Page 13 of Interview with the Billionaire

Are your eyes still closed?

“Yes.”

“There’s someone down there.”

She tensed.

“They watched us baby. They watched us the whole time.”

“Damien…”

He kissed her earlobe. “We’re alone. But the thought excited you.”

“Yes.”

“Me, too. I’ll take you back to Masque soon. I think my wife might like to try new things.”

“She might,” Nikki said. “But I want to be blindfolded.”

“Do you? Why?”

“Because I’d never know for sure if someone was watching. If they were getting off watching us. And I like the maybe.”

“You like the knife edge.”

“I do. And in case you couldn’t tell, she added, sliding his hand between her legs, “I also liked what we did just now very, very much.”

“Ten-twenty,” he said as he slipped back into his suit jacket. He’d settled on the Desmond Merrion bespoke suit he’d picked up in London on his last trip. It wasn’t a suit that suggested power. On the contrary, it shouted it from the rooftops. He’d worked hard to hone the skill of quiet intimidation. A handy skill in business negotiations.

Today, he was more than happy to use that particular skill with Lena.

“Ten minutes to spare,” Nikki said. “I don’t even know what to do with myself.”

“Care for a quickie?”

She’d bent down to scratch Sunshine, their cat. Now she glanced up at him, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You’re insatiable. It’s one of your finer qualities,” she added making him laugh. “Although right now I think it’s less about lusting after your doting wife, and more about avoiding the woman waiting for us downstairs.”

“You do know me well.”

“Come on, Mr. Stark,” she said, abandoning the cat as she slipped on a pair of heeled sandals that complemented her classically styled sheath dress. “I think it’s showtime.”

They took the elevator rather than the stairs to the first level, giving them a chance to swing by the playroom where Bree was keeping the kids occupied. As soon as they stepped into the room, cries of Mama! Daddy! Mommy! filled the room, along with the patter of three pairs of little feet barreling toward them.

“Miss Bree says lots of people are coming today,” Lara said.

“And for pictures,” Anne added.

“Daddy! Daddy! Look at me! Look at me!”

“I see you,” Damien said, scooping up their dark-haired son, Bradley, a precocious three-year-old. “And yes,” he told his girls, “we’re going to do some pictures, and then you’re going to get to spend most of the day with Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Jackson.”

“Jeffery, too?”

“And Ronnie?”

“Are they coming over, too?”

“What about Aunt Jamie?”