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Damen’s pain still bordered on dangerous. She sensed it as much as she saw it in his eyes.
And maybe that was another visceral element that drew them to each other. Bonded them.
She contemplated this as the car pulled under the fancy porte-cochere, lit by an enormous, glass-enclosed lantern hanging overhead that was absolutely gorgeous and which cast a golden glow over the stunning brick-inlaid drive and the steps leading up to the grandiose, double-doored entrance that featured intricate, crystal-cut insets in the wooden frames.
“Already, I’m impressed,” she murmured.
“You hail from New York society—the crème de la crème, I understand. This shouldn’t be the least out of the ordinary for you.”
“Did you have it built—designed it yourself?”
“Yes.”
She snickered at him. “Then believe me, I’m impressed. One of the reasons I left Manhattan and bought property on Long Island was so that I could have something built for me that was different, all my own, not a space anyone else had existed in.”
His lashes lowered, as did his voice. “Not even Conner?”
“Not that place. No.”
Damen sat back for a moment, staring at the entrance of his house.
Then he said, “This is my own sanctuary. My mother lives here now, after the deaths. As does Madelena. But…” He licked his bottom lip, contemplatively, then slid his gaze to Nikki. “No other woman has lived here, let alone spent the night here.”
His expression turned pointed.
Nikki read it loud and clear, understanding the significance he silently conveyed.
She lost her breath.
16
The driver opened the car door and Damen stepped out. He turned back to Nikki and gave her his hand.
She hesitated.
He fought a scowl. Though there was no mistaking the edge to his voice as he said, “If you’d prefer a hotel… Fine. But keep in mind, I’ll have to be there as well. To keep you safe. And…because I still have your computer.”
She let out a rush of air. Took his hand and gracefully slipped from the car as the driver collected their luggage and set it on the porch, where a butler discreetly whisked it inside.
While Damen and Nikki remained under the porte-cochere.
“It’s not that I don’t want to see your home, Damen.”
“Then what is it, Nikki?” he inquired with a crooked brow.
“This is personal,” she softly said. “It’s your home.”
His head bent to hers and he asked in an equally low tone, “And what we did in that hotel suite in New York—the things we said to each other… That wasn’t personal?”
She glared up at him.
He stared back at her.
Challenging her.
Her teeth ground for a moment.
His brow crooked further.
