Deepest Kiss (Stark Trilogy #3.10/Stark Ever After #6) (2 page)

I’m not sure why, but I’ve always assumed a baby shower would be an elegant, classy affair.

Apparently, I was wrong.

“It was either this or Pin the Penis on the Hunk,” Cass explains to my best friend, Jamie, as my sister-in-law, Sylvia, holds her hands over her belly, which is huge at thirty-seven weeks into her pregnancy. Honestly, I’m not sure if she’s trying to keep the laughter at bay, or prevent her unborn infant from hearing all our crazy banter.

Jamie shrugs. “I’m totally okay with fondling a cock while blindfolded.”

“Uh, lesbian here,” Cass says with a devious grin toward her girlfriend, Siobhan. “Plus I can claim the party planner privilege.” She nods toward the table where two dozen paper sperm are laid out, ready to be pinned to a poster with an image of a woman’s uterus and a smiling, waving, welcoming egg.

Forget Pin the Penis on the Hunk. For that matter, forget Pin the Tail on the Donkey. We’re playing Pin the Sperm on the Egg. And I’m having a very hard time not laughing. Which may have more to do with the five mimosas I’ve downed than the game, but either way, I’m having a great time.

Jamie turns to look at me. “Told you, Nik. You and I should
totally
have planned this party.”

“I offered, but Cass pulled rank on me.”

“I played the best friend card,” Cass admits. “Besides, Nikki did plenty. Offering her bungalow, for one thing. Not to mention being all sneaky and coaxing Syl to the island.”

“It wasn’t easy,” I say. “The woman’s a workaholic.” I’d told Sylvia we needed to take a family getaway before the baby arrived—just me and Damien joined by her and Jackson and their four-year-old, Ronnie—but she insisted she couldn’t afford the time away from the office when she had maternity leave looming.

I even felt a bit guilty about my ulterior motives when Syl confessed that she was a little nervous.

“I’m not nervous about actually giving birth,” she clarified, then immediately corrected herself. “Well, actually, yeah. That’s kind of got me freaking out, but I figure it is what it is, and there’s always drugs, right?”

“Absolutely,” I agreed.

“It’s just, the whole thing about being a mom is more than a little terrifying.”

“But you’re already a great mom,” I pointed out, since Jackson, her husband and Damien’s half-brother, came into the relationship with a daughter.

Syl lifted a shoulder. “I guess. I mean, I hope so. I try, that’s for sure. And I love Ronnie so much.” She let out a long breath, and when she looked me in the eye, I could see both fear and courage. “I was so scared at first. Scared enough that I almost blew it. And I think I’m over that—I really do. But I knew what I was getting with Ronnie. I mean, she was already a little person. But a baby? And one who’s inheriting all of my family’s crazy baggage? It’s a little scary.”

“It’s wonderful,” I assured her. “Any baby would be lucky to have you and Jackson as parents.”

Her smile was watery but genuine, and when she held out her arms I hugged her close. “Thanks,” she whispered. “I promise I’m not melting down, and every book says doubt is normal. But it’s just so much responsibility, you know?”

I did know. Hell, I
do
know. Even Sunshine, Damien’s and my cat, is one hell of a lot of responsibility. More than that, I understand the fear of passing on all that familial baggage. I don’t know all the details about Syl’s relationship with her parents, but I do know there’s some bad blood. And it’s the same with me and Damien. Frankly, any child we had would be buried under a boatload of crap.

Honestly, it scares me.

Not that I’m staying up nights worrying about that. I’m not ready to be a mom yet—my business has enough growing pains at the moment, and I’m more than happy being Aunt Nikki. But sometimes I can’t help but wonder…

At any rate, it was my role as Aunt Nikki to Syl’s unborn child that had motivated me to get Syl to the island for her secret shower. And since I’d had no luck with the family getaway angle, I’d ended up calling in the big guns and having Damien fabricate some bullshit crisis that could only be handled on the island.

“I would have been more compliant if I’d had any sort of a clue what you all were cooking up,” Sylvia admits. “But I really wasn’t expecting a second shower.”

“You had the boring work one,” Cass tells her. “And now you’re getting the fabulous girlfriend one.”

“Um, excuse me,” Rachel says. “The boring work one was
so
not boring.”

Sylvia used to be Damien’s assistant, but now Rachel has taken over that role. And in that capacity, Rachel organized Syl’s office shower. Which, from what I heard, really was fun.

Syl’s still a Stark employee, of course. But now she’s a project manager for Stark Real Estate Development. In fact, her first project was the development of the high-end vacation property that encompasses this island, The Resort at Cortez.

Her husband, Jackson Steele, is an architect, and he designed the entire resort, which features a small hotel, private bungalows, plenty of recreational areas, restaurants, shops, and a gated area that surrounds five privately owned vacation bungalows on a secluded beach.

We’re in one right now—mine and Damien’s. Jackson and Syl own the one next door, and Dallas Sykes—who was one of the resort’s primary investors—owns the third. The other two are unoccupied, and Damien uses them as corporate perks for key clients and colleagues.

Since this is a girls-only shower, Jackson is over at his bungalow, along with Jamie’s boyfriend, Ryan, Dallas, and the other men who accompanied the female baby-shower guests. As far as I know, they’re hanging out drinking and playing poker or doing other guy-type things. All except for Damien, that is. He was supposed to be there, too, but he got held up in a meeting in Santa Barbara.

Honestly, I’m feeling a little antsy. He said he’d be en route by early evening, but there’s a storm rolling in, and I’m not keen on him being either in the air or on the ocean during a downpour.

“Nicholas.
Nikki
.” Jamie bumps me with her hip, then lifts her brows. “Where the hell are you?”

“Sorry.” I realize I’ve been looking out the window at the late afternoon sky that is growing darker and darker as the storm kicks up. “I was just—”

“He’s fine, Texas.” Evelyn Dodge, a bold and brassy woman I’ve pretty much adopted as my surrogate mom, says from across the room. She’s read my mind, of course. I’m guessing everyone in the room knows that I’m missing Damien. And that with the storm on its way, I’m worried, too.

“I know he is,” I say, forcing myself to shrug off the worry. “Worst case he’ll just stay in Malibu or at the apartment. Or not even leave Santa Barbara at all.” All of which would suck, as I want him here with me in our bed. But I want him safe more.

“Come on,” Syl says, holding out a hand. “Help me out of this chair, then we’ll both take our turns. Nothing gets your mind off your man better than fondling paper sperm.”

Since I certainly can’t argue with that, I help her up, and we both grab one of the six inch long sperms from the card table set up by where the uterus poster has been taped to the wall.

“Who’s going first?” Lisa Reynolds asks, holding a blindfold. She’s a friend and a business consultant whose fiancé, Preston, also works in Damien’s universe. “Syl’s choice. The mommy-to-be always gets to decide if she’s last or not.”

“I’m already standing,” Syl says. “Might as well go for it.”

Lisa gets her all trussed up, turns her in a circle, then aims her toward the giant uterus—which Sylvia misses by approximately one mile.

Everyone is laughing as she pulls off the blindfold. “Wow,” she says. “With aim like that it’s a wonder I ever got pregnant.”

“Guess you have Jackson to thank,” Cass says.

Syl blows her a kiss and flashes a wicked smile. “In so many delicious ways.” She holds the blindfold out to me. “Okay, Nikki’s turn.”

I start to take it, but Lisa grabs it first and puts it over my eyes. As she does, I hear Jamie laugh. “What?” I demand.

“Just guessing this is the first time you’ve been blindfolded when Damien’s not around.”

I feel my cheeks burn, but I don’t deny it. What she says is absolutely true.

“Okay, now spin,” Lisa says, helping me twirl without falling over or knocking into the furniture. “And…go!”

I walk blindly forward, holding my free hand out until I reach the wall. Then I push the sperm forward, sticky side out, until it adheres to the wall. Once it does, I back away, and the women behind me burst into applause.

I pull off my blindfold and can’t help but grin—my sperm is right on top of the egg.

“Good job,” Jamie says, coming up from behind and giving me a hug. “Looks like you just made a baby.”

I smile back, laughing with my friends. But I can’t deny that my stomach is twisting a little. And I’m not sure if it’s in longing or fear.

Or maybe it’s just the mimosas.

The drizzle has turned to full-blown rain by the time everyone gathers on the front porch of my bungalow. The gifts are still inside—we’ll deal with those tomorrow, when it’s no longer raining—and the whole crew promises to make sure Syl gets home to Jackson safe and sound, with absolutely no slipping on the rain-slicked path as she waddles off to her bungalow.

“The rest of us are going to head to the club for drinks and dancing,” Jamie tells me as the others start down the path. “Why don’t you text Damien and tell him to meet you there?”

I glance at the clock, then shake my head. “His last text said he’d be here by ten at the absolute latest. That’s only twenty minutes.”

“And the club is that much closer to the dock and the helipad,” she points out. “You want to see him sooner rather than later, right?”

“What I want is to see him alone,” I confide. “Not on a crowded dance floor.”

She sighs and shakes her head in mock disappointment. “And here I thought that being married to Damien Stark had added a little spice to your life.”

I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. Jamie’s my best friend, but even she doesn’t know just how spicy my life with Damien is. “Just have fun,” I say. “And if you and Ryan decide to have too much fun, stick to the adult beach areas, okay? I can’t imagine any kids are out in the weather this late, but just in case I’d hate to traumatize them.”

A wide, wicked smile lights her face, and her eyes gleam with devious pleasure. “The beach in a rainstorm. Hmm. That does sound tempting…”

I can’t hold back the laughter anymore. “Go,” I say. “Catch up with them. And most of all, have fun.”

She gives me a quick hug, then runs off to do just that. I watch as she heads down the path toward Syl and Jackson’s bungalow, where I see the rest of the men emerging and meeting up with the girls so they can all head off to their rooms at the empty bungalows just past Dallas’s place.

I wave at them, then step back inside and close the door. Then I lean against the door, close my eyes, and wish for Damien.

Unfortunately, I don’t have any magical powers, and he doesn’t immediately materialize. I check the clock on my cellphone. It’s three minutes later than it was the last time I looked. And, hopefully, three minutes closer to Damien.

Except it’s not. Because as I’m looking at the clock, a text message pops across my screen.

Going to be later than expected. Probably by at least two hours. Damn weather. It’s keeping me from you.

Well, hell.

I start to type out a long, whiny text, but I rein myself in. He wants to be here with me as much as I want him by my side. So I suck it up and type my reply.

Miss you. Waiting for you. Hot for you.

His answer flashes on my screen in seconds.

Hard for you, baby. Soon.

I realize I’m smiling, which under the circumstances is good. I want him by me, but if he can’t be here, at least I’m not morose.

I head into the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. I figure I’ll spend the two hours between now and Damien watching a movie, and a glass of wine will make the passing time more palatable. Not only that, but the bottle can breathe, and Damien can have a glass when he gets home.

Except, dammit, we’re all out of wine. We’re also out of champagne, so no more mimosas for me. The vodka’s gone, too—apparently both Evelyn and Lisa have a penchant for Bloody Marys. I still have a tiny amount of gin, which I hate, and scotch, which I love but am really not in the mood for.

I frown, considering my options. I had a whole scenario starting to play in my head. Two wineglasses on the coffee table, and an open bottle ready for pouring. Candles flickering in the dark room. Me naked under a blanket, and rapidly turning off the television the minute I hear Damien coming up the front steps.

It’s a fantasy that I don’t want to abandon. More, it’s a fantasy I want to make real. And since I still have almost two hours before Damien will be walking up to the door, I decide to brave the nasty weather and walk down to the little market. It’s not far—just past the entrance to this gated area. It serves this quarter of the island and has everything from produce to wine to fine caviar.

In fact, maybe I should get some caviar…

I pull on jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt, then shove my feet into a pair of canvas sneakers without laces. I have a fisherman-style yellow raincoat that I bought on a whim. It’s not as attractive as my London Fog, but it’s fun and funky and keeps me dry. I tug it on, then pull the hood over my head. It’s late spring, getting close to summer, but it’s evening, and there’s a chill in the air.

Once I’m bundled up, I head out. I don’t bother locking the door—there’s really no point in this restricted area of the island—and if the storm picks up I want to be able to get back inside as quickly as possible. There’s both a crushed granite walking path and a paved road that leads out of the gated area. I walk along the path, running my hands lightly over the plants that are taking a battering in the pounding rain.

My head is mostly down, and I’m walking with my eyes on my shoes more than my surroundings. When I pass through the gate, though, I look up—and then I gasp.

There’s a man.
He’s across the road wearing a dark trench coat and a low slung fedora-style hat that hides his face in shadows. I can tell nothing about him. Nothing, that is, except that he’s looking right at me.