Damian (The Caine Brothers #3)

Copyright 2016 by Margaret Madigan

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead are purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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To Charlotte for giving me the key that finally unlocked Damian’s story.

Damian Caine eyed the senator’s pool with a longing that bordered on inappropriate. As a Navy SEAL he swam like a fish—better than a fish, actually—and was always ready to get in the water at any moment. Too bad at this moment he found himself surrounded by his father, sibs, and the senator himself.

“Hot enough for you, Damian?” his brother Colton asked.

“Shut up, smartass,” Damian growled.

He swiped the sweat from his forehead, but could do nothing about the rivulets running down his chest and back, underneath his shirt. The only concession to early-July Texas heat at the senator’s fundraising Fourth of July barbecue was that dress was semi-casual, so everyone wore conservative shorts, or dresses. Damian wanted to rip all his clothes off and dive into the pool. He’d done it a few times in high school when the senator’s kids had thrown their crazy parents-are-gone parties.

Probably shouldn’t now, though.

“So, you’re between missions?” The senator gave Damian’s shoulder a friendly slap.

“Yes, sir.” He hated when people knew what he did for a living. It was as if they thought they could absorb some badass just by association. Senator Mitchell may have been former Navy, and his father’s friend, but he’d never been a SEAL and he was far more former than Navy. “Got back from the Middle East a couple of weeks ago.”

“We’re pretty damn proud of him,” Dalton said. Damian struggled not to roll his eyes.
Gee, thanks, Dad.
His father had a tendency to trot out his pride when it benefitted him most, like in the presence of a U.S. senator, even if the guy had been his friend for a quarter century. Though of all six Caine brothers Damian and Hunter were probably the only two his father took any true pride in—being military and CEO respectively. Biker, rocker, and fighter didn’t really live up to the senior Caine’s expectations. And Bishop was just a bear.

He snorted at his own joke.

“What?” Colton asked.

“Nothing. Just thinking what a bear Bishop is.”

“Funny,” Dalton said, not sounding amused at all. Fuck him anyway.

Dalton, Hunter—and his wife, Allison—and the senator turned the conversation to the primary purpose of the barbecue, which was fundraising. Screw honoring the nation’s birthday. If the senator could use the holiday to get a bunch of rich fucks together to give him money, that was way more important. Even his wife, a short, sedate woman, looked bored by the conversation.

Damian’s attention drifted. He’d only attended the party because Jaxon would be performing. His brother’s band had hit it big a few years ago, and Jaxon had become a superstar. Somehow in that time Damian had never seen him perform, so when he heard Jaxon would be playing the party, he’d agreed to come. Hunter had promised him free food and maybe some hot women, too. He didn’t have plans, so he figured why the hell not?

Besides, he hadn’t been to the Mitchell Mansion in something like ten years—since he’d joined the Navy right out of high school. It looked pretty much like he remembered, except maybe the trees they’d climbed as kids were ten years taller.

So far the party hadn’t lived up to his expectations. Yeah, the buffet looked good, the beer was cold, and he’d seen some pretty women in short skirts, but it was fucking hot. He’d just spent six months in the Middle East and July in Texas made him wish he could go back.

“Daddy, the Prestons are here.”

The sultry female voice drew Damian’s attention back to the conversation at hand. A gorgeous woman stood next to the senator, her hand on his arm. Tall, for a woman—Damian figured somewhere around five nine or five ten—he still had to look down from his six and a half feet to catch her eye. But at least he didn’t have to look down as far as he usually did.

She looked familiar, but he was pretty damn sure he’d remember this woman if he’d ever met her.

She glanced up at him from cobalt blue eyes under long, dark lashes, and gave him a coy little smile. His heart skipped a beat and his cock stirred and took notice.

“Okay, princess. Can you show him over?” the senator asked.

“Sure.”

The woman kissed the senator’s wife on the cheek. “You look pretty today, mom,” she said. The senator’s wife glowed under the attention.

“Who’s that?” Damian asked as the woman walked away. She wore a little white dress thing that hugged her ass in a way that made him jealous.

He thought he knew all of the senator’s kids.

“That’s my daughter, Elena,” the senator said.

“What?” Damian didn’t believe it. Sure, the last time he’d seen her she’d been sixteen-ish, had glasses and braces, and hadn’t quite grown into her figure. “That can’t be Elena.”

The senator beamed with pride. “Sure is. She works at the CIA, now.”

Damian cocked his head. “She’s an agent?” She didn’t look like he imagined agents; too soft and pleasant. He couldn’t believe the senator would allow his daughter to do something so dangerous for a living. He certainly wouldn’t, if he had daughters.

The senator’s wife chuckled. “Elena? No. She’s a financial auditor.”

Number cruncher. That made more sense. “Well, she’s certainly grown up to be a lovely woman.”

He hoped he sounded as platonic as he and Elena had been as kids. Damian had grown up surrounded by brothers, so any time he’d found himself around girls he had no idea how to behave. But if memory served, Elena had liked climbing trees, and playing with frogs, and having dirt-clod fights—not like her sisters who ran away screaming, while Elena rolled on the grass laughing at them.

Watching her ass sway as she headed for the house, his thoughts were anything but platonic. She was easily the hottest woman at the party. Now that he was aware of her, she stood out like a beacon among the rest of the guests. He tracked her as she moved through the crowd, smiling, shaking hands, laughing. At the deck she climbed the steps—her calves shapely and smooth—to the back door of the house.

Damian didn’t believe in relationships. They weren’t compatible with his career or lifestyle, so he was all about getting in and getting out—and lots of it. But Elena might be worth taking some time to explore.

As the senator’s daughter, she should be automatically off limits. His father and the senator would frown on him seeing her, especially considering his reputation with women, so of course she presented a challenge, and Damian never refused a challenge.

The party suddenly looked like a lot more fun.

Then Admiral Preston and his wife stepped out of the house onto the deck, and followed Elena back to join the group. The admiral commanded Damian’s SEAL team, but was also friends with the senator, apparently.

As Damian watched Elena approach, returning across the party, he adjusted his perception of her. At first he’d assumed her to be soft and pleasant, but the way she moved spoke more of grace and confidence. The dress she wore drifted across her thighs, which showed more definition than he’d noticed at first, as did her shoulders and arms. Her long neck and narrow waist were those of a fit woman. So she worked out. Given the hours he spent staying in shape, he respected that in others, not to mention that he found the image of her in a sports bra and shorts, all sweaty in the gym, very appealing.

She caught him staring at her as she approached, and winked at him. It was like one of those slo-mo moments in a movie, and hit him straight in the balls with a jolt of lust. Yeah, she could be an excellent diversion before his next mission.

Who’d have thought little Elena would grow into such a ripe beauty? It took a lot of willpower not to rub his hands together in anticipation.

“You couldn’t do this fundraising thing in April or September, Dean?” the admiral asked as he joined the group, reaching to shake the senator’s hand.

Everyone laughed, though it was one of those polite ‘that wasn’t really funny, but you’re an admiral so we’ll laugh anyway,’ kind of laughs. Damian loathed the snobbish propriety of politics and country club culture. He’d grown up with that shit and couldn’t escape it fast enough. Another reason why he loved both the order and chaos of his job—it allowed him to run, swim, sneak, shoot, and blow shit up—all of which was way better than politics or a desk job.

“We can take this inside, if you’d like,” the senator said.

“No need. Lieutenant.” The admiral nodded, acknowledging Damian.

“Admiral.” Damian flicked a salute.

“It’s nice to see you again Mr. Caine,” Elena said, offering her hand to Dalton to shake. “I haven’t seen a Caine in years. Seems like they all disappeared like dandelion fluff on the wind.”

Damian almost snorted at the poetry. If she only knew his brothers now, she’d never think of them in such romantic terms. Women might swoon over the CEO of a billion-dollar real estate development corp, president of a biker club, a rock star, an MMA fighter, and whatever the hell Bishop was, but to Damian they were just his asshole brothers.

Dalton preened to be the focus of Elena’s regard, accepting her hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “We’re all still around. You just have to know where to look.”

Damian cleared his throat. The last thing Elena needed was Dalton’s skeevy attention. Her gaze danced between Damian and the rest of his family, distracting him from the admiral and leaving him hungry for her attention again.

“This is my wife, Allison,” Hunter said. “One of the newest Caines.”

“Hmm,” Elena said. “Adding some women to the bunch? It’s nice to meet you. And to see the rest of you, again.” She shook hands with Allison, Hunter, and Colton, saving Damian for last. When she got to him, she looked up, her eyes sparkling with what looked like some kind of mischief. He’d seen variations of that same invitation enough to recognize it, but there was something else about her that hinted at another layer of subtext. Like she knew exactly what game she was starting, and she’d made the opening move, but it wasn’t as simple as he thought. Like only she knew the real rules.

When he took her hand, it slid smoothly into his, cool even in the Texas summer heat, and her shake was strong and firm. She squeezed just enough at the end to seal the unspoken thing between them. When Damian released her hand, he had to restrain himself from grinning like an idiot. This was going to be fun.

He didn’t have to wait long for her opening move.

“Damian, you’ve turned into a big, strong man. Can I get you to help me replace one of the kegs?”

“Elena, the caterers can do that. It’s what they’re paid for. You don’t need to solicit guests for help,” the senator said.

“It’s no problem, sir. I’m happy to help.” Damian offered his arm to Elena, like a gentleman.

Elena beamed at her father. “See, daddy? He doesn’t mind.” She kissed the senator’s cheek, then took Damian’s arm to lead him away.

Colton snorted, but Damian ignored him, because Colton was stuck listening to the droning fundraising blather while Damian was about to chase some tail.

Colton could laugh all the fuck he wanted.

***

Holy mother of everything sexy, Damian Caine had grown up to be a god among men. Elena hadn’t seen anything so delicious in ages, and the languorous heat and tedious boredom of the party had her horny as hell. That and the fact that she hadn’t been laid in what felt like forever. She only had her job to blame for that. Having to pretend to be a mousy accountant got tedious after a while, and meant the men she met were often equally mousy.

They sauntered across the lawn, navigating the clusters of guests including all the rich elite of Texas.

A clutch of women—including her aunt, who chaired the local DAR chapter—her older sister Janine, and several other prominent local women, paused their conversation to track her and Damian as they passed. Their expressions ranged from shocked, to greedy, to envious.

“Elena,” her sister called. “Come join us.”

Damian shifted as if to head that direction, but she pulled him back on course. “I’ll catch up with you later, Janine,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried him away.