“I was waiting for my laundry, last night and fell asleep—did you cover me up?”
“Not me. Maybe a prince in the night?”
I snort at her. In the next moment, an excited Cammie skips in, followed by Stirling.
“What’s everyone so excited about?” I ask.
“We’re doing a helicopter tour!” says Cammie.
“Yeah, thrilling isn’t it,” grouses Sylvia as she walks in.
“But think of the Instagram photos you’ll get, dear,” teases Margot.
“Come with us Aunt Amanda, oh please?” pleads Cammie.
It does sound exciting, and I hate to disappoint my sweet niece. But I do have other plans.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I made other plans for today. Just a little ‘me’ time. But we’ll play Pictionary tonight for sure,” I promise her, before I turn to Margot. “I booked a spa day, but I’ve also got a conference call first. You two aren’t the only ones who work on their vacation.”
“Oh, meeting with the designers?” asks Stirling.
“No, with the company attorney,” I say, looking at Margot.
“Good,” she says.
We’ve both gotten concerned emails from him, and his hands have been tied out of loyalty to my father. But Margot and I have agreed to work together with him under the table—in other words behind Father’s back—to help implement our strategy to send the company to its quiet death. He’s on board and we really can’t do it without Clark’s help. Once we solidify the plan, gather the evidence of Father’s bad decisions, and present a unified proposal, the rest of the Board should fall in line with us. Father may not forgive us right away, or ever. But that’s a risk we have to take in order to do what’s best for us all.
“I’ll take lots of pictures for you,” says Cammie.
“And tell me everything tonight!” I say.
They’re out the door and it’s blessedly quiet. I open the accordion doors. It’s a little chilly and overcast so far, but the cool air is refreshing. I keep the blanket around me as I make coffee. Within minutes, Damon appears, and I can’t help noticing that he looks rather sexy and disheveled.
“Good morning,” I say, hesitantly, not sure if it is for him or not.
“Hey,” he says, and I notice how stiffly he’s moving.
“Got a case of painter’s hunch?” I ask. It’s a term we invented years ago, for the stiffness he gets from painting too long without a break.
“This time it’s with a side dose of too much wine,” he confesses.
“Wild night, eh?”
“No, just too much port with an old friend,” he says as he sits at the island as I pour us each a cup of coffee. He tells me about Luca’s and its owners. “If you get a hankering for Italian while you’re here, there’s no better cure for it.”
I set his coffee in front of him and without thinking, I step behind him. I automatically reach out and start to massage his shoulders. My fingers find a familiar rhythm of old, and Damon moans his approval. I work his neck and shoulders, and as I reach down to rub his upper arms, I have to press my breasts against him.
An intimacy that we’ve haven’t felt between us takes over. He grabs one of my hands and bites the outer flesh below my pinkie. He gnaws sweetly, stingingly, but with none of the malice and anger of his kiss before.
We’re both panting, and I look down to see the bulge in his pants. I clutch his sweater with longing and regret.
“Damon, we can’t…not like this.”Maybe not ever.
“I know,” he groans. He stands and smiles at me. I reach up and kiss his cheek. Then I glide my lips over to his earlobe and bite it just hard enough to leave a little mark. I pull the blanket around me again, grab my mug of coffee, and step out onto the patio. I can feel his eyes following me, but I don’t look back. A moment later, I hear his footsteps on the tile as he leaves the kitchen. Sweet Jesus, I wonder what it would be like to make love to him again.
14
Damon
