CHAPTER NINE
DAMIAN PUMPED HIS arms and legs, gaining speed as his feet pounded the boardwalk planks that lined the Yarra River. No matter how fast he ran or how loud he blasted the music through his earphones, he couldn’t get Lainey out of his head.
Knowing the mysterious redhead was in fact his little sister’s best friend should have put a stop to the dirty dreams. But instead the knowledge fuelled them, gave them life and depth and the sharp snap of reality that had him turned upside down and inside out. Every night was a battle of wills—his carnal self paired with vivid imagination versus his moral core.
It was a terribly one-sided battle.
After his evening run, he was itching to get out of his workout clothes. The soaked cotton clung to his back and chest like a second skin, and he peeled it off quickly. A light ache spread through his muscles, a sign that he’d pushed himself hard today, and he’d need to spend some time on the foam roller to ease out the knots.
He’d been tighter than usual. Stress, his trainer had said. Lack of stretching, according to the remedial masseuse. Working too hard, his assistant claimed. But he knew it wasn’t any of those things.
Desire. He’d felt it burrowing under his skin ever since he’d seen Lainey on Monday night, niggling at him in the quiet portions of the day. In the dead of night. In the dark corners of his dreams.
He shook the thoughts off and stepped under the running water, sighing as the warmth seeped into his muscles. He lathered up, working the bar over his skin. Tonight was going to be an exercise in restraint.
Because sleeping with Lainey again—this time knowing it was her—would only create trouble.
You don’t fuck people you care about.
Sex had no place getting mixed up with feelings, that much he knew. But since the Carmina Ball he’d only had thoughts of one woman. And his libido had come back to life like a bear out of hibernation—hungry and desperate for the bounty of springtime.
Just one night.
Temptation rolled around in his mind. Would it be so bad to act on the fantasy that Lainey was his fiancée? God, she was gorgeous. Porcelain skin and ruby-rich hair that looked so perfect it should have been natural. Perky breasts that went uninhibited by a bra most of the time. The memory of running his thumbs over her nipples, the stiff little peaks pressing against his touch, rocketed through him.
He was hard as stone remembering it. Without thinking, he reached down and wrapped a soapy hand around his cock. He’d spent every day trying to deny his urges—to deny his fantasies about her—and now all the sexy thoughts had piled up. Testing the heft of his length against his palm, he let the air rush out of his lungs.
The muscles of his ass and thighs clenched as he squeezed himself, sliding his hand up and down slowly. Deliberately.
Bracing his other arm against the cool tile of the shower wall and shutting his eyes, he thrust into his hand. It would never be as good as the real thing, but his flickering reel of fantasies was vivid and bright. He could practically feel the soft wetness of her mouth against his cock, the slippery slide of her tongue and the tight ring of her perfect pink lips.
Orgasm welled within him, pulling his balls up tight against him and making his muscles harden. When he came it was hard, his grunts bouncing off the walls of the shower as he emptied himself, his mind filled with Lainey.
This would have to do. He couldn’t let himself get fooled again.
* * *
Lainey had expected an email with the details for their dinner date, or whatever the hell she was supposed to call it. Maybe a text. Even a phone call. You know, normal-people communication methods. But Damian didn’t do things the way most guys did.
The day after he’d dropped by the house, a parcel had been delivered via courier with a handwritten note.
I’ll pick you up at 7:00 p.m. on Friday. Don’t open the box until then.
Ever since, she’d been on edge, each night willing sleep to come. But her dreams were no less restless, and the silver box winked at her from across her bedroom. Tonight she’d see him again.
Gripping her towel tight, Lainey skimmed her hand over the subtly embossed pattern, enjoying the feel of the tiny ridges beneath her fingertips. Heart in her throat, she lifted the lid and stared at the layers of frothy, candy-coloured tissue paper.
It crinkled as she opened the edge to reveal a dress. One of those formfitting bandage-type dresses. The straight lines were enhanced by panels of mixed fabric—leather, brushed silk, something reflective and glossy—all in a shade of purple so dark it was nearly black. A fine zipper in gold ran the entire length of the dress from the bust to the hemline.
She steeled herself and glanced at the swing tag, blinking at the neatly printed price label. Surely that last zero wasn’t supposed to be there. Lainey’s stomach pitched. She could cover a few months of rent with that!
She dropped the dress onto the bed as though it had burned her. In no universe could she accept such a gift. The dress she’d worn to the Carmina Ball had been this expensive, but it had been a loaner and she’d almost ruined it.
Lainey had a thing against charity. The second you accepted it, you admitted that you couldn’t take care of yourself. Sure, she might need rescuing from funny situations on occasion, but she had a job that she was damn good at. Opportunities on the horizon. She was her own woman and she paid her own way.
Lainey fingered the fabric. She had to admit Damian had impeccable taste.
Who says he bought it for you? He probably had an assistant do it for him.
She bit her lip. Was he testing her? Getting the upper hand back by dictating the terms of their next evening together, dressing her up like a doll so that she would look pretty enough to please his dinner guests?
She stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror as she held the dress up, the gold zipper glinting. Maybe this was exactly what she needed right now—another costume to boost her confidence and help her get what she wanted. In this, no one would look at her like she was lesser. Like she didn’t belong on Damian McKnight’s arm.
She wriggled into the dress and slipped on a pair of pencil-thin stilettos. Her hair hung in soft waves and her makeup was dark and sultry.
Mask firmly in place.
If he wanted her to act like a smitten fiancée, then she was going to give an Oscar-worthy performance. Without the limitations of her Carmina Ball disguise, she’d be able to tell if he wanted her rather than “Ariel.”
She swallowed back her guilt. It felt wrong to be going behind Corinna’s back like this, but Damian had set the rules. They weren’t to breathe a word of it to anyone. Besides, what harm would one more night do?
Her flight to the UK was booked, and she left in twelve days. It wasn’t like they were entering into long-term arrangement, and Lainey had no illusions she possessed that “forever” quality. She was fun—she’d been told it time and time again—but fun didn’t make for happily ever after.
One little fling before you leave the country and forget about men altogether.
Before she started her life as a career go-getter—Lainey, the creative. Lainey, the social media guru. She had plans, big ones. Long-term ones. And they didn’t include falling in love.
* * *
After Damian picked her up, it was all business. He’d briefed her on his plans for signing McPartlin & Co. as a client and gave her an overview of their expansion strategy. Then they agreed on the details of their “relationship.” Dating for a year, engaged for two months. They were keeping it quiet because Lainey—Ariel—didn’t want to deal with the media. No date set for the wedding, but the plan was for a small and private event. Be general but not too vague, avoiding unnecessary details that might make it hard to keep track of the story.
Damian parked beneath the Crown Entertainment complex, and they got out of the car.
“Think you can handle all that?” he asked as they walked toward a set of elevators.
Lainey’s high heels made echoing sounds that bounced off the concrete walls. “A few white lies? Sure.”
“I guess you do have practice.”
She jabbed the call button for the elevator. “If you don’t want me to apologise, then stop bringing it up. I tried to say I was sorry.”
“Apologies are useless.” He stared straight ahead, his hand coming to the small of her back as the doors opened. The touch burned through her dress. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”
“And I take responsibility for my actions.”
“Do you?” He raised a brow. “For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve skated through life, leaving mass destruction in your wake.”
Her cheeks burned. How was it possible that she could be so attracted to a man who thought she was a hot mess? “Yes, you were incredibly upset after we fucked. I’m sure you’ll have mental scars from it.”
He was on her in a flash, hands gripping her shoulders as he held her fast. His dark brows knitted into a frown. “Do you have any idea how I felt when I found out it was you?”
She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, so she opted for sarcasm instead. “Were you sick to your stomach?”
“I was.”
She snorted. “Just what every woman wants to hear.”
“I was sick to my stomach because I couldn’t get the thought of your body out of my head. I wanted you again. I can’t stop thinking about how good it felt to be inside you.” His face was inches from hers, his breath puffing across her cheeks. “I was sick over how much I wish you’d come back to my place that night so I could have stripped you down and explored every fucking inch of you.”
Her sex throbbed and she squeezed her thighs together, but it did nothing. There would be no satisfaction unless it was him there. All of him. Only him.
He continued. “And I can’t think about you like that.”
“Why? I’m not family.” She rolled her eyes. “We’re not related. We wouldn’t be doing anything wrong.”
“Yes, we would. Because, as crazy as you are, I don’t want to screw things up with us. It’s not worth the risk.”
She blinked. It was far from the answer that she expected. In her mind, he’d never viewed them as having anything to screw up. “What do you mean, it’s not worth the risk?”
“Sex creates tension. I don’t like being jealous or disappointed or resentful, and sleeping with someone I care about makes that difficult.”
The words her hit like a fist to the chest. “You care about me?”
Damian opened his mouth to respond, but the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Their private little bubble was gone. “Come on. We don’t want to be late.”
They walked through the bustling building and approached two large gilt doors. The name of the restaurant wasn’t visible from the front, but judging by the clientele, it seemed to be the kind of place where if you had to ask then you didn’t belong. She knew it was one of Jerry McPartlin’s restaurants, but that was it. Would he be able to pick her out as a fraud right away? She was wearing a ridiculously expensive dress, but it might not be enough.
She glanced furtively at the maître d’ as they stepped inside, wishing for a second that Damian had taken her for a burger and fries instead. But this wasn’t a social catch-up and she was playing a role—Ariel, Damian’s fiancée. Confident, cultured. Definitely not the kind of woman who would gate-crash a society ball.
She swallowed. They’d be able to pick her out like a cheap knockoff among rows of the real deal.
“Mr. McKnight, what a pleasure.” The maître d’ greeted him warmly, her hand gravitating to his arm as he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.
“Good to see you, Marcella.”
“We’ve got our best table reserved for you. Mr. McPartlin and his wife will be joining you shortly.”
Marcella’s eyes swept over Lainey, curiosity apparent. With a warm smile, she gestured for them to follow her into the restaurant. Large light fixtures created a twinkling ambience, though the overall effect was still darkly intimate and sensual. Gold trimmings tastefully adorned the walls. The vast area housed small round tables and was lined with booths in dark wood and rich, plum-coloured velvet.
Lainey followed, still clutching Damian’s arm, and held her breath as they navigated the tight space between the tables. The last thing she needed was to trip and make a fool of herself. History told her the chances of that happening were as likely as the sun rising tomorrow.
“Relax.” Hot breath caressed her skin as Damian whispered into her ear. “You look like you’re about to have a heart attack.”
“I’m fine,” she said tightly, the words sticking in her chest.
They reached a secluded booth at the back of the restaurant. Ornate fabric hung from the ceiling. It looked like a curtain that could be closed for privacy if needed. She ran her hand down the silk, her fingertips grazing over the faint gold embroidery.
“I’ve got our most experienced server looking after you tonight,” Marcella said. “But please reach out to me if you need anything at all.”
Lainey’s jaw clenched automatically. Marcella looked exactly like the kind of woman Damian should be dining with. Articulate. Smooth. Polished. All the things that Lainey had given up hope of mastering.
“Of course.”
Damian motioned for Lainey to take a seat and he watched as she slid into the booth awkwardly, the tight fabric of her dress and towering heels making her feel like a circus performer on stilts.
“She’s got it for you bad,” Lainey observed. “Do you know her?”
“She’s a friend.” He removed his jacket and hung it on a little hook at the entrance to the booth before sliding into his seat with easy grace. “But I don’t want you thinking about Marcella or anyone else tonight. I need you on your A game.”
Nodding, she wound a strand of hair around one finger, watching the light catch on the vibrant pigment. Her nerves jangled, and anticipation swirled through her. With the mask on, she’d felt confident and in control. But now she was exposed. Maybe Damian was right. Sex with someone you cared about stirred up a whole mess of emotions, and she was unprepared. Woefully so.
But that was no excuse. Lainey might have come to rely on her friends to bail her out, but she didn’t shy away from her decisions.
You’ve made your bed—now you have to lie in it.