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~ Damian ~
Cara is trembling, either from anger, frustration, fear, or all of the above. I don’t know which and I don’t care. All I know is I’ll be fucked sideways if I’ll allow her to go after Roman Zine like some infatuated, desperate groupie. She’s stiff as a board in my arms, the side of her face pressed against my shoulder not by any desire or need, but because I urged it there. She knew better than to resist. I’ve got one hand on her back and the other holding hers as though we’re tenderly swaying to the upbeat holiday tunes.
We’re not. She’s upset. And I’m seething.
Fuck Roman Zine.
He’s handsome and fun and honest and everything good.
Her naïve, nauseating description of him from weeks ago comes pummeling back to me, a maddening rash invading my skin I’m desperate to scrub off. She’s wearing my ring and probably still dripping from our fucking earlier, yet I can’t leave her alone for a few goddamn minutes without some pretty prick moving in on my territory.
Some white-haired lady with too many curls sighs dreamily, hearts floating out of her eyes as she admires us from a few feet away. I manage to check myself from glaring at her just as I notice a man with his phone up and aimed our way.
Fuck him too.
I’m sure I’ll be hearing about this from Ivan.
“I didn’t cheat on him,” Cara murmurs against me.
The rage, the infuriation, the irrational sense of betrayal, I don’t let show. “Does it matter?”
“I don’t want him to think I did.”
Him. Him. Him.
“He’s no longer important, Cara.” Even with my blood boiling to a dangerous level, I keep my tone modulated, my voice deathly composed as not to draw unwanted attention. “Need I remind you you’re engaged to me?”
She stills. “This isn’t about you.”
“Then what’s it about?”
Based on a few heads around us turning, that might’ve come out a few octaves higher than I expected.
Slowly, cautiously, she leans back enough to gaze up at me with wide, questioning eyes, watching me steadily for long seconds. “Are you jealous?”
I tell myself to laugh, order my throat to work up a good-humored chuckle, but it doesn’t happen. “That’s absurd. I’m not the jealous type.” I bare my canines at some middle-age pervert blatantly eyeing Cara’s ass. He quickly scrambles away. “I’m concerned with propriety, nothing more.”
Is that disappointment in those beautiful eyes?
A hand, light yet intimate, briefly lands on my shoulder from behind. That’s when I notice Cara is no longer looking at me but at someone to my side.
I turn my head.
To stare.
And stare.
Heavily lashed, bright blue eyes smile at me, though the angles of the apple-red lips seem uncertain which direction they want to tilt.
“Damian.” The mouth wobbles a bit. “Didn’t think I’d actually see you. It’s been a long time.”
What.
The.
Fuck?
I must be in deeper shock than I care to consider because all I can do is gawp at her. This must be some sick version of ghost of fucked up past.
When I don’t say anything, she glances curiously at Cara. “Hello. You must be Damian’s fiancée. I’m Grace Grandview.”
As though taking my cue, Cara doesn’t say anything right away, but unlike me, she finally manages an awkward, “Hi.”
“I offer my congratulations.” Tentative, Grace’s gaze darts back to me. “To the both of you.”
Still I say nothing.
She’s slithered into a trim emerald green dress with more skin than cloth, the low dip at the front scarcely containing the breasts straining to burst. The bottom rides high on her thighs, her long legs accentuated by impossible heels. Ruler-straight auburn hair graces to mid-back.
Clearly a woman on the prowl. Guess my father, her pimp, set her loose for the night for more prospects.
I would never let Cara out of the house in something like that. Hell. No. Over my dead body.
“Thank you,” Cara responds for the both of us, pauses as though frantically searching for something appropriate to say, then comes up with, “Are you friends with Paige?”
“The hostess? Unfortunately, no. I’m here with someone, a friend of Colin Kutter, but Damian and I go way back.” A smile slants my way, one that clearly conveys she’s recalling what happened between us. “I’m thrilled to see you.”
I don’t even want to know what she’s remembering. Considering what she and I had could be summed up in one sentence. Fucking and fucked up.
Based on that tale tell female smirk, it’s likely the first.
And based on Cara’s sudden proprietary step closer to me, she got a whiff of that skank-stench. “I’m sorry, he’s never mentioned you.” Cara is playing the innocent well, even with those slyly mocking words. “Where’s your date?”
“He’s around here somewhere.” At that, Grace peers at me once more. “Damian, I’m here with Ivan. I hope you don’t mind.”
Ivan?
Fucking Ivan brought this nightmare here?
That party fucker.
My jaw tenses from my grinding teeth. “Why would I mind? He’s an adult. Good or bad, he makes his own decisions.”
Her hand lifts, smoothing down my upper arm to my elbow before giving it a caressing squeeze. “You were always so understanding. Patient. Damian is a great man,” she says to Cara. “I didn’t think he’d ever take the leap, and believe me, I tried. You’re a lucky girl.”
That’s news to me. As far as I know, we weren’t even pretending to try. Our association was nothing more than scratching a restless itch, convenient and momentarily satisfying. Now she has her claws on Ivan?
It’s like being stomped by an elephant, the way her toxic touch flattens all sensations.
“He is.” Cara nods in somber agreement, not so subtly pulling me away from the other woman’s grasp. “And I am.”
Flutes in hand, Ivan approaches fast, a stupid grin splitting his face. He wiggles suggestive eyebrows while darting his eyes at the spilling cleavage. “Hey, man. I didn’t know you were here already. Hey, slasher.”
Cara’s death glare slices him to bloody ribbons. “We were just chatting with your companion.”
“Ah, yes.” The traitor offers a glass to each woman. “These two used to be an F.I., you know.”
I’m going to knock his ass out.
Cara frowns. “What’s that?”
“Fuck item,” he supplies helpfully, taking a sip of the champagne after Cara shook her head at the offer. “You know, get their fuck-on every item within sight? I thought it might be weird tonight, but figured, who cares? Water under the bed and all that.”
“I see.” Cara doesn’t look too pleased with that visual.
Interesting.
“Isn’t it water under the bridge?”
Goddamn it, Grace, you should know better than to ask.
Ivan winks. “Not the way I rock it.” He throws a companionable arm over Cara’s stiff shoulders. “Speaking of rocks, you like yours, my little ally from another bloodline?”
Cara shoots him a befuddled frown. “You’re really disturbing.”
Grace chokes on her champagne.
Despite this circle of hell, I find myself swallowing back humor. I toss his arm off her. “Cara is one of the most intelligent people I know, isn’t that right, Ivan?”
He laughs, seldom taking anything seriously. “That she is. Not to mention skillful with a kitchen knife.”
Cara looks to be done with this ridiculous small chat. “Excuse me,” she says.
“Hey.” I snatch her fingers before she escapes, frowning at her palpable annoyance. “Where are you going?”
“To speak with Paige,” she retorts impatiently.
A glimpse over reveals Paige motioning for Cara, that is, until she grows busy emasculating me with her glower while gesticulating in threat with some sort of silverware. What did I do to her?
“I’ll go with you.” I’m more done with this than Cara.
She halts me by slapping a hand on my chest. “You stay. I won’t be long.”
In another words, she needs to get away from me.
I watch her march away, her shoulders tight, not liking that she can easily go off elsewhere at a party, leaving me with Ivan and the flashy escort he came with, even if Cara’s ass looks absolutely amazing in that dress as she leaves me.
Perhaps we can find ourselves an empty room with a handy flat surface. I can already see her bent over it, the shimmering fabric of her dress around her waist revealing all that velvety, mouthwatering flesh, her smooth, shapely legs elevated by the skinny heels. I’d drag her silk panties over those scrumptious cheeks with my teeth while she urgently pants my name-
“D, you all right?”
I shake off the delicious image and glare at my cousin. Then I transfer it to his date. “You two enjoy the rest of your evening,” I say stiffly instead of fuck-you both and goodnight.
“Damian.” That revolting hand is on me again. Slender fingers skate up my arm. “How about a dance? For old times?” Grace darts a questioning glance at Ivan. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Actually-”
She cuts him off. “I knew you wouldn’t.”
Our old times didn’t include dancing. Or eating. Or sleeping.
Just sweaty skin and condoms.
I step back, and the hand drops. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Your fiancée wouldn’t mind.” She feigns glimpsing around. “It’s not like she’s keeping you on a leash, is she? If she were, she wouldn’t have left you.”
With me. Those unsaid words hang between us.
Instinctively my eyes seek out Cara, but neither her nor Paige is where I last saw.
Before I can excuse myself to look for her, arms come around me. “Whoa,” gusts out when cushy breasts smash against my chest. “Holy shit.” Fuck, but she’s plastered against me like melted saran wrap. My hands remain at my sides.
This isn’t dancing. This is assault with two deadly weapons.
Over her head, I shoot a silent do something command at Ivan.
He mouths back, I know, great tits!
“This is nice,” the leech speaks, her breath flitting over my ear. “May I ask you something?”
“Hell no.”
“Why not me?” she poses, disregarding my grouchy rejection. “We were good together, weren’t we?”
“I think you’re confusing me with one of your others.”
“Your father thought we were. I know you’re still mad at me about that, no matter how many times I tried to explain.”
Right. Your father introduced the idea to me, but I really liked you. What I felt for you was real.
That was my dick she felt. Nothing else.
“Look.” Exasperated, I lift my hands, purposely wrenching hers from behind my neck. “Let’s let bygones be bygones. You’re here with Ivan. I’m engaged.” I can’t drop the radioactive wrists fast enough. “End of story.”
Big blue eyes stare up at me, pleading with me to understand. “I came here to see you.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Grace. You’ve wasted your time.”
“I called you for months, but you refused to talk to me. Damian, I didn’t want to tell you like this but... I was pregnant.”
The ground falls off even as my vision tunnels. For a static heartbeat everything blurs. The party. The music. The laughter. The blood guzzler claiming a child. Something crazed and confused whirls madly in my head, painfully compressing my chest.
“Bullshit.” My eyes narrow. “I never once went into that cavern of yours without protection and you know it.” I wouldn’t have made that mistake, wouldn’t have been that careless.
Her palms go up, drop. “These things happen. Nothing is guaranteed.”
She expects me to believe I have some superstrength, able to leap through condoms sperm? I’m not buying it.
“Where’s the child then?” A paternity test will prove it.
Her gaze falls away. “I miscarried during the second month.” It darts back to me, imploring. “We can try again. If we did it once, we can do it again. I know you want a baby.”
Hot fume careens through my bloodstream. Fucking Ivan can’t keep his big mouth shut.
I seize a step, a menacing, you-better-fucking-watch-yourself one. “Do not think for even a second I would allow you to come between me and Cara. You’d be surprised at what I’m willing to do, and you won’t like the consequences.”
Her mouth parts in alarm, but she’s smart enough not to spread her toxin further.
A hand lands on my shoulder. This time, it’s Ivan’s. “D, let’s get out of here.”
I let my warning gaze speak for a heavy beat before taking in Ivan’s grim features.
And realize we’ve been the evening’s impromptu entertainment.