Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Robyn
T he difference fifteen years made to my desire for Damon Remington was woefully inconsequential. However, the difference the last two weeks made to our electric rapport was suffocating.
I didn’t want to dwell on what happened that night. To him. To me. To us .
I didn’t want to recall my conversation with Pat or the things he’d insinuated. Or hear Nonna’s evening update on Damon’s recovery every night with dinner. I didn’t want to dwell on the torture he’d endured or the way he tried to spare me from knowing about it. And I didn’t want to remember just how easily I’d come apart for him.
One touch, a plea of intimacy, and I’d become a puddle of writhing want, grinding myself on him like I hadn’t orgasmed in fifteen years.
Maybe the brutality of my avoidance was extreme, but it was necessary. A recoil away from something— someone— who not only had the power to hurt me but the ability to make me vulnerable to that hurt.
Damon had betrayed me. Left me for another woman—a friend—without warning or explanation. And then had the audacity to walk back into my life, blackmail me into working with him, and finally tempt me with the feelings I couldn’t deny.
So, I wouldn’t feel guilty for keeping my distance. Not that he’d been able to venture far from his room, needing the time to recover from Belmont’s beating. It was only a few nights ago I’d heard the familiar sounds of the sliding door, a signal that he was well enough to go back into the pool.
Then, I’d found myself wandering upstairs to the window, relieved to find Pat nowhere in sight. From the darkness, I watched Damon slowly fish his hats one by one from their underwater graveyard.
I wouldn’t feel guilty for those either. If I had a hat for every time Damon kept a truth—or part of one—from me, they wouldn’t fill a pool but an ocean. And that was the very root of my fear.
Even if he could earn my forgiveness for the past—even if there was some magical proof of his fidelity—it wouldn’t change who he was: a man with too many faces to know which was real. To know which to trust.
I glanced again at the beautiful man beside me in the back of the Mercedes, my eyes craving the sight of him after being deprived for almost two weeks.
The trim of his suit, the relaxed fold of his hands, and the new, unblemished fedora resting on his head—it was almost déjà vu to the confident con man in the same seat from almost four weeks ago, one whom no one would suspect had been since damaged by torture and temptation .
Then again, that was Damon; his greatest skill would always be pretending to be exactly what he wasn’t.
My heart thumped irregularly, as the same could be said for me.
Swallowing, I forced words through my lips. “So, what’s our plan for tonight?”
It was better to take charge of the conversation than to wait and see where we combusted.
Outside my window, the skyscrapers stretched toward the stars, rising higher as we drew closer to the convention center downtown where GrowGood’s annual fundraiser was being held.
I turned, feeling Damon’s eyes on me. The slight crinkles at their corners worried me. Any fracture in a man always so composed was cause for concern.
“You did a nice job on the Christmas tree.” His whiskey-smooth voice complimented and completely ignored my question.
So much for keeping a tight hold on the topic of the conversation.
“It was something to do,” I brushed him off.
The day after Damon’s beating, I’d been drawn upstairs to the expletive-laden commotion of Pat hauling a live evergreen tree into the house and setting it up in the living room. I would’ve forgotten about Christmas without that tree, and Damon knew it. I saw it for what it was: one more attempt to remind me I couldn’t ignore what was real forever.
Not life. Not family. And not the feelings I’d so stupidly revealed to still have for him.
I would’ve left it undecorated, but when he started swimming again, it was my only excuse to be close to the window.
“Do you even have a plan?” I countered. “Do you just have to make a donation? Does it have to be given directly to Belmont? What exactly did he tell you to do?”
Pat’s eyes flicked to the rearview, and I didn’t miss the way they caught Damon’s or the look he gave him.
I was missing something. Unease made the diamond choker around my neck feel uncomfortably tight.
“We’re here.” Pat pulled around the back of the building so we weren’t caught in the media circus out front.
Cameras. News crews. Journalists. Influences. Everyone waited for a slice of the spectacle as the cars pulled up, delivering hundreds of esteemed celebrity guests.
“Thanks, Pat,” Damon said, running his fingers along the brim of his hat.
“I’ll be here when you’re ready,” Pat muttered just before Damon opened the door.
With the elegance of a shadow, my tuxedo-clad husband stepped from the car and extended his hand. I didn’t know why I deigned to accept it this time. I didn’t owe him anything. Not an apology. Not my guilt. And certainly not my concern. Yet the weight of that single lie felt heavier than any other burden our relationship had levied on me.
Sliding my fingers into his, heat surged underneath my classic elbow-length gloves, and my breath caught.
“Mrs. Remington,” Damon murmured huskily and drew me from the car, closing the door behind me.
Damn him. We weren’t in public yet; he could’ve done without the reminder.
And without his possessive—appreciative stare.
“Just for tonight,” I reminded him right back, feeling goose bumps rise like a fountain up my spine and over my bare shoulders as his eyes roamed over my dress.
The velvet molded tighter to my body under the heat of his gaze. The soft, strapless concoction had a high slit in the front and a diamond-studded sheer cape attached to the back. The matching velvet gloves and diamond-encrusted choker had been waiting in the box for me as well. When I’d finally put everything on and looked in the mirror, I looked like a live-action remake of the scene in Disney’s Anastasia when Dmitri took her to the opera: all sparkling elegance and concealed motives.
Ironic, since I, too, felt like part of my handsome escort’s con.
“You look exquisite, Robber,” Damon murmured like he couldn’t help himself and then turned away, but not before I saw a flash of regret he couldn’t hide.
Between that and the look Pat had shot him in the car, something was definitely wrong.
“Damon, what’s going on?” I demanded as he anchored my left hand to his right elbow.
I felt his hesitation when he placed his left hand on mine to secure it.
“You wore your rings,” he said, something wild and hopeful flashing in his expression.
Something I needed to quash.
“Because of you, I have a part to play.”
He’d introduced me as his wife, and per our arrangement, I’d agreed to follow his lead when we were in public. And that meant taking the wedding band from the chain where it had hung for over a decade and instead sliding the gold cuff back along my finger.
I almost wished it wouldn’t have fit. I definitely wished it didn’t like a missing limb finally returned when I slid it onto my hand.
“Don’t we all.” He turned and led me into the building. “This way.”
We wove along the back alleys of the large convention center with the kind of ease that my network of spies had. Through back corridors and service elevators. A party to everything going on and yet able to move unseen. Just when I started to feel lost in the web, Damon stopped and pulled open one of a pair of double-wide doors. Like the wardrobe into Narnia, we were at the threshold that turned from back room into ballroom.
Ahead, glittering chandeliers, megalithic floral arrangements, and pristine ice sculptures of the charity fundraiser came into view.
“Ready?” His eyes caught mine.
“As ever.” His nostrils flared at my response, but he said nothing.
Sliding my hand from his elbow, I thought he was going to release me, but the large cage of his fingers closed around mine. Tight.
And then we were swallowed up in the crowd.
This was nothing like Belmont’s holiday party. The few hundred guests felt intimate compared to the squall of the gala. For a few minutes, I couldn’t even attempt to speak because my senses were in overdrive.
The backbone of these publicity stunts was always the same. Effusive champagne. Delightful finger foods. Irresistible photo opportunities. And energetic music.
Throngs of people collected in the space. I’d counted six bars so far serving alcohol and at least twice that number of food stations around the perimeter. Tables were for whoever wanted to sit, and the dance floor seemed to be nothing more than a pageant of prosperity for those wanting to be seen. On the very far side of the room, a giant projector screen displayed a slideshow of all the good that GrowGood was doing, filled with images captured tonight— now— of guests donating to the nonprofit.
“Champagne?” A server paused with a tray of sparkling glasses.
Damon took two and handed me a slender stem, the bubbles fizzing just like the tension between us. He wasn’t even looking as I took the glass, his attention drawn to the evolving crowd as he brought the champagne to his lips.
The first sip prickled my tongue. “I think you’re supposed to give the donation to one of the men in green.”
An army of emerald-green-suited men was dispersed through the room. In one arm, they carried a locked donation box for guests to slip contributions into, and in the other, a camera to memorialize and publicize the effort. The photos on the slideshow were taken as each donor placed their contribution into the box, an instantaneous celebrity for their charity.
It was a clever idea, I had to give them that. Everyone wanted their name and photo to be on the screen—for everyone to know they’d done their part. Unfortunate that those funds were used for evil rather than good.
“Yes,” Damon acknowledged but said nothing more and made no move as one of the men in green passed close by.
“Or does Belmont want it hand-delivered?”
My confidence cracked when I received not even a wordless response to my question, Damon’s attention drawn intently on his scan of the crowd. He was preoccupied. Unsettled. And though he tried to hide it, he couldn’t.
My brows knotted, and I stepped in front of him, placing my hand to his chest. That got his attention.
“What’s wrong? You’re hiding something from me.”
Damon looked at me, letting down his veneer for a second to see the tumult of desire in his gaze, brewing ever stronger. Grabbing my wrist, he forced my palm to the side of his face, and I tensed when his lips pressed to the pad of my thumb. My skin burned like there wasn’t a layer of velvet between his mouth and me.
“I’m trying to determine if Shazad is here,” he murmured, injecting cold fear into the heat flowing through my veins.
I inched closer and held my champagne glass higher in front of my mouth. The volume in the room was loud, but I knew better than to take any chances.
“Why would he be here?” I asked, not daring to mention his name again.
It would be too risky for Shazad to show up here. And for what? It wasn’t like they were going to do business in public. The only reason could be for Damon…but why? To watch him pay Belmont to join their operation?
It didn’t make sense. This didn’t make sense.
Damon’s eyes did another sweep around the room, and unease rolled through me as Damon set his hardly-drunk glass of champagne on a passing tray.
“What aren’t you telling me?” My eyes narrowed, my heart pounding its way into my throat. “There’s something you haven’t told me. Again.”
His gaze was bright when it caught mine. “Come with me.”
Taking my hand, we dipped into the crowd once more.
My heart pounded all the way in my throat. Had he seen Shazad, too? I tried to see around him—to spot Belmont and whatever else that had set Damon in motion, but I couldn’t. Was he afraid Belmont might try something again? Afraid the beating wasn’t enough? Afraid Belmont might do something to me?
The pound became a roar when he took my glass from my fingers and added it to the collection on the corner of one of the bars, and then swiveled our course toward the corner of the room.
At first, I thought he was going to lead us back into the hallway, but just before we reached the door, he veered to the left behind the large stack of cases belonging to the DJ, providing a barrier between us and the rest of the event.
He picked the tallest one to stop in front of, and in a blink, I found myself wedged between it and the hard wall of my husband.
“What are you doing?” I struggled against him, though not with much effort. Two weeks, and I missed the heat of him as it flowed through my veins.
Taking my hand that was still in his possession, he peeled the glove off my arm, his gaze lingering a split second longer when he saw his rings on my finger.
Wrenching free, I latched my fingers into his lapel and tugged; if we weren’t flushed before, we were now. Chest to toes, the only part of me not touching my husband was my lips, and judging by the look in his eyes, it was an anomaly he was eager to rectify.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Let’s see, wife. What haven’t I told you?” he growled. “I haven’t told you you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. That I’ve thought about you day and night for the last fifteen years?—”
I inhaled sharply, the breath anchoring to the lining of my chest. No, this wasn’t what I meant—what I wanted.
“Damon—” I protested, but his gravelly voice interrupted me.
“I haven’t told you that I will never stop fighting for you. That there is nothing I wouldn’t do to redeem myself in your eyes?—”
“Stop—” I tried to turn away—to pull away—but his head dipped to mine, bringing with it his personal brand of gravity that made my eyelids lower and my jaw grow slack.
“I haven’t told you that you are the reason my heart beats. You are the reason my lungs breathe. That finding you, being with you, is the only reason I’ve survived the last fifteen years?—”
“You left me,” I seethed in reminder, anger knocking my teeth together. “Why would I want to know these things? Why should I care what you want from me? You have no right to the vows you broke.”
In the middle of a crowd— in the middle of a storm— I’d always register the vibration of Damon’s low growl above all else. The way it made my bones tremor and my blood fizzle. The way it heated my body and warped my thoughts.
Gray eyes pierced mine with their steel-tipped stare. The intensity of this man could be as strong yet as invisible as a gale-force wind, knocking me to the ground when I could never even see him coming.
“I’ve broken a lot of things, Robber. I’ve broken laws. I’ve broken promises. I’ve broken treaties. I’ve broken moral and ethical codes. I’ve broken my oath to this country. Everything I’ve broken was to protect you, and none of which compares to what I would break or who I would break if any harm ever came to you.”
No. The spill of my heartbeats, first coming in a torrent of anger, now slowed to a dripping desperation.
“Except when that harm is you,” I charged, ignoring the storm warning that flashed over his features. The pull of his jaw. The pinpoint scrutiny of his pupils. The quivering bow of his lips. I ignored it all and forged on. “You broke me, Damon. You lied to me, and then you left me for another woman.”
I was playing with fire. I’d thought remaining broken for so long made me stronger—made me all sharp edges and lethal points. It had. But it also made it far too easy for vulnerability to slip through all my cracks. Especially in the face of his confessions that overdosed with aching honesty .
“Goddammit, Robber,” Damon swore, his tall body shuddering against mine, another reminder of just how close he got in spite of all my defenses.
“Don’t,” I warned, breathing hard. “Just let me go.”
“You want to know what I haven’t told you?” he demanded instead, holding me tighter. There was no room between us. Not for anger. Not for lies. Not even for breath.
His hand on my waist roamed up my side, shivers pulsing to my skin as it slid over my shoulder and onto the column of my neck.
I should’ve said no. It was the last weapon in my arsenal, but I was too weak to want to use it.
So, instead, I answered, “I don’t want to hear another lie.”
Cupping my cheek, Damon dragged his thumb over my lips, causing them to draw apart.
“I vowed to protect you, Robyn. I vowed to cherish you. To honor you. To be faithful to you. And to love you, for better or for worse.” His head drifted to mine, his voice taking me in a chokehold. “So, call me a liar. Call me a criminal. Hell, call me the devil, I don’t care. But know this: I’ve never broken any of my vows to you. I’ve never been unfaithful to you. And all these years, I have never loved anyone but you.”
His declaration was the sweetest, sharpest knife as it gutted me. To be able to believe him. To be able to sag into his arms and dissolve into his kiss. To be able to want him without the moorings of our past…I wanted just one more moment to know what that felt like.
So, when his mouth came for mine, I didn’t stop him.
His lips claimed mine in a hungry, fervent kiss. One that didn’t care about the sharp bite of my words or the pointed lash of my tongue. Damon didn’t care how many times he came away cut and bleeding by my jagged edges, he kept coming back for more. Back for me. Just like he promised .
His mouth plied mine open, his tongue sweeping inside to a far too eager welcome. Heat danced on my skin. It pebbled my nipples and arrowed an ache between my thighs. Two weeks, and I’d resolved that the night in his bed was a moment of weakness, but I was wrong. Wanting him was a chronic illness of which I’d never be cured.
The room dissolved into molecules of space and sound, the only thing solid and real and whole was him. And his mouth that claimed mine. I didn’t know if I believed him. I didn’t know what to believe. The only thing I knew for certain was I didn’t want to stop kissing him.
My arms wound around his neck, holding him closer. Two weeks, and all I wanted was to feel this again. The heat and power of him. The sweet possession. The inferno of desire.
I was weakening for him. No, I was weakened. Wholly. For him.
Day by day. Year by year. I’d built a mountain of loathing of my estranged husband. An Everest of enmity. One I swore would be too tall for him to climb—too tall to consider the attempt.
And I was right.
He didn’t try to surmount it or dismantle it. He came in like dynamite. One spark of our former fuse, and the whole thing blew up in my face.
“Damon.” I drew back, panting.
“I will prove it to you, Robber. I promise I will,” he murmured, his nose brushing mine with a flutter of sparks that caught my breath. “But right now, I need you to trust me.”
And just like that, the bubble he held me in shattered.
“Why?” I tipped my head up, my forehead knotting. “What’s happening?”
He looked over my shoulder and then came back. “We have to go see Belmont now. ”
“What are you going to do?” My throat felt tight, almost too tight to speak.
Damon stepped back, and cool air swept into the space that opened between us. I brought my hand to my stomach, willing my breaths to stabilize. Willing myself to remain calm. And then he took it, drawing my hand to him and peeling the glove from my fingers so both my arms were bare. Like a souvenir, he tucked the velvet pair into his jacket pocket.
“Damon—”
“Oranges, Robber.”
My eyes flicked to his torso. “What are you talking about?”
Warm fingers closed on my chin, lifting my eyes back to his. “Not everything is as it seems.” He kissed me hard again, stealing my breath just before he pulled back, demanding, “Repeat it, Robber.”
My eyes fluttered, my throat working to get the words out. “Not everything is as it seems.”
“Good.” His jaw popped and then locked. “We have to go.”