Enchant Me by J. Kenner

12

When the elevator doors open on the top floor of Stark Tower, I find myself looking at Jackson’s face, his expression hard. “What on Earth is the matter?”

He shakes his head. “I’ll let you ask Damien that.”

“Oh, dear.”

Jackson pauses as we pass each other to give me a quick hug, then whispers, “This is all going to be okay. The bottom line is that he’s having a really shitty week.”

I nod, wondering if Damien got the Masque video, too. I hope not, but if he didn’t get it, then what new hell has ruined his day?

With that question lingering in my mind, I return my brother-in-law’s hug, then pass Troy on my way to Damien’s office. “Is he free? Can you buzz me in?”

He already has, and even as I speak, the doors glide open. I shoot Troy a look of gratitude, then step inside to find Damien pacing in front of the wet bar, a drink in hand despite the early hour.

“What’s going on?” I ask him. “I bumped into Jackson, and he looks like he’s on his way back from a funeral.”

“We had that meeting with Ashton Stone.”

“Oh.” I frown. “I’m guessing it didn’t go well?”

His brows rise, apparently acknowledging that my question is foolish. “Well, he’s still alive,” Damien says drolly.

It’s not the response I’m expecting, and I burst out laughing, grateful when Damien chuckles as well, some of the tension easing from his face.

“Tell me what happened.” I move to the sofa and take a seat. When Damien sits beside me, I shift so that my back is against the armrest, and put my feet in his lap.

“Basically he said he wouldn’t work with me even if he was forced to.” His fingers trace idly up and down my bare calf. “He came to the meeting for the sole purpose of snubbing me.”

“I don’t get it,” I say. “Why would he do that? Does he have some personal grudge?”

“Nothing I can think of. Maybe he’s pitched to the team before. I’ve sent a text to Preston asking him to go back and confirm that we haven’t dealt with Stone’s business in the past. But I know I didn’t deal with the man, so that begs the question of why there’s such vitriol aimed at me.”

He puts the drink down and cups his hands behind his neck. “Maybe I acquired something he wanted. Hell, it could be anything.”

“What about the sponsorship?” I ask, remembering what Damien said the other morning and from the television. “For his racing team. Didn’t he want Stark International to sponsor him?”

Damien nods slowly. “To be honest, I hadn’t thought of it. That was so long ago. It seems petty. I made a business decision.”

“But you told me part of that decision was because Ashton was getting pulled into some scandal. Maybe he thought that was a pot calling the kettle black thing. I mean, you’re the king of scandal.”

“Thank you for your support,” he says, but I hear the humor—and the acknowledgement of truth—in his voice. “You may be right.”

“And it’s all personal,” I add. “Racing is Ashton Stone’s passion. This business is yours.”

“My family is,” Damien counters, and I swallow, seeing the full impact of what he is saying. Because those horrible texts and videos that have been bombarding us are personal, too.

I look up at Damien again. “You think he’s behind the texts? The videos and stuff, I mean?”

He lets his hands rise and fall. “I don’t know. I accused him of it, though, so obviously I think it’s possible. But he looked genuinely clueless. Then again, the man might be one hell of an actor.” He groans and drags his fingers through his hair. “The whole thing’s gotten under my skin.”

“I can tell.”

He manages a half-smile. “You might be surprised to know that I’m never keen on getting the rug pulled out from under me.”

I scoot closer so that my thighs are on his lap and my arms around his neck. “What are you going to do?”

He puts his hand on my thigh and strokes softly, as if the movement is calming him. “I’m going to get more background on Ashton Stone, that’s for damn sure.”

“I wish I could say that you’re going overboard, but you have good instincts, Mr. Stark.”

I swallow, then look away so that I’m not meeting his eyes as I think about Ashton Stone. This mercurial racecar driver makes me nervous, too, especially now that this new video from Masque has shown up. The one that is still tucked away on my phone, unknown to Damien.

I know I need to tell him about it, but I also know this man. He’s not used to being denied, to not getting what he wants, and to not being wanted in the first place.

Hell, for years, he’s been the golden boy who everyone else clamors after, seeking attention. The fact that Stone walked boldly into his office and snubbed Damien to his face is obviously eating at my husband. As it would anybody.

If I tell him about the Masque video now, it will add fuel to an already raging temper, and I fear that I’ll lose him inside himself again. That he’ll beat out his frustrations in the gym or on the court. That he’ll let it all twist up inside himself instead of talking to me and letting me help him through it.

Which is why I decide to take the initiative. “How about we take your mind off it? In case you’ve forgotten, we have a lovely apartment with a comfy bed just a few short steps away. And it’s very conveniently right at the lunch hour.”

He chuckles, and I think I see genuine humor on his face. “Are you manipulating me Ms. Fairchild?”

“Maybe. Do you like it?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. With me.” He takes my hand, and we leave the office, pausing only long enough to give Troy a few instructions. Then we follow the back hallway to the Tower Apartment’s service entrance. We move through the dimly lit rooms to the large master bedroom.

Immediately, I slide into his arms and press my lips to his. I expect to be gloriously used. I’m certain he’ll work out his frustrations from the meeting on me, but instead, he tosses me back on the bed, straddles me, and pins me down at my forearms.

“This time, I think you really do need a spanking,” he says, one brow lifting.

I’m not opposed to the idea in theory, but I can tell from his tone that this isn’t about sex or working through his frustration. “Um. I don’t know what you’re talking about?” I mean it as a statement, but my words come out as a question.

“You forget how well I know you. Tell me what’s going on, Nikki.”

I exhale. “Fine.” I try to sit up, but he keeps me pinned down. Then he bends over, and kisses me very gently. “Whatever it is, I appreciate you trying to stave off my temper. But you and I both know that you came here to tell me something. So tell me.”

I consider arguing, if for no other reason than to delay the inevitable. I sigh. “Let me up. I need to get my phone.”

He does, and I pull it out of my purse, which I’ve dropped on the floor. I open to the text and the video inside it. “I got this when I was at the SCF,” I say as I pass him the phone.

I watch his face as he watches the video. I see his color drain and his expression go hard. Then he tosses my phone on the bed, turns, and leaves the room.

I go after him, only to bump into his back immediately outside the doorway. He grabs my shoulders and pushes me against the wall, then kisses me hard. This is the kind of kiss I’d expected. A claiming kiss. A kiss to get lost in. A kiss meant to soothe all of his demons. All of mine, too.

But then he pushes away with a curse and paces in front of me. Back and forth, and back and forth before slamming his fist against the wall so hard I’m surprised he doesn’t leave a hole in the drywall.

“How many times am I going to keep thrusting the woman I love into the glare of the spotlight?” he snaps. “The portrait, all the goddamn publicity during the trial, and now this? Jesus Christ, Nikki. I never thought. I don’t see how —”

“It’s okay, Damien. Just stop it. It’s okay.”

“What part of this is okay?” he asks. “There’s a tape of us at Masque. You’re half naked, for fuck’s sake. How is it okay? All of this shit going on. Personal images that we don’t control. Someone is mining for our intimate moments and using them to push our buttons. How is any of that fucking okay?”

I force myself not to sink back, but to stand tall against his fury. It’s red hot, yes, but it’s not directed at me. “It’s not,” I assure him. “It’s not okay. But we can deal with it. And as for this video, we knew there was a risk. You can’t deny it. That was part of the thrill, and you know that as well as I do.”

“A theoretical risk. Were you exposed? Yes. To other people in the club running the same damn risk. But that thrill? It came from the narrowest thread of a theoretical possibility. And I swear to God, if that irresponsible, self-centered, son of a —”

“Matthew Holt is on the phone,” Troy’s voice comes across the apartment’s intercom system. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but he says it’s urgent.”

Damien shoots me a sideways look that contains more fury in his face than I think I’ve seen in our entire relationship. He stalks to the phone in the kitchen, presses the intercom button to let Troy know that he’s taking the call, then puts it on speaker.

“Damien. Oh, God, Damien, I am so sorry. I swear to you, I’ll find out who filmed that.” Damien looks to me with a question in his eyes. He’s obviously not sure if I sent the video to Matthew or if our tormentor did.

Me, I mouth. I’d forwarded the tape to Matthew, and at the same time, I’d let him know that I was on my way to show it to Damien.

“I can’t tell you how mortified I am that this happened to the two of you,” Holt continues. “I will get to the bottom of this.”

“I thought the club was private, Matthew,” Damien says. “I thought it was anonymous.”

“I know who the members are, of course. And I have ways of finding out who violated my rules. I have security measures that are supposed to detect cameras and recording equipment. This shouldn’t have happened. I swear to you, I am as angry as you are.”

I see Damien’s shoulders relax just slightly. “I highly doubt that.”

“I’ll need a few days. But I’ll figure this out.”

“All right, then,” Damien says. “A few days. Then I want answers.”

“We may not have drinks regularly, but we run in the same circles, and we have many of the same friends. This isn’t something I’ll stand for, using my club as a way to blackmail a friend.”

My husband closes his eyes and nods. “Thank you,” he says, and I can hear in his voice that he means it.

“I’ll keep you posted.”

“Wait,” Damien says before Matthew has a chance to hang up.

“What?”

Damien clears his throat. “I just wanted to say that five minutes ago I could have happily killed you. Now I’m glad you have our back.”

For a moment Matthew doesn’t answer. When he does, I hear a subtle change in his voice. A softer tone, and one that’s full of respect. “The world can change on a dime, my friend. I learned that lesson the hard way. And from what I’ve heard over the years, so did you.”

“That’s true,” Damien says.

“Then isn’t it lucky that we are both the type of men who are prepared to deal with that.”

The sun dips below the horizon as I chase a small yellow ball over the backyard court. I’m sweaty and exhausted, and Lara is scrambling right beside me.

One thing I’ve learned in the last hour? The best way to forget about weird stress caused by vile text messages is to play doubles tennis with two kids under the age of ten.

I’m paired with Lara, Anne is with Damien, and Bradley is chasing the balls. Not surprisingly, Anne and Damien are beating the pants off of us, but I blame that mostly on my complete lack of skill at the game, and not on Damien’s well-known prowess on the court. It’s clear that he’s holding back and letting Anne do most of the work. To my delight and surprise, she’s got one heck of a swing, too, which is causing much tension between her and her older sister, who is more of a dancer than a tennis player.

Anne returns my wild ball, and Lara misses right as the automatic lights on the court turn on, bathing us in an incandescent glow.

“More, Daddy,” Anne begs, but Damien shakes his head.

“Nope. It’s time for you little rug rats to go see Ms. Bree and get your bath. Mommy and Daddy need to talk.”

“Please?” Anne asks, this time with the question directed to me.

I shake my head. “You heard Daddy. Off you go. Take Bradley with you.”

To their credit neither girl tries another round of begging. They each take one of Bradley’s hands, and the three of them skip back up the path towards the back door.

Bree’s spent the last hour on the patio working on her book, and I hear her call, “I’ve got them,” a few moments later.

I put my racket down and cross the court to Damien. “Mommy and Daddy have to talk?” I repeat as I slide my arms around him. “I really hope that’s a euphemism.”

“I love a good euphemism,” he says. “This way.” He takes my hand, but instead of leading me up to the house, he leads me down to the bungalow. I keep a beach-style wardrobe there for both of us, and we strip out of our sweaty clothes and hop into the shower. Immediately, Damien’s arms go around me and he kisses me softly under the rain-style showerhead.

“This is nice,” he says. “On the court, here with you. I can almost forget that hell’s popping up all around us.”

I tilt my head back and press my fingers to his lips. “No,” I say. “Not yet. We can talk about it later if you need to, but right now, right here, I just want it to be us.”

“I like the sound of us,” he says, as I start to kiss my way down his chest, then tease the tip of my tongue along his cock. He groans, his fingers twisting in my hair as I continue to lick and tease him. I start to take him into my mouth, but he shifts, his hands moving to my upper arms as he tugs me to my feet, then wraps one arm around my waist as he kisses me.

“Turn around,” he murmurs, his lips brushing over my ears.

I do as he says, and he cups my breasts, teasing my nipples before trailing one hand down to find my clit. My body is already on fire, and I tremble in response to his soft, teasing stroke. He continues to play with me, bending me over so that I feel his cock against my rear and his fingers moving in long, sensual strokes.

“Hands on the tile,” he whispers, and I lean forward for him, my palms against the tile as the water pours down on us. “Now spread your legs, baby.” I comply eagerly as warm water runs over our bodies and he teases me from behind with his cock even while his fingers stroke my clit until I’ve been reduced to nothing but need and pleasure, and I’m begging him to please, please just take me. And, thank God, he does, and soon I’m lost in sensation. Damien’s hands on me. His cock filling me. His mouth kissing me.

Electricity curls through me, firing my senses until, finally, I hear his soft, “Come with me now,” and my body seems to shatter, until it’s nothing but me and Damien alone in the universe. And in that moment I know with unerring certainty that no matter what happens next, everything is going to be okay.

When I wake, sunlight is filling the bungalow, and I sit up looking around for Damien. I find him in the kitchen, his earphones in as he talks to Troy about his schedule for the day. “Just shift everything from the morning to the afternoon. If there’s anything I can handle by phone instead of in-person, rearrange that. I’m happy to take calls while I’m here. But I don’t think I’ll get to the office until after lunch.” He pauses, scribbles a note on a pad of paper on the counter, then looks up, sees me, and smiles.

“That’s perfect. Troy, I have to go. Email me if there’s anything else that’s urgent.”

“I didn’t mean to distract you from getting into work on time. I don’t want to be a bad influence.”

“Oh, but I love it when you’re bad.”

I roll my eyes. “Funny man.” I slide into his arms and kiss him. “And good morning to you.”

“I’m sorry about yesterday.”

I raise my brows. “The last thing I remember about yesterday was nothing you have to be sorry about.”

His mouth curves in a grin. “God, I love you. What would I do without you?”

“Conveniently, you won’t ever have to find out.”

He pulls out of my arms long enough to pour coffee for both of us. I settle in at one of the stools by the counter while he leans against the sink, looking at me.

“I thought a bit more about the videos. The Masque video is still a mystery—I haven’t heard back from Matthew—but as for the Richter vid, I can only think of one person who might have had it.”

“Your father?”

He nods, and I shudder. The idea of Jeremiah Stark being involved in any aspect of our life, much less harassing us, gives me chills. “You think he’s sending these texts?

“I’m thinking that my father has reason to want to make my life difficult. As far as he’s concerned, we made his life difficult.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not nearly as difficult as he deserves.” Jeremiah Stark knew all about the abuse that Richter put Damien through. More than that, he’s caused no end of trouble with us, manipulating the press, demanding money, and generally being an albatross around Damien’s neck. But I still don’t understand what exactly Damien is thinking. “What’s in it for him? Your father’s all about the money. Are you expecting a blackmail demand? Pay or the video gets released?”

“That’s one possibility.”

“What’s the other?”

“At this point, I think he just wants to hurt us. Which means he may release the video simply out of spite.” He reaches up and rubs his forehead. “I need to go down there and talk to him.”

“Oh, sweetheart, do you really?” But I already know the answer is yes.

He nods.

“I get it. But I’m not going with you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” His phone chimes with a text, and Damien grabs it, obviously expecting it to be from Troy about some important bit of business.

When I see Damien frown, I assume something’s gone wrong at the office. He looks up at me. “I’m not going to see him, after all.”

“No, you should go. You should tell him your theory and then you should watch his face as you do. You’ll know the truth. Hell, take Jackson with you.”

“I mean I don’t need to go. He’s here right now.”

I feel my eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

Damien scowls. “The text is from Charlie. Jeremiah’s at the gate.”

“Are you going to let him in?”

“No. But I am going to go see him.” He looks at me, his head tilted slightly. “Care to change your mind and join me?”

“A walk to the gate, on our own turf? Yeah. I think I can handle that.”

Damien texts Charlie back, telling him to have Jeremiah wait in the parking area that’s outside the property and that we’ll be out shortly. Although I rush to get dressed, Damien takes his time. Soon enough, though, we’ve walked back to the house and then across the circular driveway and down the short road that leads to the gatehouse. All in all, it’s probably been half an hour since Jeremiah texted by the time we finally reach the gate.

We step through the pedestrian gate, closing it behind us, and wave to Charlie. As we do, Jeremiah steps out of his car, a brand new Lexus that I’m certain he can’t afford. Unless he’s been selling the Richter tapes.

The thought disgusts me, and I cross my arms as if to ward off this man.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Damien asks, without giving Jeremiah a chance to speak first.

“I want to see those kids,” he says. “I want to be part of this family.”

Damien scoffs. “You gave that up a long time ago.”

Jeremiah shrugs. “A man’s entitled to change his mind.”

“Maybe. But what prompted the change?”

Jeremiah looks between Damien and me, his eyes finally going to the ground. “More people watching me these days. More people asking questions.”

“What people? Who’s watching you?”

Jeremiah’s shoulders rise and fall. “How the hell do I know? I keep them at bay. I told you. I know that we’re never going to be close, but I’m not trying to hurt you. I don’t know why you won’t believe that.”

“Primarily because of all the evidence that’s stacked up over the years. Again, I ask, what is it that you want?”

“I want those little girls to know me. To call me Grandpa.”

Damien shakes his head. “That’s never going to happen.”

“Damn it, son.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Jeremiah looks to me, but I just stare back at him. This is not a conversation I intend to get involved in, but if it comes down to it, I am one hundred percent on Damien’s side.

Damien takes a step closer to his father. “The Richter tapes. When did you get them?”

Jeremiah’s eyes go completely wide, and I can’t tell if it’s in surprise at the subject or at the shock of being discovered. “I don’t have the tapes. You asked me that before, and I told you. I didn’t submit them to the court. You know damn well that was Sofia.”

“That’s what you said, but how do I know you didn’t have a copy?”

Jeremiah shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not. I never saw those images before Sofia revealed them to the court. I’ve told you that I knew what was going on. I’m ashamed of that. But I never knew that he was keeping some sort of photographic record, the sick fuck.”

Damien’s hands ball into a fist, and he takes a step forward. I grab him by the arm, truly afraid that he’s going to punch his father. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing, except that Charlie’s sitting right there at the guardhouse, and while I trust the man, I really don’t think he needs to see that.

“Damien,” I say. It’s enough to calm him down, and I feel the tension ease a bit.

“Right before Sofia died, you told me that she owed you money. That she’d scammed you and you were determined to get it back.”

“That’s more or less what I said,” Jeremiah agrees.

“You told me what you did to get compensation for what she owed you. And I swear to God, I’ll never forgive you for that, either.” He takes another step toward Jeremiah, getting right in the man’s face. “But what I don’t know is if that was the only compensation. Or maybe Sofia gave you the rest of the Richter tapes in payment of the debt.”

Jeremiah’s eyes widen almost to the point of being comical, and he shakes his head slowly as he takes a step back. Or tries to. He’s blocked by the side of his car.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says lifting his hands. He looks between the two of us. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What new tapes? The only ones I know of are the ones that you released. You can’t be upset with me about something that’s already been released.”

“You haven’t answered my question. Do you have those tapes?”

“Hell, no. Of course, I don’t. I told you. I’ve never laid hands on them.”

Damien finally takes a step back, then another. My hand is in his, and I move backwards with him. Slowly he looks his father up and down. “I wish I could believe you, old man. But I don’t.”

And then, without waiting for Jeremiah to say a thing, Damien turns and leads me back to the house.