Chapter 3
G len Martin wasn’t prepared. Which, considering the engineer was the London team leader for an upcoming project rollout, was not the way to Damien’s heart. Not by a longshot.
Martin was trying to hide it, of course, but it was easy enough to see the signs of lackadaisical preparation. The silence after a simple question. The littering of the conversation with far too many ums and errs. The utter failure to present to Damien, choosing instead to wait for questions.
Honestly, it was infuriating. And unexpected. Martin had received universally excellent reviews from every Stark executive he’d worked under. Yet here he was, completely dropping the ball.
Damien sighed, hating what came next. The project was on the fast track, which meant now was the time to explain to Martin in small and easy-to-understand words what he expected from every single person drawing a Stark International paycheck.
Hell of a way to go into the weekend.
He leaned back in the upholstered swivel chair that dominated the media corner of his home office.
“Martin,” he said to the ruddy-faced man with a shock of receding red hair. “Stop. You aren’t prepared, which I presume means your team isn’t prepared either—if they were, you should be up to speed.”
A beat. “I won’t insult you by throwing bullshit explanations, sir.”
“Well, you get brownie points for that.” Damien paused. “We’re rescheduling for tomorrow. And this time you’ll get it right. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir. Of course. It’s just...”
“Go ahead,” Damien said, despite not being in the mood to hear hollow excuses.
“It’s just that I owe you an apology. I’ve been a little—well—it’s just that my wife went into labor early yesterday—she’s still … that is, we’re still waiting.”
Damien leaned back in his chair. “And yet you didn’t assign someone on your team to this meeting?”
“No, sir. I was the one too wrapped up in the last few days to get the report pulled together. I have all the data. I just didn’t have the time. And no way could I send someone else in with their tail between their legs for what I screwed up.
Damien nodded, working to keep his expression unreadable. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”
Martin shrugged. “It’s my project. My responsibility.”
“It was,” Damien said.
“Sir?”
“Pass the report off to whoever on the team you deem the most qualified to complete the work. I’ll reschedule the presentation. Right now, you need to go.”
The man swallowed visibly.
“Of course, sir. I understand. I let you down, and I never should?—”
Damien fought a smile. “To the hospital, Glen. To your wife.”
It took a moment, then Martin said, “Oh.”
“Take two weeks—and I mean take them. No checking emails, no doing calculations in the waiting room. Be with your wife and your baby. After that, we’ll set a date for you to co-present with whoever you assign the project to.
Then you can take your full paternity leave.
But these first weeks … you want them. Trust me. ”
“I—yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“And Glen? Enjoy the moments. They go by way too fast.”
With that, he ended the call, and the screen went blank.
“That was kind of you.”
Her voice came from behind, and he smiled.
“How long have you been there?”
“Long enough to fall even more in love with you.”
“And here I thought you’d already reached maximum capacity.”
“We’re in quantum territory now. I’m pretty sure nothing can fill an infinite space, but my love for you really gives Einstein and his proteges a run for their money.”
He turned then, twisting the swivel chair and pulling her onto his lap in one fluid motion.
She was in her robe, her hair loose, the morning light through the sliding glass door making it shimmer.
He buried his face in it and breathed in the subtle scent of shampoo, his body responding as it always did to her scent.
Her touch. Hell, just her presence. He wondered idly if that would ever change, even as he knew that it never would.
Not even when they were old and gray. What burned between them would always burn.
“I sometimes wonder if I took enough time,” he said, thinking about Martin’s two weeks.
She shifted on his lap to face him more directly. “You were there for every moment that mattered with both the girls.”
“Maybe.” He sighed. “Everything’s new, all the time. And then it isn’t anymore, and you can never get it back.”
“No,” she said softly. “You can’t. I think Einstein had a theory about that, too.”
He kissed her temple. “Is that why you came looking for me?” he asked. “To discuss physics and the ephemeral nature of early childhood?”
“Tempting, but…” As she trailed off, she met his eyes, and the heat he saw there cut straight through him. “You know exactly why I came looking for you.”
“I do.” He slid a hand into her hair. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”
“We keep getting interrupted. It’s rather frustrating.”
They shared a smile. “You do have a way with understatement, Ms. Fairchild.”
“Do I? What do you have a way with?”
“So many things,” he said, his fingers finding the belt of her robe.
He tugged it loose, and as it fell open, he pushed it from her shoulders. With a coy smile, she slid from his lap, the robe sliding to the ground and leaving her standing bare before him, with that familiar look of pure need that still wrecked him even after all this time.
For a moment, he simply looked at her. The curve of her waist. The swell of her breasts. The C-section scar low on her belly that had brought their Anne into the world.
A grin touched her lips as she stood still, letting him look. Yours , she seemed to say, and he answered back — Mine . Always .
With a silent prayer that the baby monitors continued to stay silent, he eased closer and cupped her neck, then captured her mouth in a slow, deep kiss that sent need spiraling through him.
He lost himself in the kiss, falling deeper under the spell of this woman he cherished, letting his body yield to the desire now coursing through him like a roiling river, the feel of her skin beneath his roaming hands surging straight to his cock
She moved her hips, the sensation driving him wild. Then she shifted, her fingers working at his shirt, and he let her strip it off him before easing her off his lap and rising from the chair with her.
“Please,” she murmured as he slid his hand between her legs, relishing the delicious smoothness of her cunt, the slick, wet heat practically begging him to fuck her.
Soon. Oh, yes, soon . But not until they were both burning with pure, red-hot need.
He was so damn close.
“Mine,” he said, his lips brushing hers as he walked her backward until her bare thighs hit the edge of his desk.
“Always.” The word was soft and breathy and wildly erotic. And somehow his cock got even harder as white-hot need coursed through his veins.
How? After all this time, how could she still drive him so wild?
But it wasn’t a fair question, not when he knew the answer so well. She was his . Pure and simple. He’d known it from the first moment he’d seen her all those years ago, long before she moved to Los Angeles, back when he was still known for tennis and not for his businesses and his bank account.
She’d been his from that moment, even if she hadn’t known it at the time.
“Damien.”
He heard the low heat in her voice.
“Please.”
“Up,” he ordered.
“Yes, Sir,” she said, her voice both low and full of heat. Then she moved to sit on the edge of the desk, her thighs parted just enough to be both modest and very, very tempting.
He succumbed to the temptation, his hands going to her knees, then spreading her wide. He took a step back, reveling in the thrill of looking at her, reveling in the way the morning light seemed to highlight her hair, her lips.
But it was her expression that threatened to bring him to his knees—a look of need so pure it shot straight through every layer of control he possessed and landed somewhere raw and desperate.
God, how she broke him in the best possible ways. Finding her—loving her—and having her love him right back.
It was proof that miracles existed in the world.
She was his miracle, and he couldn’t help but wonder what price he would someday have to pay.
Because no matter how many times she assured him that he deserved everything he had, he still had a hard time believing that he was truly worthy of her. Of their kids. This life…
“Damien.” His name was whisper soft, yet he could hear the edge of steel. She knew what he was thinking, of course, and he pushed his doubts and insecurities deep down where they belonged, those secrets that he allowed no one but her to see.
“Please,” she whispered, then leaned forward, her palms pressing against his shoulders. “Now.”
“Eager, Ms. Fairchild?”
“Desperate,” she replied, then sucked air as his fingers eased further up her thighs until he reached her cunt, and he relished the soft feel of her smooth, waxed skin.
He teased her then, his fingertip playing a game with her clit, barely touching, yet making her squirm and beg as she arched back with a whispered yes while her hips rocked against his touch and his cock grew miraculously harder from the knowledge of how much he could make her feel. And how much he felt himself.
God, he loved this — the power of being the man who could take her to that edge. Could hold her there. And then, when he knew she couldn’t take the potency of pleasure any longer, to be the man who finally pushed her over that precipice.
And what he loved even more?
Well, that was the fact that she had that same fucking power over him.
“Damien.” Her voice was low. Breathy. Heavy with need.
“Tell me what you want,” he ordered.
“You know what I want.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Inside me. Please, Damien. I want to feel you inside me.”
She met his eyes, the hint of green in those beautiful blue irises flashing. “I want you to stop teasing and fuck me properly.”
“Properly?” He raised a brow, enjoying the game. He let his fingers drift over her cunt, barely teasing her clit, knowing full well the lightness of his touch was maddening. “Like this?”
She squirmed, but he stymied her, shifting his fingers away and making her both laugh and groan. “I am so punishing you when it’s my turn.”
A laugh burst out, and a wave of pure joy crashed over him from nothing more than the simple fact that she could still surprise him.
He, of course, could return the favor. And even before the laugh died on his lips, he thrust two fingers inside her, then pulled her close to claim her mouth in a kiss that swallowed her startled cry of pleasure and need.
While his tongue teased her mouth, his fingers played a symphony on her body, moving in and out, mimicking a slow, easy fuck. The kind that would build.
The kind that would make her explode.
She was slick and hot and perfect, and the sounds she made as he worked her — those soft, wrecked sounds that he was fairly certain he would hear in his sleep for the rest of his life — made him so hard he almost feared he’d explode right then.
But no. Not yet. He wanted to drag this out. He wanted her on the knife-edge for as long as he could keep her there.
But at the same time, he was harder than any man had a right to be, and what he wanted more than anything was to be inside the woman he loved.
“Damien.” Her voice was edgy. Charged. “Please.”
He added a third finger, his thumb finding her clit, and she arched back with a sound that was almost his undoing. Her hands flew to his shoulders, gripping hard, and he felt her thighs tremble against his hips. She was close. So damn close.
“Look at me,” he said.
She did, and he lost himself in the passion he saw there—passion and pleasure and that infinite love that had finally made him whole.
“Damien, please. I need you inside me.”
The words cut through him, hot and demanding, and he unzipped his slacks and freed his rock-hard cock. Then he took her, hard and fast, the way he knew she wanted.
He watched her face as he thrust inside her — slow and deep, letting her feel every inch of it, as he watched the passion play across her face. The flutter of her lashes. The way her lips parted with a moan. The way she thrust her head back when she cried his name and begged for more.
“Damien.” His name was raw. Breathless with need. “Please.”
“Whatever you need, baby.” He moved slowly at first, then harder as she urged him on with her hips, her nails. The wordless demands he understood so well. The demand to be claimed. Taken.
Fucked hard and deep.
And, yeah, he was happy to oblige, he thought, as he drove into her so hard the desk shifted.
She cried out, and he caught her hip with one hand and her throat with the other, tipping her head back so that her neck was arched, so that he could watch her face as he pushed her toward the edge. “Play with your clit,” he ordered. “I want to feel you come.”
She didn’t hesitate. Her hand slid between them, and he felt the change in her immediately — the tightening, the trembling, the way her breath went ragged and her grip on his shoulder turned fierce.
“Damien,” she begged. “Please. Please, now.”
“Anything for you,” he whispered, then thrust deep as she shattered for him, her whole body shaking, his name on her lips, beautiful and undone and completely his.
And with a low groan of pure pleasure, he followed her over, holding her close as he exploded inside her, his body trembling with pleasure and heat and a love he’d never expected to find, but was now the core of his world.
They stayed like that, holding each other, their breathing slowing. Then, through the monitor on the desk, came the first small sounds of Anne waking.
He lifted his head. Nikki was already smiling. “Good morning, Daddy.”
He laughed. “A very good morning, indeed.”