"He wanted more than conversation." He takes my hand and pulls me into the dining area so that we are standing by the large, round table. He turns me around so that he is behind me, then slides his hand up my leg under my skirt.

"You need to understand how completely you belong to me. Mine to pleasure," he says as his featherlight touch on my clit sparks a flurry of shudders within me. "Or mine to torment." He lands a hard spank on my rear, and I cry out, the sound wrenched from my throat on a wave of pleasure. "You like that?" he murmurs.

Dear God, yes. I lift my rear, giving him better access.

"Spread your legs."

I comply eagerly, anticipating the feel of Damien inside me. I hear the metallic sound of his zipper, then the soft brush of material against skin as he takes off his slacks. He keeps his shirt on, and the starched cotton hem brushes against my skin when he leans over again in a way that is probably unintentional, but comes close to driving me crazy.

His hand returns between my legs, the other one going to cup my breast. I start to rise, but hear his sharp censure telling me to stay as I am, bent over and ready for him. "You want to be fucked, don't you?"

"Yes," I moan. It's good that my hands are on the table. I don't think my legs alone could hold me up. I am little more than sensation. I am need and longing and sexual energy, and if he doesn't let me come soon, I fear that I will collapse from the pleasure of it all.

He slides two fingers in me, and I groan as my body tightens around him. I'm closeaso very closeaand I bite my lower lip in expectation of a soul-rocking explosion.

It doesn't come.

For that matter, neither do I, and I whimper in protest as he withdraws his fingers, his hands going to a relatively chaste position on my hips.

"Turn around, baby," he says. "I want to see your face."

I turn, and his eyes say more than words ever could. I melt under the desire I see there. The need and the hunger. It rips through me until the only thing that I know in the world is Damien. "Kiss me," I whisper.

He does, and it is a violent, hungry kiss that bruises my lips until I taste blood. He pushes me back onto the sturdy table, then grabs the dress at the bodice and rips it down, baring my breasts. I cry out, arching up to meet him, my hands going to his head to pull him down as his mouth closes over my nipple, his teeth biting just enough that I suck in air, cresting on a wave of intense pleasure that borders on pain.

"Now," he says, and what remains of the dress is up around my waist. The table is hard against my back, but I don't care, and I spread my legs wide for him then cry out as he thrusts deep inside me. I arch up, meeting his thrusts, feeling frenzied and wild and wicked and his.

Damien's.

He explodes inside me, my name on his lips. And then, spent and soft, he slides his hand down to where I am slick with his semen. I gasp as he strokes me in small circles, faster and faster until I again cry out and my body bucks from the orgasm that rips through it, then finally calms as exhaustion and bliss take over.

"Wow," I say, and curl up next to him.

"Indeed," he says.

We stay like that for a moment, still in each other's arms.

"This table is really uncomfortable," I finally say.

Beside me, Damien laughs.

"I think we need to clean it up, too. I'm not sure the maids will understand."

"I'm sure they've seen it all before," he says.

I turn and meet his eyes, my brows raised.

"Right," he says. "We'll take care of it. But now, I'm taking you to bed."

He holds out his hand, and I follow him into the spacious bedroom, with a bed that looks much more comfortable than the table. "A mattress," I say. "How novel."

"Come here." He tugs me to the bed and we abandon what remains of our clothes before sliding under the covers. I curl up beside him and we lie like that for what feels like hours, talking and flipping channels and watching snippets of old movies.

This is yet another thing I love about Damienathat shift from frenzied passion to these soft moments when I feel safe and warm and cherished beside him. It's as smooth and satisfying as a glass of port after a truly decadent meal.

"I'm not tired," I say, when I notice that the clock reads four A.M. "I'd say that I'm going to regret this in the morning, but it already is morning."

"Will you?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Not a minute of it," I say.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For indulging my fantasies."

I laugh. "Why, Mr. Stark. Haven't you heard? I'm yours to command."

He kisses me lightly. "And I'm very, very glad."

For a moment, we just lie there quietly. Then Damien says, "That phone call you asked about earlier. It was bad news. From a friend."

"Oh," I say. "I'm sorry." I remember what Charles Maynard said. "Is the friend in Germany?"

He gives me a sharp look. "Why would you say that?"

I shrug. "Charles's voice carries."

"So it does. No, Germany's something different."

"An indictment? One of your Stark International subsidiaries or something?"

The line of his mouth is hard as he answers. "Or something."

"Are you worried?"

"No." The word is firm. "Charles is handling it."

I nod. Since I know nothing about the laws of international trade and finance, I can't go far with this conversational thread. "Do you want to tell me about your friend's bad news?"

For a second, I think that he's going to say no. Then he speaks, his voice steady and even, as if he's fighting for control. "It's Sofia."

It takes me a moment to place the name. "Your friend from childhood? The one Alaine mentioned?"

He nods. "She's gotten herself into some trouble. It's not the first time, but it's frustrating. I keep hoping she'll get her shit together, but she keeps screwing up."

"I'm sorry. I hope it gets better for her."

He kisses my forehead. "Me, too."

I wait for him to tell me more, but he doesn't. That's okay, though, and I take his hand. "Thank you."

He doesn't need to ask what I mean. "I am trying," he says.

"I know you are." I spoon against him, feeling warm and safe. "And I appreciate it."

I'm facing away from him, and as I close my eyes, he strokes his fingers over my bare skin. The minutes tick away, and when he speaks, I have already begun to drift off, so that his words have the quality of a dream. "I never used to sleep naked."

"Why not?" I am only half awake, and I like that he is sending me to sleep with images of a naked Damien.

"Because when we traveled, Richter would come into my room. Somehow, I was always assigned a room of my own, even though the other boys had to share."

My eyes are open now, but I don't roll over. I'm afraid that if I look at him, he'll stop talking. "What happened?"

"He would come in. And he would touch me." His voice is strained. Hard and measured. "He would threaten me and swear that if I told anyone, that everything I had would be ripped away. And my father would have no money, and we'd starve on the street. But mostly, I would have the reputation of a little boy who told nasty, nasty lies."

"Bastard."

"Yes."

I stay quiet, wondering if he will say more. But he remains silent. I don't mind. He has told me two truths tonight, and I know that this is only one small part of something larger that is growing between us.

"I thought so," I say after a moment. "But I guess I was wrong about your dad."

"What do you mean?"

"I assumed he knew that your coach was abusing you. I realized in the limo that he didn't."

For a moment, there is only silence. When Damien speaks, his words are ice cold. "He knew."

I roll over, shocked into motion. "What? But ... but why on earth would he expect you to be at the tennis center dedication if he knows what that vile man did to you?"

"I don't know," Damien says. He hesitates, his face drawn into hard lines.

"No," he amends. "I do know. The tennis center is owned by a sports conglomerate based out of Germany. Powerful company, powerful people on the board."

"I don't understand. Is your father involved with the conglomerate?"

"No. And my father couldn't care less whether I endorse a tennis center or a pet store. It's all about trading favors. I lend my name to the tennis center, and maybe those powerful people will pull a few strings in Germany."

"The indictment I keep hearing about?"

"Right. Charles agrees with my dad, actually. He's pissed as hell at me for making that statement outside Garreth Todd's party, even though I reminded him that the longer the whole thing drags on, the more billable hours he earns."

He smiles without humor. "To be honest, I should have kept my mouth shut. I'm not accustomed to acting rashly, and it was rash to make that statement."

"Why did you?"

"Because it's the truth. Because that center shouldn't be named after him. And because I'm tired of the world thinking that I admired that son of a bitch."

"Then you did the right thing."

"Maybe. But sometimes even the right thing has unpleasant consequences."

"It's that bad?" Worry snakes through me. "One of your companies is in that much trouble?"

Damien hesitates. "It has the potential to be very bad," he finally says. "But I don't think it will get that far. I still have a few strings left to pull."

I nod, somewhat appeased. If Damien isn't worried, I won't be, either.

"Come here," he demands, and I comply eagerly. I slide into his arms, and let the strength of his embrace push out the remaining wisps of worry. All I want is Damien, and I drift off to sleep in the comfort of his arms.

17.

The shrill buzz of a doorbell startles me awake. I sit up, confused. I didn't even know that hotels had doorbells, but apparently the I'm-richer-than-Midas executive suites do, because that is definitely a bellaand it is definitely not being answered.

"Damien?" I expect to hear his reply from the bathroom, and when it doesn't come, I slide out from under the downy spread and stand up, my body both languid and sore, as if it's not entirely sure how it's supposed to feel after last night's adventure.

Another buzz makes me jump, this one followed by a brisk voice announcing, "Room service!"

The thought of coffee gets me moving. "Just a sec," I call back, then cast about for something to wear. I spy a robe draped neatly over the back of a chair, which is good considering the state of my dress. Damien put it there for me, of course. But where the hell is he?

I hurry out of the bedroom and through the dining area to the door. Although the waiter must have been out there for at least five minutes, he's not in the least bit ruffled. "Good morning,madam," he says as he wheels the cart in and starts to distribute the food to the now clean-and-tidy dining table. Damien really has been busy this morning.

The waiter is uncovering each plate as he moves it from cart to table, and I realize that I am starving. There's coffee, orange juice, eggs, toast, a waffle, fruit, and enough bacon to feed a small army. There's not enough silverware or cups for an army, though. In fact there's one coffee cup, one juice glass, and only one bundle of silverware wrapped in a black cloth napkin.

I may be slow this morning, but I've finally clued in on realityaDamien has skipped out on me.

"Will there be anything else?"

"No," I say. "Thank you. Do I need to sign a check or something?"

"No, ma'am. But I do have this for you." He reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket. He pulls out a small envelope and hands it to me. "Mr. Stark asked that this be delivered with your breakfast."

"Oh." I take the note, surprised but pleased. "Thank you."

I hold on to the envelope until he's gone. The paper is thick linen, and the name of the hotel is embossed on the back flap. It's sealed, and I unroll the silverware and use the knife to loosen the flap. I pull out a small sheet of the same linen paper. It's folded over, and when I unfold it I see Damien's neat, precise printing.

My darling Ms. Fairchild, Enjoy your breakfast. If there's something you would prefer, simply call room service. I didn't know what you were hungry for. Personally, I woke up hungry only for you, but as you looked so lovely, I thought I would let you sleep. I need to be in San Diego for a six o'clock breakfast meeting with a troublesome business partner, but I'll be back in LA by eleven. Stay in the room. Shop in the gift store. Utilize the spa. Whatever you want.