Claim Me: A Novel

little?” I reply, then smile as she laughs wickedly.
    “And there it is, Texas,” she says, releasing me. “That’s why I like you.” She aims a finger at me. “This week,” she says. “Photos and wine and talking trash, and not necessarily in that order.”
    “It’s a date,” I say. Then realize my camera’s downstairs in the library.
    “Leave it,” Damien says, when I say as much. “I promise you won’t need it.”
    “I don’t know,” I counter. “I can’t think of a more beautiful sight than you standing naked in front of a window.”
    “Are you under the impression there will be nakedness involved tonight?”
    “I’m hopeful, Mr. Stark. I’m very, very hopeful.”
    Jamie is the last person we seek out, and we find her at a table on the balcony deep in conversation with a tousle-haired guy in a Hawaiian print shirt.
    Oh, no, Jamie
, I think.
Not another one. Not after going on and on about Raine
.
    “Hey, you two,” she says, looking up at us. “Louis, this is my roommate, Nikki. I’m guessing you already know Mr. Stark.”
    As Damien and Louis do the meet-and-greet, Jamie’s eyes dart to me.
Everything okay?
    I nod.
Everything’s fine
. I glance at Louis.
Are you—?
    She wrinkles her nose and gives the slightest shake of her head. “Louis is a director,” she says breezily. “We were talking television. Great house,” she adds, turning her attention to Damien. “Greater party.”
    “Glad you think so. Nikki and I just came by to say our goodbyes.”
    “Oh.” She gives me a knowing look. I paste on my most innocent smile.
    “Edward will take you home whenever you’re ready,” Damien tells Jamie. “Enjoy yourself.”
    “Cool. Thanks.” She gives me a goodbye hug and Damien and I sneak back through the kitchen to the service area so that we aren’t waylaid by anyone catching us leaving by the stairs.
    “So where are we going, Mr. Stark?” I ask as we step out into the cool night air. “Do you fancy a walk?”
    “Actually, I fancy a drive.”
    Usually Damien parks in front of his house. Tonight, however, the driveway has been taken over by a valet parking team called in to handle the party traffic.
    I follow him around the house, frowning as we pass the attached garage. “Where are we going?”
    “Someplace you haven’t seen yet.”
    “Uh-huh.” I’m intrigued, and as I take his hand I glance around the property. We’re in an area north of the house, away from the lights of the party. It’s dark here, with the exception of soft landscaping lights cleverly hidden among the plants and stonework.
    He’s right; despite the amount of time I’ve spent on the third floor, I’ve done very little exploring of the rest of the house or the grounds. Of course, the landscaping near the structure has only recently been completed, and beyond that perimeter of flower beds and walking paths and picnic areas, the plants still grow wild, though I see that Damien has hired someone to cut away some of the brush and install soft lighting to mark footpaths through the undergrowth.
    “It’s so pretty out here,” I say as we follow a flagstone path that twines away from the house.
    “It is,” he agrees, but his eyes are on me.
    “Watch the path, Mr. Stark,” I say.
    “I’d rather watch you.”
    I grin as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a bone-melting kiss. The fire he set inside me only moments ago has not been fully extinguished, and now those embers burst back into flame. “Here?” I whisper, pressing my sex hard against his thigh, then moaning softly at the sweet torment of the returning pressure. “Outside? On these hard, cold stones?” My words may sound reluctant, but I know that my tone does not. Right then I think I want nothing more than the press of stone against my back and the feel of Damien, hot and hard, inside me.
    His voice is low and sultry with just a hint of a tease. “What exactly do you want me to do to you, Ms. Fairchild?” His fingers brush my shoulder, sliding the spaghetti strap down my arm so that it hangs loose. “This?” he asks, as he bends to brush his lips over the swell of my breast.
    I gasp, my chest heaving, the chiffon that still clings to my now erect nipple rubbing provocatively.
    “Or maybe this?” He traces his fingers up my leg, higher and higher until he grazes the soft skin between my thigh and my sex.
    “Maybe,” I whisper.
    “It would be sweet, wouldn’t it?” he asks as his hand moves up again,