Damon’s interest sharpens. “Really? You’d get the best prices at an auction.”
“Yes, but I’d rather do without all the publicity,” my father tells him with a rueful grin. “Perhaps we could take a meeting at my home at your convenience? Discuss it further? My private secretary would make all your travel arrangements, of course. And you’d stay at the guest house on the estate.”
“I’d like that.” Damon’s impassive gaze flickers to me, then quickly returns to my father. “I’ll take you up on the estate, but I’ll just take my jet, thanks.”
Jet? He has a jet?
“As you wish,” my father says.
“I’m free this weekend,” Damon says, to my further astonishment. “What about you?”
“I can be,” my father says, lighting up like a solar flare.
“Will Carly be there?” Damon smoothly asks my father, his attention flickering to me. “I thought I read something about her being an art history major?”
I freeze, caught somewhere between my desire to be a grown and independent woman who makes her own scheduling decisions, my desire to see Damon again and my fervent wish to have nothing to do with any of my father’s financial issues, which may or may not be shady, especially if they grow to somehow involve Damon.
I open my mouth to register a complaint.
“Of course she will,” my father booms before I can say anything. “We’ll both see you very soon. I’ll have my private secretary arrange everything.”
“Great,” Damon says with a gotcha gleam in his eye as he turns to me. “I look forward to seeing you both again soon.”
With that, he walks off, taking all the air in the room with him and leaving me feeling oddly deflated as I stare after him.
“Did I detect a trace of chemistry between you and our wealthy new friend?” my father asks, a poorly hidden trace of glee in his voice.
“What on earth are you talking about?” I say, as annoyed by the question as I am by the sudden appearance of a gorgeous blonde by Damon’s side as he arrives at the bar. It occurs to me that I can’t spend the entire evening fighting this irrational jealousy every time some woman blinks in Damon’s direction, so I focus on my father. “I barely know the man.”
“You’ll get to know him. And you could certainly do worse.”
“Do worse for what?”
“Husband, of course. What else?”
Outrage gets the best of me.
“First of all, I’m not in the market for a husband. Second, you were just advocating for Percy not half an hour ago.”
“One rich man’s as good as any other,” he says, shrugging.
“If you’re so determined to solve your financial problems through marriage, allow me to suggest that you land a rich wife. And leave me out of it.”
“That tone is unnecessary, Charlotte. When you get to be my age, I think you’ll find—”
“Sorry, Daddy,” I say, spying my chance with Damon when he says something curt to the woman and she turns away, looking disappointed. “Excuse me for just…”
I dash off, intercepting Damon as he accepts a martini from the bartender.
He goes very still at the sight of me. Waits, one brow up.
I stand there like an idiot for several seconds, my courage draining away. It’s one thing to plan an articulate and heartfelt apology when I’m safely across the room. Something else again when confronted with the forbidding lines of his tight expression. Not to mention the fact that my royal status makes most people I encounter eager to please. Damon Black evidently hasn’t received that memo.
Foolish of me to expect him to make this easy for me. He is clearly a master of saying whatever the fuck he wants.
I find that wildly exhilarating and refreshing.
“I’m not sure how I feel about this pending visit of yours,” I say, bristling under his unforgiving gaze and shelving the apology for now. “Not that you care.”
He barks out a humorless laugh. Takes a leisurely sip of his drink.
“And you are a model of consideration about other people’s feelings, aren’t you, princess?”
“Pardon me?”
“You couldn’t wake anyone up?” He leans in and lowers his voice, mindful of the crowd that I’ve already forgotten about. “You couldn’t spare two seconds to think about how I’d feel when I woke up and realized you’d split without a word or a note? What happened to the golden rule? They don’t teach you basic manners at the palace, princess?”
“Stop calling me that,” I snap, undone by his vehemence. “I actually came over to apologize, but maybe this isn’t the time. Since you can’t be civil.”
Damon downs the rest of his drink and slams the empty glass on the bar.
“You’re right. I’m pissed off at the world, which is your fault. This isn’t the time.”
And he turns his back on me and walks off again, leaving me gaping and foolish at this anticlimactic moment.
For fuck’s sake. What am I supposed to do now?
“I’m not finished talking to you,” I say impotently.
He keeps going without a backward glance.
Well, what’s a hormone-crazed girl to do?
I follow him, that’s what, hurrying through the crowd with a bland social smile plastered to my face as I track his progress out of the main area and down a long and deserted hallway with several closed doors on either side. I catch up to him as he peers inside the first room, frowns and shuts the door again.
“Damon—”
“Walk away, princess,” he says, heading to the next door and checking inside. I catch a glimpse of a dimly lit library. “I’m going to take a piss and then I’m going to leave. I’m trying not to lose my temper with you.”
“Well, I’ve bloody well lost my temper with you,” I say, hurrying around to block him as he shuts the door, hopefully preventing him from walking off again. “You don’t get to dictate the terms of—”
“I don’t get to dictate?”
The new note in his voice—velvety but also dangerous—catches my attention. So does the unwavering intensity in his eyes.
I know that look. I’ve been dreaming about that look for three weeks.
The pregnant pause makes my breath catch. My nipples ache.
“You’ve been dictating the terms between us. That stops now,” he tells me.
I shake my head, wild excitement coursing through me.
“Stop looking at me like tha—”
He laughs.
Laughs.
There’s no further warning before he grabs my wrist with one hand, opens the door again with the other hand and pulls me into the library before slamming the door shut with his foot.
7
Carly
My astonishment quickly gives way to a dizzying wave of relief. Yes, relief. Relief to have found him again when I was so afraid he was gone forever. To touch him again. Most of all? Relief that he has snatched the reins from my hands and is firmly in control of this thing that we both seem to want and need.
I drop my clutch. We come together in a kiss that feels hard and punishing but also gloriously welcome. He makes a masculine sound of triumph as he grabs my ponytail and uses it to angle my head back for better access to my mouth. I open for his tongue as it slips inside, desperate to take him deeper. To drown in his sophisticated scent of incense and amber. My arms and hands move on their own, eagerly wrapping around his shoulders and seeking the solidity of his scalp beneath that thick hair. I press my body tight against his. Tighter. And when that is still not close enough, I wrap a leg around his thigh. My reward for this bold move in the middle of a cocktail reception that includes my father? Damon’s groan of encouragement as he plants his hands on my ass, lifts me so I can wrap both legs around his waist and tumbles me down to the nearest leather sofa.