“Why don’t you go help Lara?” I suggest, glancing toward my oldest, who is currently focusing all of the engineering skills she’s acquired in her four years on this earth to the problem of building a castle and moat.
“Mommmeee!” Lara scowls at me from under her black bangs, a few errant red strands of which catch the sun. “She’ll mess it up.”
“Wanna swing! More swing!”
“No more swing. And as for you,” I add to Lara, “why don’t you give her a task? Like building an outer moat.”
Her forehead crumples a bit, then she nods, as regal and self-assured as her father always is. “She can build the dinosaur pen.”
“That sounds perfect,” I say, working very hard not to laugh.
“Please!” Anne rocks on my torso, drawing my attention back to her. “Wanna swing!”
“Not happening, kid.” I try to rise, but it’s not easy getting up off of sand with twenty-six pounds of determined two-year-old straddling your rib cage.
I’m about to tell her that she’s done me in and needs to get off when that problem is magically solved. She scampers up and scoots away, her little heel slamming into a possibly important internal organ. My oof is drowned out by her ear-splitting squeal of Daddy! It echoes across the beach as she races forward, moving fast out of my field of vision to disappear behind me.
I roll over so that I’m on my stomach, my elbows in the sand as I prop myself up in what probably looks like a poor attempt at the Cobra Pose. I stay that way, the sun warming my back and the cool froth of the surf tickling my legs while I watch Damien’s long-legged stride as he approaches from the bungalow.
I sigh, not sure I could move if I wanted to. I’m too lost in the look of him, in the confidence of his movements, even for something as trivial as crossing a beach. There’s never a time that I’ve seen him look awkward or out of place. And right now is no exception. He looks like he was born to this island with his tan skin, unbuttoned white shirt, and khaki shorts.
Damien Stark. One of the most powerful men in the world, and he belongs to me. My husband. My whole universe, really. The man who loves me and our daughters beyond anything in this world.
The man who knows my secrets. Most of them, anyway. I’m hoping that I’ve managed to hide this new sense of doom I can’t seem to shake, the emotional shrapnel of a battle lost even though the war was won.
I’ve felt it for about a week now, brought on by a random moment interrupting a beautiful day. It wasn’t until we came here, to the island, that the dark clouds in my mind parted, letting sunshine back in.
The island.
My stomach twists with the realization that I haven’t managed to hide my troubles at all. On the contrary. We’re here because Damien saw. And because he’s trying to help.
I drop my gaze, feeling exposed.
“Daddy! Daddy!” Lara joins the fray, and I lift my head again in time to see Damien scoop them both up, the effort revealing the strength in those arms.
I’m never guilty of forgetting that before my husband became a master of the universe, he was a star athlete. But sometimes I do forget what that means, and I’m reminded in moments like this. When he’s working out in our gym, playing tennis on our court, or effortlessly lifting our kids.
“Put one girl in each arm and you could do flies,” I suggest as I rise to my feet. “Is that what they’re called?” I raise my arms to my sides, miming holding weights.
“If I’m going to do that, we’ll need to feed this one more,” he says, bouncing Anne, who has switched from giggles to big belly laughs. “Otherwise, I’ll be uneven.”
“Can’t have that,” I say as he deposits both kids back on the sand. “I’m fond of my symmetrical husband.”
I’ve been walking toward him, and he toward me. Now we’re just inches apart.
“Hello, Ms. Fairchild.”
“Hello, Mr. Stark.” I hear the breathiness in my voice and feel the reaction in my body. Years of marriage and two children, and he still takes my breath away and makes my body burn.
“Go on,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine as he speaks to the girls. “I need to talk to Mommy.”
“Talk or kiss?” Lara demands, and I watch as Damien tries very hard not to smile.
“Probably both,” he says, eyeing our oldest sternly. “If that’s okay with you.”
Her mouth purses and her brow furrows as she considers the question. Then she nods solemnly. “It’s okay, Daddy.”
“Thank you, Lara.” He points to the castle. “Off you go.”
“Probably both?”
“Both,” he says firmly as he moves closer, his palm cupping the back of my head, his fingers twining in my windblown hair. He tugs, not painfully, but demanding, and forces my face up. Then his mouth is on mine, his other arm around my waist as he kisses me long and deep.
As kisses go, we’d still warrant a G rating. But the sizzle that burns inside me? The sparks that zing between the two of us?
Well, that’s got NC-17 written all over it.
“I like seeing you this way,” he says as soon as our lips part.
“On a beach in a bikini?” I tease.
“Well, yes, actually, but that wasn’t what I meant. I was thinking how free and happy you look here. Fearless,” he adds, then cups my cheek, his eyes locking on to mine.
I conjure a smile. “This is home. At least as much as Malibu is. What’s there to fear?” But I’m looking at his mouth as I speak, not his eyes, and I’m certain that my husband—a man who I should know misses nothing—sees that.
“Nikki, sweetheart. What’s going on?”
He brushes my cheek and I realize that he’s wiping away a tear.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“Something to do with a car?”
I almost smile. “Jamie is so in the doghouse now.”
He grins. “No, she was talking to Ryan. Said something about a car, and then clammed up when he asked her what she meant, and she realized she’d blown a confidence. But she was worried about you, and—”
“Ryan told you,” I finish, half-irritated and half-pleased. Because as much as I want my secrets, it feels nice knowing that my friends love me.
“T
he car?” he presses.
“It sounds so ridiculous,” I begin. “It was last Saturday. I’d gone to a movie with Abby, remember?” Abby is my partner at Fairchild & Partners Development, and we’d decided to celebrate landing a new client by going out for a movie that afternoon.
He nods. “I remember. The girls and I played in the pool, then watched Finding Nemo.”
“Right. Anyway, I came back down Mulholland.” The famous road winds its way along the ridgeline of the Santa Monica mountains, and the views of both the San Fernando Valley and the west side are stunning. I’ve always loved navigating those hills and curves, the radio blaring and the windows open.
I always used to love it, anyway. Hopefully I will again.
Damien’s voice is harsh as he says, “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I say, taking his hand to calm the fury I see rising in his eyes. “Really, it turned out to be nothing. Which is why this—this feeling is so frustrating.”
“All right. Tell me.”
“I was driving, and it was a gorgeous day. I was listening to Tom Petty’s Freefalling because, well, because it’s the perfect song for that drive. I had it up loud, and the windows down, and I felt fabulous. The movie had been good. The air felt great. And I hadn’t thought about the kidnapping in hours and hours.”
I glance up at him, but he says nothing, so I draw a breath and continue.
“It must have come from a driveway or pulled out of a turnaround. I think I would have noticed if it had been behind me for any length of time.”
“The car,” he says, and I nod.
“It was red. Even after all these years with you, I didn’t recognize the make. But it was sporty. And loud. That’s what I noticed first. The roar of the engine as it came right up on my tail. Inches away,” I tell him, hugging myself as I remember the way my heart started to pound.
“Son of a bitch.” The muscles in his face are tight, and I can see the anger building behind his eyes.
“You know how curvy that road is. How narrow. And there aren’t guard rails. I slowed down, and they got right up on my bumper. But I didn’t want to go faster. Take those curves too fast, and—”