Complete Me (The Stark Trilogy)

is clipped and precise. “Christ, Damien, how can you not be scared shitless? I’m so scared I can barely get out of bed every day!”
    He stares at me as if I’m speaking Greek. “Not afraid?” His words are heavy with barely contained fury. I don’t know if it’s directed at me or not, but it is strong enough that it makes him tremble. “Is that what you think?”
    I take an involuntary step back, but he stops me, his hands clutching my arms, his fingers digging into my flesh and holding me firmly in place. “Is that really what you think? Jesus Christ,Nikki, I’m terrified of being ripped away from you. Of not being able to touch you. To kiss you. To hear you laugh, to look at you. To be with you.”
    I am so lost in his words that I do not realize that he has been easing me backward and now I am pressed up against a tree, the bark rough through the thin material of my dress. His hands slide possessively down my arms, then back up my torso to roughly cup my breasts. I gasp as desire, hot and demanding, cuts through me.
    He leans in closer, his lips brushing my cheek. “I can handle anything except the thought of losing you.” His mouth burns against my ear. His hand slides down, then slowly up my thigh, taking the thin material of the skirt with him.
    “Not scared?” he whispers as his palm cups my sex. I’m not wearing underwear, and he slips easily inside me. I bite my lower lip, grateful that he is there to hold me up because my entire body feels like liquid fire.
    “I’m more terrified than I’ve ever been in my life,” he says, and then his mouth closes over mine and his fingers inside me move slowly in time with the deepening rhythm of his kiss. For one beautiful, blissful moment I am lost in his kiss, in his arms. I’ve forgotten where we are and why we are here. There is only Damien and the sensual, comforting warmth of his body pressed against mine.
    Then something snaps inside me, bursting past the desire and this desperate need that has my pulse pounding and my sex drawing tight around his fingers. I press my palms up hard against his chest and push him back again.
    “How dare you be afraid. Goddammit, Damien, how
dare
you say that you’re afraid of losing me when you could make it all go away. You could make this be over. You could end it and we could go home.”
    He’s staring at me, and there is infinite sadness in his eyes. “Oh, baby. If I could take away your fear, I would.”
    “
If
you could?” I repeat. “You can, and you damn well know it, and I’m fucking pissed off that you won’t do anything about it.”
    I’m screaming at him. I’m like a shrewish harpy and I hate it. Hate myself. But dammit, right now I hate Damien, too.
    Tears stream down my face, and my legs seem to fall out from under me. I start to collapse and Damien catches me, easing me down to my knees. The irony isn’t lost on me; Damien will always be there to catch me. At least I thought he would. Now I don’t know, and for the first time, I feel alone in Damien’s arms.
    “I’ve thought about it.” His voice is low and as serious as I’ve ever heard.
    I freeze. I never knew that hope could feel so cold and lifeless, but it does. “Thought about what?” I ask cautiously.
    He hesitates so long that I begin to think he’s not going to answer. When he speaks, the words come slowly. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he says. “And now that I have you, I’m risking everything there is between us.”
    Yes
, I want to shout.
Yes!
I realize that I’m digging my fingernails into the soft, damp earth, and I force myself to relax as I try not to anticipate his next words. As I try not to get my hopes up.
    “I’m not convinced that revealing what Richter did to me is the panacea you and Maynard and the rest of them think it is. But maybe I should try. If it means that the charges will go away, then maybe I should sacrifice the privacy that I’ve spent my whole life fighting to maintain.”
    I hear the bitterness in his voice, and I want to reach for him and hold his hand tight in mine. I don’t, though. I stay absolutely, perfectly still.
    “There is no shame in being a victim, right? So why should I care if the world knows the vile things he did to me? Why should it matter if the press writes about the dark nights in my dorm room. The debasing things he made me do. Things I haven’t even told you. Things that I wish I could forget.”
    He meets my eyes, but I see only the hard lines and