to keep the tape from being released, and it's never going to end."
"It will end when I find whoever's behind this," he says darkly. "And I promise it won't end well. In the meantime, I will take care of the people I love." He turns to look at me. "Tell me you understand."
"I understand," I say. "But that doesn't mean I like it. And I hate that it hurts you."
He stands, then kisses me. "In that case, you know how I fee
l. Let's leave it aside for now. I want to enjoy this time with my wife. Deal?"
"Deal."
Despite the fact that staying in our own private bungalow on our own private beach sounds deliciously romantic, we both want to explore. After all, Damien and I did the private island thing recently. Now we want to check out the spa, the bar, possibly even the tennis court.
"This section of the island is limited to couples and spa guests," Damien says as we walk down a path that runs along the beach. "It has its own shops, bars, sporting activities. There's a reef not far offshore. We can go snorkeling later if you'd like."
"That sounds fun," I say. "So long as snorkeling doesn't trump spa-ing."
"Never," he promises.
"And that's why I love you," I trill.
We spend the rest of the walk making a list of the things we want to do for the rest of the day, and I've just added long bubble bath in the Jacuzzi tub when we arrive at the restaurant.
It's buffet style, and as the hostess leads us to our table, I think of one thing we didn't factor into our plans. "By the way, when are you meeting the architect?"
"Not sure. I left a message for him this morning, but he hasn't called back."
"Probably out snorkeling," I quip. "Or maybe he's just having a late breakfast," I amend, then nod across the room toward the omelet station where a dark-haired man waits in line. "That's him, isn't it? That's Jackson Steele?"
His back is to me, but the commanding presence I'd seen in the photograph is more apparent in real life. It's a presence I'm intimately familiar with, as Damien has the same air about him.
"That's him," Damien confirms. "Come on."
He's still in line as we approach, and Damien steps in next to him. "Jackson Steele," he says, extending his hand. "I'm Damien Stark."
Steele looks Damien up and down, then his eyes cut to me before returning to Damien. For a moment, I think he's going to ignore Damien's offered hand, but then he reaches out and the two men shake. "I know who you are, Stark. I got your message this morning."
"I was hoping to find some time to talk to you today or tomorrow," Damien says, and though I can tell that he can't quite figure this guy out, I'm certain that no one else observing the conversation would be able to tell that he is currently reassessing his approach. "I've been a fan of your work for a very long time and I'd like to discuss working with you on a project that I think you'll find intriguing."
"I'm flattered. But the truth is I'm not taking meetings this week. I'm on vacation."
"Understood," Damien says as the restaurant hostess steps up to him.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," she says, "but there's a call for you at the front desk."
Damien frowns, but excuses himself, saying that he'll be right back.
I decide to take up the slack. "I hope you consider the project. We're both very impressed by your work and think you would be an excellent fit."
"I appreciate that," he says. "But I'm not sure that Stark International is the place for me. I'm sure you realize that your husband casts a very long shadow."
"Oh." I'm trying to decide how to reply to that when Damien returns, apologizing for the interruption.
"I won't bother you on vacation," he says to Steele, sliding back into the conversation. "But why don't I give you a call at your office when I get back to the States?"
"I'm sure that's not necessary," Steele says, and though I can't put my finger on the reason, I feel as though there is something off about the way he says it.
Steele glances toward the line, which has barely moved. "Since we're all here, why don't you just go ahead and tell me now."
As I sigh with relief, hoping that Steele is reconsidering what he'd said to me only moments ago, Damien describes his plan to locate and acquire an entire island that can be developed as a high-end couples' retreat. "You have a strong vision, Mr. Steele. I'd like to have you join the project at the ground floor. Your finger in every aspect of the project, including the selection of the island. I think it's an exciting venture, and would add something unique to your portfolio."
"It would," Steele says. "But I'm going to have to decline."
"Are you?" Damien says. "May I ask why?"
"I have my reasons," he says glancing quickly at me before focusing entirely on Damien. And though they both appear relaxed and at ease, there's tension in the air.
"A number of reasons, actually," Steele continues. "But as I told your wife just moments ago, you cast a very long shadow, Mr. Stark. And I don't want myself or my work to get caught underneath it."
I expect Damien to argue, so I'm surprised when he nods slowly in acquiescence. "I'm disappointed, but I can respect your reason. If you ever change your mind, the door is open."
"I don't foresee that happening," Steele says. "But I've learned to never say never."
He nods to Damien, then to me. And then he abandons the omelet line just as he reaches the cook.
Damien watches him go, and I watch Damien.
"Interesting," he says. "Did he say anything else to you?" I shake my head, and he continues, frowning. "I'm usually so certain about people, but I can't quite get a read on him."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not sure. But I don't think there's a middle ground with Jackson Steele. If I had the chance to get to know him better, I'd either like him or hate him. No ambivalence. No casual association."
"You'd like him," I say firmly.
He tilts his head to look at me. "And why do you say that?"
"Because he intrigues you."
He chuckles. "Maybe he does. Why do you think that is?"
"Because, Mr. Stark, of all the people in the world, Jackson Steele is one of the few who have ever managed to look you in the eye and say no."
Chapter 10
Damien pampers me thoroughly on our last full day on the island.
We sleep late, then start with breakfast in bed, catered by the extremely efficient room service staff. After that, we move to the spa and a couples' massage in a cabana by the beach.
Damien disappears while I have a facial and pedicure, but when he returns he leads me to a small sailboat moored at the end of a whitewashed wooden pier. I look around and see no one but us.
He laughs. "Have a little faith. I promise you, I can handle a sailboat."
"So many hidden talents, Mr. Stark," I tease as I reach for his hand and let him help me onto the boat.
I know nothing about sailing, but it's soon clear enough that Damien does. He gets us untied from the dock and maneuvers us away from the island with the same kind of confidence and ease with which he does everything else.
"There's Steele," I say, pointing to the shore. I look at the sky. "Sun's straight overhead. No shadows right now."
Damien laughs, but after a moment, his expression turns thoughtful.
"Damien?"
He cocks his head and flashes a wry smile. "No shadows," he says, repeating my words. "Steele doesn't know the half of it."
He sounds so distracted that I'm getting a bit concerned. "What are you talking about?"
"Steele doesn't want to be in my shadow--doesn't want to ride on my coattails."
"Right." I'm still not following him.
"Whoever our blackmailer is wants exactly that. He wants to hide. Wants to stay in the dark, hidden in the shadows, secure in the belief that he knows me so well." Damien meets my eyes. "So damn certain that now that I'm married, I won't want a spotlight shining on my wife or her friends. And that I'll pay to keep all sorts of shit in the shadows."
"Are you saying you won't?" My words are tentative; I'm afraid to hope.
"No," Damien says. "I won't. I can't." I see the worry fill his eyes. "Once I do, it won't ever stop. Baby, tell me you understand."
I'm in his arms immediately. "I've been telling you that. So has Jamie. No matter what hits the tabloids, we'll survive."
He pulls me close and hugs me tight before easing back and then pressing a soft kiss to my forehead
. "I'm still going to try to keep it from getting out."
"How?"
His smile is tight. "I'm going to play a hunch. And then I'm going to negotiate."
"You mean you're going to threaten."
"Sweetheart," he says. "You know me so well."
He pulls out his phone.
"What's the hunch?" I ask before he can dial.
"I'm willing to believe that Douglas isn't the brains behind this--that man couldn't find his dick without a woman or a map--but his claim that releasing the tape will destroy him is bullshit. That tape gets out, and suddenly he's the guy who screwed Nikki Stark's best friend. That's worth something to a worm like him."
"You think someone approached him?"
"I do," Damien says.
"Who?"
He shakes his head. "I have a few ideas, but no confirmation."
I swallow, and though I say nothing, my fear is that Damien thinks his father--a man who has about a million recent reasons to hold a grudge--is behind this.
"Will Douglas tell you who it is?" I ask.
"To be honest, I believe Douglas when he says he doesn't know."
"So someone approached him anonymously?"
"That's my guess. Which means that at the very least, Douglas has a way to get a message back to them." He pulls out his phone. "And I'm going to insist that he deliver mine. That he tell his handler that if Valentine's Day passes with no photos released to the media, then I will ignore this lapse in judgment on their part. But if a single photo turns up where it doesn't belong, I will not stop until I've made the life of every person involved a complete living hell.
"And then," he adds, with the scary kind of smile that makes me remember why he does so damn well in the shark-infested waters of corporate America, "I'll invite law enforcement to the party, just to add a little spice to the mix."
After Damien puts the fear of God into Douglas, he suggests that we put it away and enjoy the rest of our last day. After all, tomorrow is Valentine's Day, and we'll know soon enough if it worked.
"I think that's a wonderful idea, Mr. Stark. What do you have in mind?"
"Actually," he says. "I thought I'd teach you a bit about sailing."
As it turns out, I'm a hopeless student. I'm much more interested in watching Damien move, all masculine and athletic grace. His second item on the agenda, snorkeling, is much more my speed, and I follow him into the warm water as soon as the boat is anchored. The reef is teeming with color and life, and I watch all of it, mesmerized, and then delighted when Damien points out both a manta ray and a sea turtle.