Release Me

guilt from the abuse that drove the bastard to suicide.
    The image currently up on my web browser is of a fourteen-year-old Damien after he’s won some local tournament. He’s smiling and holding up the trophy. But his eyes are haunted and dark. Yes, they are inscrutable.
    I need to know the truth, but I can’t ask Evelyn. This is the kind of thing that I want Damien to tell me.
    I run my fingers through my hair, wondering if I should just confront him. But no. He has to be the one who comes to me. Because this isn’t just about what Damien needs. It’s about me, too. I need to know that this man I’ve spilled my heart to trusts me with his secrets.
    But until he does, I’ll have to be satisfied with my certainty that I understand a little bit more about the man still hidden behind the mask.
    * * *
    When I arrive at his house at a quarter to five, Damien is outside on the terrace, his back to me, his face to the ocean. He’s damp from a recent shower and completely naked. I pass the heap of his clothes on the floor then pause at the threshold. I want to stand there and simply take in this glorious sight. The whole sky looms above him and the vast ocean spreads before him, and yet it is the beautiful, strong body of Damien Stark that dominates the view. There’s power in the tension of his shoulders. Confidence in the way he stands. Strength in that back that carries so much.
    This is a man who knows what he wants and goes after it.
    He wants me
, I think. And I feel a sharp stab of something that can only be pride.
    “You’re early.” He doesn’t turn to speak to me. I don’t ask how he knows I’m there. I’ve felt the hum of energy between us, too. I don’t need to see him to know when Damien Stark is nearby.
    “How could I resist an extra minute with you?”
    He turns to face me. “I’m glad you’re here.”
    He smiles, but I can see now that the tension in his shoulders is across his whole body.
    “Damien? What’s wrong?”
    “Lawyers and assholes,” he says, then shakes his head. “Sorry. It’s been one of those days.”
    “Should I go?”
    “Never.” He holds out a hand and I go to him. He pulls me against him and I feel his cock harden against my thigh. “Nikki.” He sighs, his lips in my hair.
    I start to tilt my head up, longing for his kiss, but the sharp ring of his phone interrupts and he gently pushes me away.
    “I’ve been expecting that,” he says by way of apology as he grabs the phone off a table. “Is it done?” he demands. “Good. Yes, I understand that, but I also understand that I pay you for advice. The ultimate decisions are mine. Yes, I do. Twelve-point-six?Fuck it, I would have paid more, and you goddamn well know it. I’m damn sure it was the right call; she’s not getting dragged into this mess. No—no, it’s done. I’m not interested in reevaluating the decision. I made my play, we’re running with it.”
    There is a long pause, then, “Shit, Charles, that isn’t what I want to hear. Well, then why the fuck
do
I pay you?”
    So he’s talking to Charles Maynard. I realize I’m being nosy, but I pay more attention, trying to discern meaning from a one-sided conversation. It isn’t easy.
    “Right, right. Did your PI locate the man I’m interested in? Oh, really? Well, that’s a bit of good news. I’ll deal with it first thing tomorrow.”
    I have no idea what he’s talking about. I shift the conversation to the back of my mind and only half listen. Especially since the call seems to go on forever.
    “What about London? She’s settled again? No, it can’t be helped. I’ll fly over next week. What? Well, she’s not leaving me much choice.”
    He sighs and paces. “And the San Diego problem? I want someone on that. What? Are you fucking kidding me? Shit, how did they dig that up?”
    I pick up Damien’s discarded clothes, intending to hang them up for him. But I’m overcome with a devilish little urge, and I give in to it, then tug the slacks over my hips and slip my arms into Damien’s sleeves. There’s something wonderfully sensual about being clad in Damien’s clothes, even if I am technically breaking the rules with the pants.
    I’m so preoccupied with the shirt’s buttons that I don’t even realize the call has ended. More than that, I don’t notice Damien’s raw temper until I hear the sharp
smash
of plastic and glass colliding with the stonework above the fireplace.
    He’s thrown his cell phone.
    “Damien?” I hurry