Chapter 1

I stand in the open front doorway, looking out at the lush green Malibu hills and the string of cars now curving through them as they disappear down our long driveway. All in all, the party was a success, I think. But then again, why wouldn’t it be? It was hosted by Damien Stark. And although I might be a teensy bit biased—what with being married to him and all—I don’t think there’s anything that man does that he doesn’t accomplish with superlative skill.

This afternoon, we’d hosted a small cocktail party to celebrate the Resort at Cortez, a Stark Vacation Property project that is back on track after the loss of its original architect. He’d been replaced with Jackson Steele, a world-renowned architect who also happened to be Damien’s first pick for a similar resort—and who’d soundly refused to sign on when Damien offered him that project.

I’m not entirely sure why he’d changed his mind, but considering the way he was looking at Sylvia—my friend and Damien’s assistant—I have a pretty good guess.

I consider that possibility as I watch them drive off in Jackson’s sleek, black Porsche, then continue to linger in the doorway as I wait for Damien to return. He’d walked Evelyn out to her car, wanting to discuss something about the PR plan.

I can’t see them from where I stand—Evelyn had parked around the side of the house—but after a few moments, I see her Mercedes convertible pull into view. She waves at me, but doesn’t slow as she continues down the long drive to the property gate.

A few moments pass, and I consider going back inside. But I can’t bring myself to do it. All day we’ve been surrounded by people, and now that it is just the two of us, I want to wallow in the pleasure of having claimed this man. I want to watch him rounding the side of the house. I want to see the possessiveness with which he approaches it, knowing full well that he owns the property, the house, and everything inside it.

Including me.

I want to see the heat that will flare in his eyes when he sees that I’m waiting for him, and I want to feel the brush of his lips on mine when he kisses me.

I want it—and Damien doesn’t disappoint.

The moment I see him, I feel the breath catch in my throat, his impact upon me no less intense after having been married now for years. He walks with a casual confidence, his body straight and strong, his chin high. He radiates power and control, but at the same time there is an easiness to him. A weekend quality that suggests that even though he can command a boardroom, he is equally skilled on a tennis court or the ski slopes.

Or in a bedroom.

I shiver, thinking about his particular skills in that area, and when his eyes meet mine and he flashes that slow, easy smile, I’m certain he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“Why, Mrs. Stark,” he says, sliding one hand around my waist and pulling me to him. “You look like a woman with something on your mind.”

“I am,” I admit. I’m breathless now, my skin tingling in response to his touch.

“Whatever could you be thinking about?”

“You,” I admit, then rise onto my toes to meet his mouth. The kiss is deep, claiming, and I melt against him, more than willing to surrender to his touch.

I want to simply let go. To lose myself and the rest of this afternoon in his arms. But unfortunately, I can’t. I’ve started my own business and I have a proposal due tomorrow for a company I’m meeting with in Brussels in just a few days. I took time out for the cocktail party since it was for Damien’s work, and I’ll take a few minutes to spend time with him, but then I have to get back to it. If I don’t, my nerves will get the better of me.

When he releases me, I sigh. “A glass of wine by the pool?” I suggest. “And then I have to get back to work. That proposal is kicking my ass.”

He chuckles and I eye him sideways. He lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Just thinking about what an extraordinary ass it is.”

My lips twitch, but I bite back a retort. Still, I can’t help but think about his palm on my rear, and I wish I’d said nothing at all. Now I’m really going to have a hell of a time concentrating on work.

He leads me back into the house, and we move through the first floor living area to the pool deck. There’s an outdoor bar there, and he pours us each a glass of wine, and we go sit with our feet in the hot tub.

“I think there’s something going on between Jackson and Sylvia,” I say.

His mouth curves down. “Yeah, I think you may be right.”

“You really don’t like him? Why? Because he turned us down when you asked him to work on the other island project over Valentine’s Day?”

Damien shakes his head. “Honestly, I’m not sure. There’s something about him I don’t trust. He’s keeping secrets.”

I look purposefully at him. “Everyone has secrets.”

“True.” His eyes skim over me, heating every part of me. “What secrets do you still have, Mrs. Stark?”

“None from you,” I say honestly.

He takes my hand, then strokes my fingers lightly. “Not even that you’re worried about Brussels?”

I grimace. “It’s hardly a secret if you see it so clearly.”

“Fair enough. Do you want me to take a look at your proposal?”

I do. Desperately. But I also want to know that I can build this business on my own. Damien, of course, sees that clearly, too.

“Doing it on your own doesn’t mean doing everything on your own. It’s perfectly reasonable for an entrepreneur to pay for a consultation.”

I tilt my head. “Pay? And just how much do you charge, Mr. Stark?”

His smile is slow, easy and full of promise. “The price is steep, Ms. Fairchild,” he says. “But I promise you it will be worth it…”

Chapter 2

“I don’t know, Mr. Stark,” I say, as Damien’s finger trails down between my breasts, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. As always, his touch has taken my breath away, and it’s all I can do not to tilt my head back, sigh, and give in completely.

That, however, is not the game. And so I strive to hide the tremor of excitement in my voice. “Mine’s a start-up business. I have to be very careful with my investments. How do I know your consultation will be worth the price?”

“A very good question, Ms. Fairchild.” I’m wearing a flowing blue sleeveless dress, with a low-cut bodice, and though the night is warm, right now I am shivering. “Let me take you point by point through the kind of detailed and in-depth study I’d make of your proposal.”

As he speaks, he’s inching my skirt higher. I’d held it up when we put our feet in the hot tub so as to not get the hem wet. Now he slides it up my legs, the usually mundane brush of material against skin now wildly sensual.

“First, I’d examine every aspect of your documentation,” he says, his fingertip now following the path of the skirt, so that it trails up my now-bare leg. I whimper a little as he shifts toward my inner thigh, then eases higher and higher, my pulse rising with each glorious millimeter.

“I understand how important it is for you to be confident in my thoroughness,” he murmurs. He shifts as he speaks, moving into the hot tub where our feet have been resting. I gasp a little in surprise—after all, he’s fully clothed in khaki slacks and a button down shirt, but my surprise soon fades against the power of the arousal that courses through me when he maneuvers in front of me and puts his hand on my bare knees. “And I promise to be very, very thorough,” he adds as he eases my legs apart then slowly slides both of his hands up, up, up my inner thighs.

I groan, my breasts aching, my sex throbbing, as I crave the touch I’m certain is coming. A moment later, I feel his fingertip tease the edge of my panties, the touch so close—and yet not nearly close enough.

He eases forward, his lips brushing the side of my knee. “I’m detail oriented, Ms. Fairchild,” he murmurs, as he trails soft kisses up my thigh. “And customer satisfaction is my number one concern.”

My skin is on fire, my pulse pounding. “Damien,” I whisper, but my voice is barely a moan, and I’m not certain he hears me since instead of responding he instructs me to lie back. I obey, lowering myself until my back is on the pool deck and my gaze is on the sky.

Between my legs, Damien eases the crotch of my panties aside. He’s moved closer, and I feel his breath on my sex, and sparks of electricity ricochet through me. My mouth is dry. My nipples hard against the thin material of my dress. And when he closes his mouth on me, I arch up, gasping and needy. “Please,” I murmur. “Damien, please.”

He doesn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. But his tongue laves me, his fingers thrusting deep inside me. I arch up, wanting more. Wanting him to strip me naked and take me hard right there. I want to demand it, but I’m so overwhelmed by the sensation of his mouth on my clit and his fingers deep in my core that I can barely remember my name.

I grind against him, aroused by the scratch of his beard stubble against my tender skin and by the soft sounds of satisfaction he makes. He pulls his mouth away for just an instant to whisper, “As I said, I’m very thorough, Ms. Fairchild. Now come for me, baby. I want to taste you when you come.”

His words are like the final caress, pushing me over the edge. I explode, shattering beneath the stars, my body wracked by a pleasure so intense it mimics pain. And when it passes—when I glide gently down to earth—Damien is on top of me, his body wet from the hot tub, his mouth on mine.

He kisses me deeply, and I cling to him, sated and yet wanting more. With Damien, I always want more.

“Take me inside,” I whisper.

“Why Ms. Fairchild,” he replies, his dual-colored eyes dancing. “I believe we have a business transaction. Assuming you find my services satisfactory?”

“Very.”

His grin is slow and very sexy. “In that case, let’s go take a look at your proposal. And then, my dear Mrs. Stark, I want my payment in full.”

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