I don't know when I got to my feet, but I'm standing awkwardly by the couch. "I figured it out," I say. "Why he's so familiar. Probably why seeing him spooked me." I'm stumbling a bit, wanting to share my good news, but also terribly afraid that the world is about to crash in around me. But I have to tell Damien, and so I draw in a breath, and then blurt it out. "Frank's my father."
I can tell immediately that he already knows this. So, for that matter, do Ryan and Dallas.
I glance over my shoulder toward Frank, and then back to Damien. "What's going on?"
"I searched Frank's room," Dallas says.
"You what?" Frank demands, rising to his feet. "What the hell--"
"You shut the fuck up," Ryan says, and I haven't seen that much fury in his face since the day he beat the shit out of a man who was blackmailing Jamie.
Suddenly, I have a very bad feeling.
"Damien?" I ask.
Damien nods to Dallas. "Show her."
Dallas passes me an envelope. I don't want to look--I really don't. But of course I do.
There are two photos inside. One is a still from a sex tape with Jamie and our former neighbor, Douglas, taken without Jamie's permission. The other is a grainy photo of Damien and supermodel Carmela D'Amato. They're both naked, and Damien's mouth is on her breast.
I've seen these photos before.
I'd hoped to never see them again.
Chapter 9
"No," I say, dropping the photos. "No, he can't have anything to do with that."
I've seen both these photos before, of course. Just over a year ago, actually, when they were used as part of a failed blackmail scheme. Damien called the blackmailer's bluff, and the photos never went public.
But what the hell are they doing in my father's hotel room?
"I don't understand," Frank says. He's hurried to my side, and now he bends to retrieve the photos. "These aren't mine. I don't know anything about these."
The disgust in his voice sounds genuine. I don't know what to think.
"They were in your hotel room," Dallas says. "In your suitcase, to be exact."
"You went through my--"
"You goddamn prick," Ryan snarls. I remember how Douglas looked after Ryan took a swing at him and step in front of my father.
"He says he didn't do it." Behind me, I can practically feel Frank's relief. In front of me, Damien tilts his head, clearly taking stock. "Please," I say to him. "He says he didn't do it."
"And you believe him?"
Honestly, I'm not sure what to believe. But I can't turn my father loose with either Ryan or Damien--not until I'm certain.
Damien takes a step toward me, and I realize he's seen my hesitation.
"Dammit, Damien, stop. What happened to innocent until proven guilty?"
"That's a lot of proof you tossed onto the floor."
"Maybe," I admit. "But maybe there's another explanation. Please. Please be sure. Be absolutely sure."
I see the sadness--the compassion--in Damien's eyes. For just a few glorious moments, I had a father. Flawed, yes, but without an agenda. And I so desperately want to hang on to that.
Maybe those stupid photos will destroy everything. But maybe they won't. Maybe it's all a big mistake.
And maybe if I press, I can have just a few more hours of bliss, safe in a world where parents don't stab their kids in the back, and where people who leave you sometimes really do come home.
"All right," Damien says slowly, his eyes not on Frank, but on Ryan. I watch him, too, and hold my breath until he nods, quick, but firm.
Damien shifts his attention to Frank. "Do you understand the extent of my resources?"
"I think I have some idea."
Damien nods, as if satisfied. "Then you must realize that I can find you. You can run. You can try to hide. But it won't do you any good. Do you believe me?"
Frank nods. My stomach twists.
"Don't even think of leaving LA. I'll be in touch. If you have nothing to do with these photos, I'll owe you one hell of an apology. But if you're behind that blackmail attempt--if you were planning some brand-new scheme--then I promise that I will destroy you. And not just for the blackmail. But for what your betrayal will do to my wife. Are we clear?"
"We're clear," Frank says. And though my eyes are glued to his face, I can't tell if he's an innocent man caught up in a web, or if my father is actually the spider in the middle.
--
"He may be innocent," Damien says as he leads me back into the house. It's the first thing either of us has said since we left the studio. I'd needed to sink down into the silence. And, as always, Damien understood that.
Now, though, we're home. And this is the place where we face reality.
Wait. I rewind Damien's words in my head.
"Did you say he might be innocent?"
"It's possible," Damien says. He's left the car in the circular drive rather than the garage, and we came in through the front door, which we rarely do. Now we're standing in what is essentially a formal living area, rarely used except when we entertain.
I sit down on the overstuffed white sofa we bought a few months ago on a shopping spree. "He is," I say. "I'm sure of it."
I'm not sure of it, though. Not really. But I desperately want it to be true.
"I know," Damien says, and I understand that he means my wish, not my actual words. "But you need to be prepared that he might not be innocent."
I nod. "If that's the way it turns out, then I'll deal. But--"
He kneels in front of me. "What is it, baby?"
I don't answer him in words. Instead I take his arms and pull him up to me. I need his touch. His kiss. I need to feel now the strength that I may need later. Because if it turns out that my father really is a lying, blackmailing sack of shit, then the only way I'm going to get through that is tight in the circle of Damien's embrace.
"Please," I murmur. "Please, Damien. I need you."
"I'm right here," he promises. "For now and for always."
"I know." My fingers fumble at the buttons on his shirt. "Take this off," I demand, leaving him to deal with his own damn buttons as I reach for the hem of my T-shirt and peel it off, foregoing the pleasure of Damien undressing me in favor of the wilder, more urgent need to feel skin against skin.
I practically rip my bra off, then shove down my jeans. I wait on the underwear, because Damien is still mostly dressed, and that's just not good enough for me. I reach for the fly of his slacks, then slide my hand in to cup his erection.
Slowly, I tilt my head back to meet his eyes. I'm breathing hard, and so is he, and right then I want more than just him. I want to be the one in control. I want to be the one who takes him to the edge.
Gently, I ease his cock out from his briefs and pants. He's still essentially dressed, and I'm mostly naked, and I like the way that feels. A little decadent, a little submissive. I look up again. "Tell me to suck your cock."
I see the reaction to my words reflected on his face. A wild almost violent passion. "Suck my cock," he demands, grabbing my hair and urging me forward. "And don't stop. I want to come in your mouth. I want you to swallow."
His words, so raw, cut through me, making my sex clench with a longing that won't be satisfied until I do as he says. I take his cock into my mouth, and even though he's got a grip on my head, I'm the one in control. My tongue. My lips. I draw him in and out, sucking and teasing, my own pleasure growing as I feel his body tighten.
Then he turns the tables, wresting control away from me by tightening his grip on my hair and holding me in place as he fucks my mouth. It's not what I'd intended--I wanted to be the one in charge--but that doesn't matter. He's taking what he wants, and I fucking love it. Even the hardness. The rawness. The way I can barely breathe. The way that he's using me, taking what I've so willingly given and then--yes--exploding in my mouth, his back arching as he cries out and I suck every last drop out of him.
"Oh, baby," he says, sinking to his knees in front o
f me. "Holy fuck, Nikki." He pulls me close and kisses me hard, claiming my mouth once again in a kiss so deep and hot I feel the pull of it all the way between my legs.
I'm breathing hard when we break apart, my need wild and urgent. "My turn," I demand, my voice firm but breathy.