Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
I’d had this thought myself earlier, but as was the case in the past, I dismiss it now. “In a big brother way.”
“I was never your brother. I never wanted to be your brother. I never willingly wanted to keep my hands off of you. But it was for the best. I’m a far better man now than I was then.” His lips press together and thin. “I would have fucked up with you and lost you back then. I don’t want to lose you, Alana.” There’s a grave quality to his voice. “Not ever.”
My heart swells with his confession, but all these hints of a dark past claw at me. What was this past? What is it he doesn’t want me to know about him? And do I care? It’s not a question I need to think about for more than a few seconds: I don’t. “You aren’t going to lose me, Damion. I’ve been a sure thing since we were seven years old and kissing in the closet.”
“You have never been a sure thing, Alana, not even when I kissed you before leaving for college.”
“You were dating someone else,” I argue. “You knew how I’d feel about that because you know me. You didn’t want that to go anywhere.”
He considers me for several long beats that feel as if they stretch eternally before he finally says, “You were always too good for me, Alana.”
“I always felt like I wasn’t good enough for you.”
“The only reason that pleases me is that if you’d thought any different, you might have kicked me to the curb a long time ago. I’m still not good enough for you, Alana, but I have always been a better man when I’m with you. And we have always been damn good together.” There is a rasp of emotion lacing his words that warns of so much more going on than what is on the surface.
And that very idea drives home my need to hold tight and hang on to him, and us. Protecting this bond between us feels more important than ever. “My producer is going to exploit us in every way possible. Are you really ready for how in our faces that will be?”
“Baby,” he says, his voice softening and my belly trembling with the endearment he’s using more and more these days. “I’m the heir to the West empire. I’m in the news far too often for my liking. It’s nothing I’m not built for at this point.”
“But you want to add more pressure on top of that?”
“It’s a part of loving you, Alana. And it’s a small price to pay. Keep us a mystery that drives your ratings but doesn’t destroy our privacy.”
“That’s exactly what I’d thought, too, but my producer threatened to make me join a dating site if I don’t give her more than hints about you. Or that’s the general gist of it.”
“Your producer is doing her job and acting like a ratings whore. Tell her no and mean it.”
“She said my contract requires I give them pieces of my personal life. She wants to start with my parents. I don’t think that’s a good thing for me or us, Damion.”
“If it gets your father too busy to gamble, it could be a good thing.”
“What if they find out about the gambling?”
His lips press firmly together. “It’ll only drive your ratings.”
“Do you know how much I do not like that answer?”
“You didn’t create this. He did. But stand your ground, Alana. Only give them what you want, how you want it represented. If you walk, the show ends, and so does her job.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way. I’ll be stronger, but it won’t work if you act like you did today.”
“He’s a hound dog I know a little too well. He needed to know you’re mine.” I’m stunned by this proclamation, but even more so by the one that follows. “I do, too. And enough about that asshole, Dierk. I told you we need to talk, baby, and we do, now, before you go back to work.”
That is, of course, when April decides to return with our drinks.
Chapter twenty-five
I know Damion told me he wants to talk, but something about the way he announces it now, right before an interruption, is just plain killing me. My heart tangos right along with my emotions. This fancy lunch, Adam, and Damion’s possessive behavior collaborate on a collective warning.
April sets the drinks in front of us and laces her fingers together over her apron. “Do we know what we want to eat?”
I sit back, forcing myself to breathe. Damion does not, his attention fixed on me as he says, “They have that strawberry salad you love, with pecan-crusted chicken. Everyone talks about it. That’s why I brought you here.” His voice is measured, his jaw tense, but there’s a sense of urgency about him, as if he’s eager to hurry her along.