Chapter twenty-nine
Chase, Chase and Waite Law Offices, Canary Wharf
Damon
Harrison and I stand watching Emma through the window of his office.
She weaves around the desks on the floor, cuddling coworkers and chatting animatedly.
After she’s spoken to everyone, she moves to her desk, setting out her stationary then placing a photo of Annie and myself on the surface.
I watch as she sits down in the blue office chair then spins in a circle.
The huge smile on her face tells me this is the right decision for her, even though I want to keep her at home, safe, locked away from everyone except me and my daughter.
“Someone is happy to return to work,” Harrison says, and I grunt, non-committal. “You have her to yourself for another week, McKinney. But after the new year, she’s back where she belongs, learning to be the awesome lawyer she has the potential to be.”
“Why can’t she want to be a stay-at-home mum?” I mutter, not looking at him.
“Because that isn’t her. Emma has career ambitions and promise.” He emphasizes the word promise. “If her choice is to work, you need to respect that. She couldn’t be anywhere safer than here. Three of your closest friends own this damn firm. One of them being me.”
“Anyone ever told you not to point out the obvious?” I roll my eyes at him, and he shrugs.
“Sometimes you need it pointed out so you don’t trip yourself up with your pigheadedness.”
He lifts the can of beer sitting next to him and passes it to me.
I drink deep, enjoying the cold liquid running down my throat.
“Enjoy the final few days of the Christmas break with her, then you can both move forward with your new routine. Did you sort childcare?”
“Yes, we have a nanny starting next week, and Annie will be going to a nursery for the mornings. It all seems to be working out.”
“That it does,” Harrison agrees. “Now, the only thing we have left to do is take down Moreno and Brenton, then the new McKinney family can get their happily ever after.”
“Are there any more details on the restaurant opening tomorrow?” I ask, and he nods.
“Russell and Connor are on their way now; no doubt they will have collected Hunter on route. We will fill you in when we are all here. Another beer?” I hold a hand up in answer, and he tosses me a second can, then we both take a seat to wait for the others to arrive.
Fifteen minutes later, Russell bounds into the room waving a bundle of envelopes in his hand.
He strides over to Harrison’s desk while Connor and Hunter file in behind him.
“You can thank me later,” he announces, then throws down the papers.
“Have you all got tuxedos? Because tomorrow we have been invited to one of the swankiest places in town for New Year’s.”
“I have a daughter,” I mutter. “I can’t just go out.”
“Already sorted. Mrs. D will babysit.”
“And what about Emma?” I snap, peeved that my plans are being made for me and I don’t know why.
“She can come too. Actually, I think her presence may ruffle the feathers we need to.”
“What are you talking about?” I drain my beer then slam it down on the surface beside me. “Stop speaking in fucking riddles and tell me what you’re on about.”
Russell grins and lifts one letter, passing it to me.
As I slide what is clearly an invitation from its casing, he speaks.
“Tomorrow, we will be helping our friends Roger Brenton and Samson Moreno celebrate the opening of their new restaurant. And I plan to make sure the whole event falls on its fucking face.”
***
Emma
New Year’s Eve 2022
Damon, Emma and Annie’s house
“So, Emma,” the tall blonde woman says as she struts around my bedroom. “What neckline do you usually prefer on a gown?”
“Um…”
“Do you have a preference with regard to length? With the event this evening being a black-tie engagement I would suggest you wear long.”
She walks over to the massive rack of dresses she brought with her and starts to slide the perfectly polished hangers along the golden pole.
I stand in the center of the room wearing the insanely expensive black lace underwear and garters she insisted I put on.
“I don’t have any experience with these types of events,” I answer honestly. “I’m happy to be guided by you.”
“Excellent,” she says, rubbing her hands together. Then her attention returns to the rack. She begins to pick out what look like identical dresses—each one is dark in color with minimal diamante and drop heavily in a straight line to the floor. “We’ll try a few of these on and see how you feel.”
Just then, my bedroom door opens and Damon walks in unannounced.
Still dressed in his workout clothes, his defined arms and legs which are covered in tattoos are on display.
My stomach clenches every time I see him.
He looks so effing hot, more of a mafia enforcer than a police officer when dressed casually.
My assistant, I think her name is Tracey, spins on her heel to face him.
She lifts both hands to her dark curls and runs bright red fingernails through the strands.
“Chief Constable,” she purrs. “How are you this evening?”
She steps toward him and offers a perfectly manicured hand.
Her hungry eyes run up and down his body, and my frustration increases a notch at her drooling over my man.
“Good, thank you,” he replies, taking her hand briefly.
“We’re a work in progress,” she tells him.
“Emma is a little unsure of what styles suit her body shape, but I have assured her I only carry the most flattering cuts.”
She lifts one of the copycat dresses and waves it at him.
He touches the material but doesn’t respond.
“How would you like your partner to look this evening? I assume you will be sporting a tuxedo?”
Damon glowers at her for a moment, then pinches the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes. “Please tell me,” he says, his tone firm, “that you didn’t just ask for my instructions on how Emma should be dressed. The last time I checked, she was a grown woman and quite capable of dressing herself.”
“No, sir. It’s just…” she stammers, unsure what to say.
“Just what?” he growls, and my stomach flips. He leans in toward her slightly, invading her space. His eyes narrow to slits as he waits for an answer. “Just what?” he repeats.
Tracey purses her lips and once again runs her fingers through her hair.
I am almost certain she tries to lift her chest in the direction of his eyes.
One hand lowers more slowly than the other from her head; she lets it fall onto Damon’s forearm.
His intense eye flicks from hers to his arm and back again.
“A gentleman such as yourself will have certain tastes,” she says, her voice meek. “I was merely ensuring your needs were met.”
“I’m not the one wearing the dress,” he states bluntly. “Remove your hand from my arm before I remove you from my home. Do you hit on all your clients?”
“Chief Constable, that was not my intention,” she replies, clearly panicked. Tracey steps back, her heel catching on the edge of a rug. She wobbles but doesn’t fall.
“Keep your focus where it should be. On my partner.” His eyes move to me and widen. Partner—I love being called that. His partner. I am his. “Fuck Emma, please tell me you’re wearing that this evening. Nothing else.” He comes to my side and runs a finger across my cheek. “You look incredible.”
“This is my underwear,” I say with an eye roll.
“I’m well aware of that, but now I’ve seen it, no matter what dress you wear…” He waves a hand lazily in the direction of Tracey and her dresses. “All I’ll imagine is you half-naked on your knees, wearing this and sucking my dick.”
“Damon,” I hiss, and he cocks an eyebrow. His eyes dance with amusement as he takes in my expression.
“What, Spitfire? I’m only outlining how this evening will end for you.” He moves to kiss me, and I snap my palm up between us. His lips connect with my skin.
“Lipstick. Do you know how long I sat there to let them do this to me?” I circle my face with my finger. “Between the make-up artist and the hairdresser, I’ve lost hours I’ll never get back.”
“But you look fucking awesome,” he growls, clearly aroused. Tracey is standing next to her rack of dresses, jaw almost on the floor. Damon’s hand lowers to my ass and squeezes, pulling my body to his. My crotch connects with his thigh. “We’re definitely going to need more of this lingerie.”
“Why? I like my own underwear, and I can keep this one for special occasions.”
“This set won’t survive the night, Spitfire.”
He glances over at Tracey. “I want one set of this lingerie in every color. Order them and whatever else Emma wants.”
He drops a kiss onto my bare shoulder, and my mouth dries.
“I may not be able to kiss these,” he says, touching my lower lip gently with his thumb.
“But there are plenty of other places I could put my tongue without ruining your make-up.”
Without waiting for my response, he turns and leaves.
Flustered, my attention only returns to Tracey when she clears her throat loudly.
As my gaze lands on her, she straightens her shoulders.
“As the Chief Constable has diverted to yourself for dressing decisions, Emma, could you please give me a better idea of what you wish to wear.”
She waves a hand at the three dresses on the bed.
“Do you wish to try one of these on? They will flatter your curves while hiding the rounder parts.”
“My rounder parts?” I reply with a smirk, then walk over to her, putting one high-heeled foot in front of the other. I lean in, so we are nose to nose. “Did it look like the Chief Constable wanted me to hide my rounder parts?”
“Well, no…” She hesitates.
“I don’t want to be covered up. I want to wear something that makes me feel incredible. These…”
I gesture to the gowns on the bed. “Are your safe options. Show me something that will blow my mind, and his.”
She turns and starts rummaging once more in the rack.
“And Tracey,” I say, so she turns to face me.
“Yes, Emma.”
“Call me ‘ma’am.’ And don’t ever fucking touch my man again, or I’ll make sure you don’t have a job by the end of the day.”
An hour later, I’m standing in front of the mirror in my bedroom staring at my reflection. The black dress skims my curves, but the V-shaped neckline with a sheer embroidered panel draws attention to my full breasts while hinting at the lingerie beneath.
Spinning again in an attempt to see the full effect of my outfit, I smile giddily in the mirror. My eyes are wide and outlined in dark smoky tones that cause the blue of my eyes to pop. Long blonde curls are piled high then fall down my back. It’s hard to believe that this is me.
I haven’t seen Damon since his little show earlier this evening, but I assume he’s in his bedroom getting ready.
Mrs. D has already collected Annie and taken her to The Level for the night, so it’s only Damon and I in the house.
Tracey scurried away with her tail between her legs as soon as I dismissed her.
Steeling myself, I decide to go in search of him.
I’ve only been in his bedroom a handful of times and never romantically.
He sleeps with me every night now, so his marital bedroom is somewhat unused apart from him storing his clothes.
On arriving at the door, I find it wide open; he’s sitting on the edge of the bed threading cufflinks through his shirt cuffs.
I knock on the wood lightly, and he looks up.
“You look magnificent,” he says, standing and coming to me.
He takes my hands then leads me into the room, holding them wide and stepping back for a better look.
“So damn beautiful.” One hand takes mine and links our fingers, the other snakes around my hips.
“I want to strip you naked and fuck you here, now.”
“You are not ruining my hair and make-up,” I mutter.
“I told you, it’s not those lips I’m interested in.”
I laugh out loud then wriggle from his grasp.
When I step back, my eyes glide around the room, waiting for the sting of seeing Connie and the life they used to share.
He watches me intently, surveying my reaction.
I am surprised to see no photos or any of her belongings out in the open.
“I rearranged a few things,” he says quietly. “It was time.”
“You didn’t need to.”
“I did. For us to work, and I want us to, you can’t be sharing your home with a ghost. I’d like to keep one public photo on display for Annie, and obviously the albums for her to learn about her mum as she grows.”
“Of course,” I tell him, as emotion wells beneath the surface. Tears threaten to gather in my eyes.
“But it’s time for us to create our own home, and our own memories. I was thinking in the new year we could have here redecorated. It is the master bedroom; this is where the lady of the house should sleep.”
I blink at him, stunned, unsure what to say.
“We’ll get a new bed, new furniture.” He takes both my hands this time.
“My New Year’s resolution is to give you all of me, if you’ll have me.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded by his words. “Will you have me?” he prompts.
“Any way I can get you,” I whisper.