The Dare Collection June 2019. Rachael Stewart
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little dazed by his interest, I shook my head. ‘No.’
He nodded and we walked in silence until, ‘So why not your mother?’
Maybe it was the warm hand in the small of my back. Maybe it was the smooth, deep interest in his voice. Whatever it was, I found myself replying.
‘Because she hated this place. Told me she couldn’t wait to leave when she turned eighteen. She never looked back, didn’t bother to get in touch with her parents unless she needed something. She didn’t even tell them when she had me. I think that’s what hurt them the most. The first I knew of them was when she packed a weekend bag one Saturday and told me we were coming up here to visit my grandparents. It was the best weekend of my life. After that, whenever she’d had enough of me—which was often—she’d dump me here.’ I stopped, the dull pain of rejection still potent enough to leaden my heart. Damian’s hand squeezed my waist and I wanted to lean into him, draw on his solid strength.
This time brushing that need away was more difficult. ‘Anyway, my mother and grandparents were back to being estranged by the time we left, but I’d fallen in love with this place. With how much my grandparents loved it. They poured their hearts into that little B & B. So...suddenly I had family I never knew about and a clear idea of what I wanted to do with my life. It was win-win for me.’
I could feel his stare boring into me, his interest almost too intense, but I kept my gaze on the path.
‘How did your mother feel about you getting this place?’
Pain scythed through my warm feeling. ‘She was far from thrilled. She still hates it here. But I promised my grandparents I would look after it...and her...so...’
He nodded. As if he understood. As if he empathised.
I quickened my step, almost afraid of accepting his compassion. Of giving into that softening again. I breathed a sigh of relief when we skirted the north wing.
Beyond that, up on a little rise, was my house.
The cottage my grandparents had lived in for over forty years was straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting by day. By night it was even more magical, with soft lights glowing from the windows, a wrap-around porch and a white picket fence promising tranquillity.
I stopped in front of the gate, reluctant to go any further. Reluctant to invite Damian into my sanctuary. The only place I’d known love and acceptance. He stared down at me for a long moment before he glanced over at the house.
‘Charming place.’
‘I like it,’ I said, a little too defensively.
He merely smiled. ‘You never answered me earlier. Did you enjoy your Fantasy Room experience?’
My head spun with yet another change of subject. ‘Yes.’
‘Good. Then you’ll come to France.’
I froze, which was a curious reaction because everything inside me wanted to scream, yes. Perhaps my self-preservation was kicking in. At last. Except not a single part of me rejoiced.
At my continued silence, Damian’s eyes narrowed. ‘We have an agreement, Neve.’
Something heavy in my chest sagged in disappointment.
Agreement. Business.
Reminders that should’ve put me back on an even keel. Yet all I wanted to do was stumble away, hide out in my house and dissect my confusing feelings.
‘The only way you get this deal done is after I give my seal of approval, Neve,’ Damian pressed.
As much as I wanted to think I had the upper hand, I would have no hand at all if Tyler and Sam decided I wasn’t a good bet. And a sure-fire way of ensuring that was to stall for no apparent reason other than I was terrified of how much I wanted to experience another Fantasy Room with Damian.
Firm fingers cupped my nape, then spiked into my hair. His thumb brushed my jaw before nudging my chin up. Our gazes clashed. His fiery expression warned he was prepared to fight me on this.
I surrendered because...because...
‘I’ll clear my schedule for France.’
Triumph blazed bright and unabashed in his eyes. He pulled me forward and I fell into his torrid kiss, unable to help myself. Hell, I more than fell. I drowned, clinging to him for what little stability I could find as he devoured me right there on my Norman Rockwell doorstep.
I was moaning when he lifted his head. ‘I’m dying to push my luck and ask you to invite me in but I’m going to quit while I’m ahead.’ He stepped back and handed over my tote. ‘Goodnight, Neve.’
I’d lost the power of speech, so I nodded.
He waited until I climbed my porch and unlocked my front door.
Then Damian walked away.
* * *
He’d left by the time I arrived in my office at eight a.m. I flatly refused to accommodate the spiky disappointment knotted in my gut as I sipped my coffee and perused my emails.
My foolish heart leapt when I saw one sent half an hour earlier from Damian.
Returning to the city to take care of a few urgent matters. The producers think two full days of shooting will wrap up Raiders so I’ve arranged for us to fly out to Bordeaux on Wednesday morning.
Clear your schedule for four days. Separate travel arrangements will be made for our business partners.
See you on Monday.
Damian
Straight. To the point. Yet I found myself rereading it, dissecting every word. Was there something to be gleaned from the way Damian kept referring to Sam and Tyler as our business partners when in essence he was merely a consultant? And why did that word no longer grate as sharply?
Also...separate travel arrangements for them meant we would be alone, with no distractions for over eight hours... I slammed my laptop shut before the rush of giddiness storming my system could shame me.
But it was too late. I already craved him with a need bordering on rabid and an emptiness inside me I wasn’t sure just sex would fulfil.
The scary thought propelled me out of my office.
Tyler and Sam were at a table in the dining room enjoying their breakfast.
They looked up with expressions of anxiety and hope as I approached. Smiling, I put them out of their misery. ‘The demonstration was everything I hoped for. You did a brilliant job. I’m on board.’
A quick toast later, I outlined my vision.
It quickly became clear that Sam, although a design major, was more the brains of the business, while Tyler was the artistic heart.
His passion shone in his expression, his ideas effusive and robust. As a team, they were an excellent pairing and I concluded our meeting even more excited for the future.
‘Mr Mortimer wants us on a flight to France tonight with our team. We hit the ground running tomorrow,’ Tyler said.
I blinked. ‘But we won’t be in France till Wednesday night.’
‘He’s sending us the specs later but I get the feeling it’s more than one room,’ Sam said, unable to stem her excitement.
We parted ways shortly after, my intrigue building through the day. Many times I was tempted to call Damian, find out what he was up to. Instead I buried myself in work, thankful that I employed the kind of manager I could leave in charge with zero anxiety.
* * *
My heart was thumping wildly in my chest when I walked into the Raider’s Den production warehouse on Monday morning.
As usual, Damian was already in despite my arriving half an hour early.