by J. Kenner
“Prove it. Take off your shirt.”
She held his gaze, then slowly unbuttoned her blouse. She wore a lace bra, and as she slipped off the shirt, he could see her nipples straining against the lace. His cock tightened, his blood pounding.
He breathed deep, feeling the buzz of the alcohol, and told himself to keep enjoying the show.
“Skirt next,” he said, stroking his cock as she wriggled out of it, then sat primly back on the leather in only her bra and panties.
He let his gaze linger on her as he took in the gorgeous woman who was his wife. Who fired his senses. Who he still craved with as much heat as the first time he’d seen her, a heat that was supported by so much more. Love, respect, adoration.
That’s what he wanted now. To adore her. To worship her.
“I can’t,” he said, watching with amusement as her brows rose.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before, Mr. Stark,” she teased, making him laugh.
“No, that I can do just fine. I can’t not touch you. I can’t play like this. Not now. Not tonight.” He held out his hand. “Come here, baby. I want to make love to you.”
“Yes,” she said. “Oh yes.”
She knelt in front of him, helping as he tugged off his slacks and briefs. Then she straddled him as she worked the buttons on his shirt, not bothering to take it all the way off, but sliding her hands up his chest.
“Hi,” she murmured, then kissed him. She was still in bra and panties. He was in a dress shirt. His mouth craved her, and his cock was aching with the need to fill her.
“I love you,” she whispered, her fingers in his hair and her hips moving just enough to make him crazy. “And Damien?”
“Yes?”
“I want you inside me.”
Hell, yes.
“Take off your panties,” he ordered, but she just shook her head.
“Push them aside. Please. I just want you inside me now.”
Her words burned through him, and he slid his fingers into her panties, pushing the soft damp silk aside, his fingers finding her core.
She rose up, her eyes locked with his as he entered her—as she lowered herself onto him, then rocked, the motion causing the edge of her panties to rub his cock in a way that was driving him mad.
He pulled her close, his mouth claiming hers, his tongue mimicking his cock as he fucked her mouth in slow, sensual movements, their bodies as one. Her hands stroked his chest, and he cupped her ass, guiding her movements as a slow, lazy fuck that built into something wild and frenzied. Something he hadn’t intended but couldn’t deny he wanted after all.
Because with Nikki there was always passion. Always heat.
Always something wild and wonderful and untamed.
And when she trembled in his arms—when he came completely apart and exploded inside her—he knew that even more than all of that, there was always the most important thing of all.
There was love.
* * * *
“Got anything for me?” Damien asked as they reached the third floor and found Ryan still at the computer with Jamie curled up asleep on the couch. “A quick report and then you should really take your wife home. Or at least crash in one of the guest bedrooms. Start back fresh in the morning.”
“Jamie can sleep anywhere,” Ryan said with a grin. “Or haven’t you met my wife?”
Damien laughed, because Jamie pretty much had slept anywhere—and with anyone—until she settled down with Ryan. “Even so.”
“We’ll go…but I’ll be back early. I’m expecting some video footage. Hopefully I’ll have a link bright and early.”
“You have found something. Tell me.” He sat down, pulling Nikki into his lap.
“We found the girl. Rory’s foster sister. Louisa Crenshaw. You can thank the asshole reporter for giving us a name. Saved tons of time. And yeah, she fostered with Rory for three years. She’s an addict—currently in recovery—and she’s got some pretty heavy duty medical issues, too. She’s been living in a rehab facility and Rory’s been sending her money weekly to cover the facility charges and her medical bills.”
“Let me guess,” Nikki said. “The money’s kept coming even after he ended up in prison.”
“You got it. Only now it’s money orders. Totally anonymous.”
“You mentioned video footage,” Damien prompted.
“Right. From the rehab. Private facility, good security. They’re sending us their video archives for the last six months. That’s all they maintain.”
“That’s incredibly cooperative,” Nikki said.
“So far, they’ve been great.” He shot Damien a glance. “They also know who I work for and why I’m asking. My guess is they’re not counting on it, but they’re hoping for a hefty donation.”
“Odds are good they’ll have one,” Damien said. “Especially if the footage helps.” He nodded to Jamie. “Go on to bed. We’ll tackle these mysteries in the morning.” He urged Nikki off his lap, then stood.
“Sounds good. Except there’s one mystery I can solve for you tonight.”
Damien hesitated, something in Ryan’s voice giving him pause. “What are you talking about?”
“Sofia. She called the house phone. She’s in Santa Barbara.”
“She is?”
Ryan shrugged. “Well, that’s what she said.”
With a frown, Damien pulled out his phone, and once again opened the tracking app. He selected Sofia’s name and, within seconds, a small red dot appeared on a map, marking her location—right there in Santa Barbara. Specifically, at the Santa Barbara Pearl Hotel on Bank Street.
He dialed the night manager’s direct number, then found himself talking with a young woman he recalled had been hired within the last six months. “This is Mr. Stark. Can you confirm that Sofia Richter is a guest?”
“Yes, Mr. Stark. She checked in earlier today.”
“Thank you. I’ll take care of her bill personally.”
“Of course, Mr. Stark. Is there anything else?”
“No. Thank you.” He hung up, then met Ryan’s inquisitive glance. “She’s there. And that’s at least one mystery solved. Hopefully our winning streak will continue in the morning.”
“It has to,” Nikki said as he pulled her to bed. “I think we’re due.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Nikki raced into the kitchen as Damien was sipping coffee and Bree was fixing scrambled eggs for the girls.
“Oh, praise be,” she said, snatching his mug, then taking a long swallow. “That’s exactly what I need. I’m running late. I thought the PR team was coming at ten, but the appointment’s at nine. I blame you,” she added with a teasing smile. “You kept me up too late and too distracted to check my calendar.”
“Is that what I did last night?” he asked, filling a traveler’s mug. He handed it to her, leaning in as his free hand stroked her ass. “I could have sworn I fucked your brains out,” he added, in a whisper meant only for her.
“Exactly.” She kissed him, nipping his lower lip in the process. “It was very distracting.”
“And a good morning to you two,” Bree said, her voice full of laughter.
“It really is,” Nikki agreed, shooting Damien a smile as she headed toward the girls. “Hey, my little snuggle monkeys. Give Mommy a kiss.”
He watched as she accepted their wide-armed hugs and sticky kisses, his heart swelling, then tightening as he remembered once again why their house was so full of people. Because they were going to find and destroy the man who had the gall to try to erase the joy and love he saw in the kitchen this morning.
“I’m going to catch up a bit after the meeting, then bring work home,” she told him, returning to his side for one more kiss. “See you after lunch.”
“Let Edward drive you. You can get work done on the drive.”
She shook her head. “I’m prepared, just late. And Sofia’s in Santa Barbara,” she added, warding off any potential protests. “All is good, right? Well, as
good as can be expected?”
He had to nod.
“So I’d rather be in Coop,” she added, referring to her cherry red Mini Cooper he’d given her before their marriage. “I’ll be back this afternoon,” she promised, then started toward the stairs.
He tugged her back. “I think I need one more kiss.”
She flashed a teasing smile. “Well, if you really need it, I guess—”
But he didn’t let her finish. He was too busy quieting her with his kiss.
When he finally let her go, he went back in to check on Ryan and his team of techies who were just arriving.
“I talked with the girl this morning,” Ryan said, glancing up as Damien approached. “And if you bring me coffee, I might be persuaded to share the details with you.”
“I’ll get it,” Jamie said, padding through the open area in a tank top and pajama bottoms. She grinned at Damien. “Thanks for the offer to crash here,” she said. “We took the suite by the pool. And we took a dip in the hot tub before crashing.” She sighed. “It was very relaxing.”
“I know,” Damien said dryly. “I’ve done some dipping there myself.”
Jamie burst out laughing. “I do love you, you know.”
“Back at you, James,” he said, using Nikki’s nickname for her BFF.
Ryan leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “If you’re done flirting with my wife…”
“Give it a rest, Hunter,” Jamie said. “You know I don’t go for the brilliant, wealthy, handsome type.”
Damien bit back a laugh as Ryan tumbled her into his lap. “Oh, kitten, you are so going to pay later.”
She bit her lower lip. “Promise?”
“Get me my coffee, minx.”
“Yes, Sir. Damien? Coffee?”
“I’m good.” He met Ryan’s eyes, but his friend only shrugged.
“She’s well-trained.”
“The hell she is. I’ve met your wife.”
They both laughed, then quickly sobered as Quincy joined them, coming up from the first floor guest suite he’d claimed.
“So where are we?” Quincy asked.
“Unfortunately, Louisa Crenshaw says she knows nothing about who’s paying her bills, and I believe her. Also unfortunately, we don’t have their security archive. It’s maintained offsite and is technically owned by the umbrella corporation that operates a number of rehabs across the country.”
“Which means we’re buried in red tape,” Damien said.
“Which means we’re officially going through channels,” Ryan said.
“And unofficially?” Quincy asked, and Ryan nodded toward the two tech guys, who were already banging away at their laptops, heads bobbing to whatever music was pumping out of their headphones.
“My guys are on it. No guarantees, though. The facility uses actual video tape. Nothing digital. And it’s shipped to the central retention system. I don’t know if they archive it digitally. If not, we’re out of luck unless they let us copy the tapes. Of course, we could break in, but that may be taking things a little too far.” He met Damien’s eyes. “At least until we’re sure we’re all out of options.”
“You’re saying we have another option.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Ryan agreed, and Damien knew his friend well enough to know that Ryan was more than a little pleased with himself. “I figure the odds are good whoever is paying probably visited her at least once, right? So I got the visitor logs, which includes a designation of who they were seeing and a picture of the visitor’s ID. Those, thankfully, are kept on site. And the facility was kind enough to give me the files for the last three months.”
“Which means we look and see who was visiting Louisa Crenshaw,” Jamie said. “But so what? How do we know if the person we see on the log is our bad guy?”
“We’ll figure that out as we go along,” Quincy said. “First, let’s separate out her visitors and see what we’re left with.”
“Good,” Damien said. “I’ve got a few calls I need to make about The Domino and some other business, but I’ll be back up to see where you are in an hour or so.”
“No worries,” Ryan said. “Go run the universe.”
An hour later, his universe was humming along nicely, and he was heading back up from his desk on the mezzanine to check in with Ryan. He’d just stepped off the elevator when his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, saw that it was from Nikki’s office, and answered. “Hey, baby. What’s up?”
“Mr. Stark? It’s Abby.”
“Call me Damien, Abby. We’ve been over this before.”
“Is Nikki still there?” Her voice held an edge of panic that shot through him like ice water.
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, God.”
“Abby.”
“She didn’t make the meeting. I thought maybe she forgot. Or maybe you guys had a break in your investigation and she forgot to call.”
“She left just after eight.” He strode into the open area, snapping his fingers to get Ryan’s attention. “She should have been there by now.”
Ryan stood, his expression grim. Beside him, Jamie paled.
“She’s not,” Abby said. “Do you think something happened to her? Was she in an accident? Do you think—”
“I don’t know,” he snapped, then immediately regretted the outburst. “I’m sorry. Abby, thanks for calling. I’m going to see what I can find out. Call me if you hear anything.”
“Yes. Of course. You do the same.”
He promised he would, then ended the call, but continued tapping buttons on his phone.
“What’s going on?” Quincy asked, climbing up the stairs, in sweats and a T-shirt, his body damp with the exertion of a workout.
Damien held up his hand. And then, when he saw the notification on his phone’s screen, his blood ran cold.
“Her phone’s off. I can’t track her. Fuck.”
“What about Coop?” Jamie asked, and Damien almost kissed her.
“Brilliant. Yes. Of course.” He’d had a tracker installed in Coop before he’d given it to her. He had one in all his cars as an anti-theft device, though for Nikki it was all about keeping her safe.
Now he pulled up the app, found the entry for Coop, and pressed the button to locate the car.
For a moment, he watched a wheel spinning on his phone screen then it stopped—exactly where it was supposed to be.
“Her office.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, forcing himself not to panic. He never panicked. Panicking wasn’t part of his nature.
But God help him, he was panicking now.
“On it,” Ryan said, his voice sounding like it was in a tunnel. And then Ryan was there, standing in front of him, his hands on Damien’s shoulders. “We have to assume this is tied to Anne’s kidnapping. Probably the same perp.”
“Oh, fuck,” Quincy said, apparently catching up. “Bloody, buggered fuck.”
“I’ll second that,” Damien said grimly, pushing the panic down. Forcing himself to concentrate. Nikki needed him. Him. The man who’d been instrumental in getting their daughter back. The man who controlled billions and ran an empire. The man whose will was a goddamn force of nature.
She needed the man she married.
Damien Stark.
Someone thought they could take Nikki? Someone thought that they’d get away with it?
Someone was fucking wrong.
And, goddammit, he was finding his wife.
“We need to find out who’s funding Louisa Crenshaw,” he said to Ryan. “And we need to do it fast.”
“I’m open to suggestions,” Ryan said.
Jamie hurried over. “I think I have an idea. Someone who must know.”
Damien turned to her. “Who?”
“Morey Dilliard.”
“Who?” Damien asked again, only this time Ryan echoed the question.
“The reporter who blindsided you outside the restaurant,” she explained. “W
ho else could have told him about Louisa? He won’t want to reveal his sources, but…” She trailed off with a shrug.
“You can convince him?” Quincy asked.
“My wife can be very persuasive,” Ryan said.
Jamie rolled her eyes. “No way will he tell me. But I think I know someone who can get him to share. Let me make some calls.” She hurried off, her phone in her hand.
Damien met Ryan’s eyes, but Ryan just shrugged.
“All right,” Damien said. “What else have we got?”
“I think we’re back to the clinic’s visitor logs,” Quincy said.
Ryan nodded. “Grunt work, but maybe it’ll pay off.”
“It has to,” Damien said fiercely.
With the file split between the three of them, they started poring through the clinic’s data, dumping all of Louisa’s visitors into a designated subfolder that was rapidly filling up. The girl had a lot of visitors—doctors, friends, social workers.
“Mr. Stark,” one of the techs—Jeff?—said right as Damien had finished a week’s worth of visitor logs. “I’ve just finished reviewing the feed from Mrs. Stark’s office parking garage. Her Mini-Cooper didn’t enter the garage this morning.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I checked twice.”
“But it’s tracking to that vicinity.”
“She must have parked on the street.” Quincy said. “Or possibly in the lot behind her building.”
“Christ.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m going to call Ollie. See if he can pull today’s feed from their surveillance cam.”
“Good idea,” Ryan said as Damien stood to make the call, cursing when he got Ollie’s voice mail. He left a message explaining what had happened and what he wanted, and hoped the other man would come through in time.
He returned to the workstation at the same time as Jamie, who held out her phone to Ryan. “Make it do the speaker thing,” she said, waving vaguely toward the ceiling and the hidden sound system.
Ryan smirked, but hooked her phone into the equipment. A moment later, Damien heard Evelyn say, “Hello? Jamie, where the hell did you go?”