Page 10

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D amien paced in front of the living room fireplace, the crackling fire providing the only illumination. The scent of burning cedar filled the space. A scent he usually relished, but which tonight felt heavy. Cloying.

He’d hoped to spend the rest of the day after brunch with Nikki, enjoying a walk on the island or just lazing in the cottage’s backyard, soaking up the sun, reading, talking. And, hopefully, shaking off this strange sense of discontent that had gotten its claws in him.

Instead, he’d spent the day alone while Nikki poked through boxes of Vivien Lorainne’s dusty wardrobe. He didn’t begrudge her the excitement of finding such a treasure, but dammit, he’d wanted to spend time with his wife. Now it was well after dark, and he’d barely seen her.

He ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated with both her and himself. She was excited by her find, and he was acting like a teenage boy whose feelings got hurt when his girlfriend decided to go shopping with friends instead of spending the day with him.

He stopped in front of the fireplace, then leaned forward, his hands on the mantle. It was dotted with framed photographs, and he picked one up—a sepia photo of Vivien Lorainne standing on a movie set, resplendent in a slinky gown that clung to every curve. Her luminous smile hinted at secrets, her gaze sultry and knowing.

He held the frame with one hand, the fingertip of his other tracing over her face. She was so beautiful. So like Nikki.

He felt a pressure in his chest. The kind of physical sensation he still felt when his wife walked into a room. When she smiled at him. When she looked at him with those beautiful eyes, unzipped her dress, and let it fall to the floor.

Nikki.

Vivien.

He pushed down a wave of unease. The house seemed unnervingly quiet, and the air felt heavy, pressing down like a weight on his chest.

With a small shiver, he looked down at the photo again, noticing the way she seemed to be looking right at him from the corner of her eye. He blinked, then looked again, something gnawing at him that he couldn’t quite name.

The faint creak of a floorboard broke his thoughts, and he looked up to see Nikki standing in the doorway. His breath caught, and for a moment, it was as if the photograph had come to life. She was wearing the dress—the very same dress Vivien wore in the photo. And with her hair styled in soft waves, the resemblance was striking.

Her mouth curved into the kind of smile that promised all sorts of naughty things, and he felt himself go hard as she moved toward him, the satiny rose-gold fabric clinging to her curves.

She was stunning. Sensual. Sexual. Magnetic. And not entirely herself.

The thought came unbidden, and he tried to push it away as she stopped in front of him, her teasing smile drawing him closer.

“What do you think?” Her voice was low and breathy. She did a slow turn for him, then cast him a coy glance as her fingers stroked the snake bracelet, its emerald eyes winking hypnotically in the firelight.

Damien swallowed hard. “That gown was in the attic?”

She nodded, her fingertips lightly brushing her own skin as she traced the low-cut bodice. “It was like it was waiting for me.” Her teeth grazed her lower lip, her eyes hot on his. “You like it?”

He broke eye contact to let his gaze rake over her, relishing the familiar heat that flared inside him. There’d never been a moment when he didn’t want her. When she didn’t make him burn. His skin. His blood. His soul.

And there’d never been a moment when he hadn’t been willing to go into that flame with her.

But now…

Right then he feared that if he touched her they would both get scalded. But damned if he could help himself.

Almost as if he was watching himself in a dream, he moved closer, stopping only when he was right in front of her, so close he could feel the need radiating off her. So close that they were breathing the same air.

“Damien,” she whispered, then tugged something from his hand. The photo. He’d forgotten that he’d been holding it, and the look on Nikki’s face as she studied the picture unnerved him. Because she didn’t look at all unsettled by the fact that she was wearing the dress pictured in the photo. On the contrary, the smile on her face was the kind that came at the conclusion of a long journey—when you’re so close you can see the end.

But what the hell did that mean?

He shook his head, hating that he didn’t understand. That he wasn’t in control. Hating that it wasn’t him she wanted but the damn dress and a life that didn’t even exist anymore.

Someone else’s life.

“What the fuck, Nikki?” The words snapped out, surprising him. What the hell was happening?

But the question was only inside him. Buried deep. And Damien had spent his entire life keeping parts of himself hidden. He could keep that questioning part locked up, too. Hell, yes, he could…

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

She met his eyes, her forehead furrowed with confusion. Slowly, she traced the edge of the frame with her fingertip. “She looks so glamorous,” she said, her eyes dipping to the photo, then back up at him, her mouth curved into a frown. “Do I look glamorous?”

“You know you do.”

“Sexy?” She took a step closer.

“Hell, yes.”

She rose up on her tiptoes, then whispered in his ear. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? Sex? Heat?” Her lips brushed his ear. “Someone who can get you off? Someone who can make you forget?”

His spine and his cock went rigid at her words. Desire, he thought. And danger.

“Nikki—”

“It’s okay.” Her teeth grazed her lower lip before she offered him a seductive smile. “I know you’re only using me. You’ve only ever used me.”

She pushed the photo back into his hand, then traced her fingers over his shoulders and down his arms. “I’m only using you, too. You know that, Damien,” she whispered as she slid one hand down to cup his cock. “You’ve always known that.”

“Nikki.” He could barely get her name out. His breath had gone ragged. His skin hot with need, his cock hard. He wanted to take her, to fuck her, to punish the bit—

No.

The word cut through his thoughts, and for a moment he felt in control of himself again. He’d never once used that word to her. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t him.

But the thought vanished almost as quickly as it had come, replaced by the truth of her words. They did use each other. They always had. Because that’s what they were. That’s who they were. That’s how they’d saved each other. That was the deep, bright kernel of their love. The source that fed the intensity of their passion.

And now the little bitch was making a mockery of it. Who the hell did she think she was—

No. No, dammit, no!

Cold horror ran through his veins, and as he lurched backward the realization flashed inside him like a beacon.

Something was in him.

He dropped the photo, the sharp crash of shattering glass burying the thought. He bent to pick up the broken frame, then cursed as he sliced his thumb on a shard.

“Hush,” she said, sidling up to him as he stood. He started to turn away, intending to search out a bandage, but she caught his arm, holding him in place. He froze, watching as she bent down, then picked up another shard.

She studied it, her head tilting as she considered it.

“No,” he whispered as she put the edge of the glass against the heel of her hand. He thought of the scars on her legs. Of the need she’d spent most of her life battling. “No,” he whispered. “Nikki, no.”

She lifted her head and met his eyes. Then she dropped the shard, and for a moment he thought he saw both clarity and fear reflected on her face. Then it vanished, and she was someone else again. Vivien, Nikki, he didn’t know. All he knew was that she was close enough that he felt her heat. Close enough to lift his thumb to her lips. And then, with a soft moan, to lick the blood off.

He ought to be disgusted or afraid.

He wasn’t. He felt hot. Wild. Aroused.

“Nikki,” he whispered, as wildfire seemed to fill him. “What are you—” But he didn’t finish the question. How could he when he was too mesmerized by this woman who now took his thumb and painted her lips with his blood?

This woman who leaned in and kissed him so that he tasted the salty sweetness. So that he felt the surge of an unfamiliar, dangerous passion.

This woman who wasn’t his wife, because he was no longer Damien. He was need and longing.

Most of all, he was a desire so potent it could only be quenched with blood.