His nose is well-proportioned—not too big, but not dainty. There is a slight bump near the bridge, suggesting he’d broken it previously. His chin is strong and covered with a shadow of whiskers darker, redder than the rest of his hair.
“You better stop looking at me like that.” His lips curl into a smile as he delivers his warning.
“Like what? You’re driving. How can you know how I’m looking at you?”
“I can feel your eyes on me and makes me think of doing things to you that friends don’t do to one another.”
I whip around and stare out the windshield.
Damon breaks out into a laugh that causes me to giggle.
“You’re an awful friend. A good friend would never have said anything.”
“A good friend wouldn’t visually strip me while I drive to Brentwood.”
A gasp comes from my mouth. “I wasn’t doing that.” I lifted my chin in defiance. “I only got as far as your lips.”
“I stand corrected. You may resume your inspection.”
“What happened to your nose?”
“What do you mean, what happened to my nose? My nose is perfect.”
“Yes, it is perfect for you, but you’ve broken it before. Remember, I have an older brother, so I recognize the injury. Chris had his nose broken twice. Once skiing, and once in a fistfight. What’s your story?”
“My brother Roman broke my nose when I was thirteen. I borrowed his favorite baseball mitt and lost it at the ball field. My dad had given it to him, so it was special.” He heaves a sigh. “I spent the next four days sitting at the ballpark, asking everyone who showed up if they found a mitt. I’d about given up when a mom and her three kids arrived in a minivan.” He risks a glance in my direction, then turns back to the road. “I almost didn’t ask her but figured it couldn’t hurt. She went around to the back of her van, reached in, and pulled out my brother’s mitt. It was one of the best days of my life. Roman always felt bad for breaking my nose, but it was a good lesson for me. It taught me to never take what’s not mine.”
Just as he finishes his story, we arrive at his mom’s Brentwood estate. To call it a house would lessen it. We enter through a security gate and wind along the driveway to the magnificent Tuscan villa. In the center of the circular drive sits an Italian fountain that sputters water from three different levels.
“Did you grow up here?” I ask with a touch of awe in my voice.
“No, Mom bought this house about six years ago. She entertains a lot, and the house suits her needs. It’s over the top, but she’s paid her dues and deserves it.” Damon points in the direction they came. “My childhood home isn’t far from here. It’s a traditional house that sits on a large lot.” The hint of a smile curves his lips. “Our dad built Roman and me a tree house in the largest oak tree I’ve ever seen. It wouldn’t surprise me to find that tree house still standing in a hundred years.”
As he talks about his brother, a range of emotions cross his face. Everything from happiness to sorrow and something in-between. His eyes say everything without saying a word.
He escorts me to the front door, where his mother greets us.
“Katarina, I’m so glad you came. Damon said he didn’t think you could make it, but I was positive you wouldn’t disappoint me. Come in.” She stood aside so we could pass. “Let’s have a drink before dinner. What can I get you?”
“A glass of wine if you have it.” I follow Rose to a beautiful hand-carved bar where she pours Damon and me a glass of wine.
Rose takes the only single chair available, forcing Damon and me to sit next to each other. His leg presses to mine from thigh to knee. Goose bumps rise on my skin.
“Tell me what you’ve been up to since the fundraiser, Katarina?” Rose asks.
“Mom, she likes to be called Kat.” He looks at me and smiles.
“Nonsense,” Rose says with conviction. “Katarina is a lovely name. Why would you shorten it?”
I scowl at him and see merriment dance in his eyes. He seems to say, “I told you so.”
“It’s just a nickname. You can call me, Katarina. My mom fell in love with the name when an ice skater from Germany won the gold medal in the 1984 Olympics. As far as what I’ve been up to lately … just the normal stuff, like school and work.”
“You work in a coffee shop in Hollywood? That must be an interesting place to watch people.”
“Katarina is good at watching people,” Damon says, looking into my eyes.
I silently return a message that tells him to behave.
“It’s so nice to see you two together,” Rose comments with glee in her voice.
I don’t want her to get the wrong impression, so I correct her. “Oh … no. We are not together. We’re just friends.”
“Some of the best relationships begin with a solid friendship.”
“Mom, leave it alone,” he groans.
“Oh, shut up, Damon. Let your mom dream. Katarina, do you know how difficult it is having a wealthy son? I can’t hold his inheritance over his head to get my way. What’s a mother to do?”
“Behave,” he admonishes.
Rose rises. “I’ll check on dinner. Help yourself to the wine.”
As she leaves the room, Damon and I stand to stretch. He takes our glasses to the bar and tops them off while I take in the beautiful furnishings and art.
The fireplace mantel catches my attention. A lifetime’s worth of photos is spread across the marble surface. Damon reaches around me to hand me my glass and remains close, leaning over my shoulder. His breath caresses my neck while he walks me through the photos.
The pictures tell the story of the Noble family, starting from the left to the right, the tale begins. A beautiful wedding photo of Rose and her husband starts the journey. Damon’s dad’s name was Simon, and he was a biology professor at USC. The next few pictures are of Roman, and then there are pictures of Damon. Roman was two years older than Damon and had similar features. Comparing the brothers, I’d say Damon was the better looking of the two.
Turning to face him, I sing his praises. “Look at how cute you were. I bet you broke a lot of hearts with those eyes.”
“I was never the heartbreaker, but always the brokenhearted.” His vacant look makes me wonder where he went. It’s obviously a place that’s painful to visit.
“That’s hard for me to believe. I call you the Viking god, and can’t imagine the girls not falling at your feet.”
“Viking god?” He grins. “I like that.”
Caged between his body and the fireplace, my heart pounds at the excitement of his nearness. It’s useless to lie to myself. I like this man.
Instinctually, I reach up on tiptoes and kiss him quickly. It’s a peck, really. Barely a pass by, but the action shocks both of us.
He hops back, and I bolt for the safety of the couch. We part just in time for Rose to call us for dinner.
He leads the way to the formal dining room, where the kitchen staff serves Cornish game hens.
“Katarina, next Saturday is a benefit for Roman.” She slices into her chicken and sets the bite aside. “Every year, the Los Angeles Philharmonic performs, and all proceeds go to the Roman Noble Scholarship Foundation. Roman played piano with the Philharmonic for two years before he passed away. Every year, we raise enough money to help several budding musicians go to college. I’d be honored if you’d join Damon and me on Saturday. It could be fun.”
Damon groans before he tries to reel in his mom again. “Mom, she doesn’t want to come to the performance. She most likely has plans.”
Something about him dismissing me drives the conversation. “I love the Philharmonic and would happily join you. Should I meet you there?”
Rose bounced in her seat. “Excellent. Damon will pick you up or send a car. Won’t you, Damon?”
He pastes on a smile. “I’d be delighted to pick you up.” He appears pleased, despite his phony smile.
They ate their dinner where interspersed conversat
ions about the weather, Katarina’s classes, and the opening of Ahz were discussed between bites.
“Let’s have coffee in the living room.”
We sit on the couch and wait for Rose to return with a tray of cups and a pot of coffee.
“This will be so much fun. What do you think you’ll wear, Katarina?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have much formal wear, but I can borrow a dress from my roommate.” I turn toward Damon. “What about the blue dress Emma wore at the hospital fundraiser?”
Damon lets out a groan, and I laugh.
We stay another thirty minutes before we say our goodbyes.
Damon’s mother has the heart of a lion.
“Thank you for a great night. Your mom is nice,” I say.
“She likes to have her way. I’m sorry you got roped into going to the Philharmonic on Saturday. Hopefully, your preparations won’t interfere with book club.”
“I don’t see why it should,” I answer.
“Speaking of book club … I bought you a gift.” Damon reaches into the back seat and hands me a rectangular box.
I open it. “A scarf?”
“You’ll understand.”
“So, this has something to do with the book?”
“Most assuredly, and as a side benefit, it’s silk and soft and beautiful,” he says
“Now I have to stay up and read.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting in the car parked in front of my house.
“Kat, I wanted to say something about the kiss tonight.”
“I’m sorry. I had a moment, and I reacted impulsively.”
He opens his door and rounds the car. When he reaches my side, he pulls me out a little too roughly, causing me to stumble into his arms. Before I register another thought, Damon’s lips are on mine. It seems like hours before we end the kiss that makes me feel weak in the knees.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all night.” He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. “Can I come in for a few minutes? I’m not ready to leave you yet.” His eyes are downcast, so I tip up his chin to look into them, but all I see is uncertainty. Odd for such a confident man.
“That would be nice.”
We enter the empty house and make our way to the couch. In a matter of minutes, we’re a tangled mess of limbs and lips. I feel like a teenager.
Damon slows the pace and kisses me leisurely. His tongue delves deep inside my mouth, and when he pulls back, he sucks in my lower lip, only to devour me again.
He leans back and licks his lips. “I’ve got to go.” Damon stands and dashes for the door.
I chase after him, but he’s halfway down the sidewalk before he turns and says, “See you Wednesday.”
What the hell just happened?
Chapter Ten
Monday morning, I dig right into my donation requests and land the hottest leather bags available. They’ll be the perfect container for all the goodies I’ll get.
After a few more calls, Trevor rushes in. “Kat, I’m so sorry I’m late. We were supposed to be out of here an hour ago for the tour. Grab your stuff, and let’s go.”
With my sweater in my hand and my purse over my shoulder, I run after Trevor, who has legs twice as long as me. I’m barely in the car before he takes off.
He races through traffic and gets us to Ahz in record time. It doesn’t matter that my stomach sits in the heel of my right boot or my heart beats like I ran a marathon, we’re here, and no blood was shed.
He races into the building and stops in the middle to take a breath.
“The restaurant will be here on the first floor,” he says on an exhale. “The rest of the floors are entertainment venues.” He points to the wall at the back. “The elevator is over there. Why don’t you take a self-guided tour, and I’ll catch up with you?”
Floor by floor, I go until I’m in the VIP lounge. The place is dark and plush with comfy groups of seats everywhere, but it’s the tall booths surrounding the room that intrigue me. They’re private enclosures, big enough to sleep on, and I can’t resist the urge to try one out.
Lying on the velvet sofa, I stare at the ceiling. The lights above come on, and I watch people walking above me through the glass flooring.
Holy smokes—I can see everything. My imagination takes off, and visions of dancing bodies fill my head. There are scantily clad women with their hard-body partners swaying above me. I think of several girls I know who are averse to panty lines and giggle at how exposed they’d be walking across this floor. Looking up a girl’s skirt from this room could get you an eyeful. Damon must have been having naughty thoughts when he came up with this design.
I visit the glass dance floor and keep to the tiled sides, so I don’t flash my utilitarian, white, cotton undies today.
An hour later, Trevor finds me on the rooftop terrace, where he talks about his vision for opening night, and I update him on my gift bag progress.
“You’re killing it,” he says.
I smile because he’s right. I am killing it. This job was custom made for me.
The next two days go by quickly as I work on various projects for Trevor and attend classes. Damon and I talk every night, but neither of us brings up the kisses we shared Sunday.
On Wednesday, I hurry home to get ready for my date. I know it’s not a real date, but I can’t stop thinking that our time together is more than what we tell ourselves.
Unfortunately, with my new schedule, I’m behind with my reading. With a good half hour before he arrives, I read the next several chapters.
Holy Moses, now I know why he gave me the scarf. If his intent was to stir emotion, he gets an A-plus.
Two can play at his game. Dressed in a low-cut T-shirt and jeans, I take the scarlet silk from the box and tie it loosely around my neck. What a great reminder of the bondage chapter.
The roar of his Mustang rattles the windows as he pulls up in front of the house. I rush out the door with the book in my hand and hop into his car.
“I would have come to the door for you, Kat.”
“I know, but I’m so excited to talk about the chapter. I think our discussion will titillate, don’t you?” I play with the scarf, wrapping it around my wrist repeatedly.
“You’re doing that on purpose. Stop it, or we won’t get to dinner.” His tongue slips out of his mouth to moisten his lips, and all I can think about is how much I want to suck that tongue into my mouth.
“So many threats, and so little action,” I tease as I roll my tongue over my lips, mimicking him.
His eyes widen, and a soft murmur that sounds like hmm comes out.
Moon Mongolian Barbecue is the perfect location for tonight’s talk. The chapter was descriptive, and I’m sure I can make him squirm. He seems to enjoy making me come unhinged, so let’s see if I can turn the tables.
We both head to the buffet to fill our bowls with various meats, veggies, and sauces. While we wait for our food to grill, I reach for my silk scarf and weave it around both of my wrists, raising my hands above my head to grab his attention. I keep twisting the ends until I’m bound.
“Is this what you had in mind?” I whisper. “The fabric is soft, yet so strong.”
Damon lunges forward and unwinds the scarf from my wrists and places it back around my neck. “Be careful, Kat. You don’t want to go there. You don’t know what you might unleash.” He bites his lower lip and lets it pop free. “I’d have no problem tying you up right here in front of everyone.”
Shocked, I step back but never stop playing with the soft fabric.
His expressive eyes track my every move. I think about his threats and convince myself they are simply that—empty threats.
Once we have our plates of food, we walk to our table and start tonight’s book club meeting.
“What’s your take on this week’s read?” I ask.
“Well, last week we discussed their good looks and how that might influence them. Do you still think that’s the case?” He eat
s a forkful and looks to me for an answer.
“I think their attraction to each other draws them together. Combined with the pure sexual chemistry they share, it’s addictive, but it goes deeper than that. She cares about him and wants to please him because she wants to be everything he desires.”
“Don’t you think being someone’s everything is taking it too far?” he asks.
I debate the question for a minute or two. “You can lose yourself in a passionate romance, but there’s a way to navigate it and remain true to yourself.”
“How far would you go for a person you cared about?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never been tested that way. I see the main character’s perspective. She cares for him, and she also knows he’ll take her to places she’s never been, but it scares and intrigues her. Why do you think he insists on the contract?”
He glances from side to side, then looks at me before saying, “The exchange of money keeps feelings out of the equation.”
I move the broccoli around my plate. “Is that why you hire escorts? Are you afraid of emotional attachments?”
His head snaps back like I splashed him with ice water. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about the book.”
“I think we may be talking about both.”
“I’m not up for discussion tonight. And on that note, I think we’re done for the night. Ready to go?”
I’d hit a nerve with my comment. Rather than pick at a scab, I pay the bill, and we leave the restaurant.
Once we are back in the car, he reaches into the back seat and pulls out a large box. “This is from my mom. She thought it would look nice on you.” He sets it in my lap. “You shouldn’t have to borrow a gown for Saturday, especially that blue one.” He taps the box. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to wear it.”
“Tell your mom thank you.” I’m floored his mother sent me a dress for the performance.
As we pull up in front of my house, I wait for him to come around and let me out. I’m not letting him off the hook tonight.
Risk Taker Page 7