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17
Three hoursafter she’d arrived on Damian Cavallo’s doorstep, she still didn’t know what she was doing. She’d had an excuse for making the call. She’d been shaken up, both furious and devastated by Primo’s assault. She hardly remembered leaving the apartment, taking the elevator to the lobby, stumbling past the doorman — trained to ignore domestic squabbles by averting his eyes — and out onto the street.
She hadn’t even thought about calling Damian. Reaching for the card he’d given her had been reflexive.
Intuitive.
As if she’d known he was the one person who could make this right when reason told her no one in the world could do that.
And yet, he’d done all she needed and more. Had welcomed her into his home, had been kind and tender in spite of their last meeting. In spite of what Primo had done. Now he was in the driver’s seat next to her, his denim-clad thighs separated from hers only by the car’s console, his scent overwhelmingly male, the pulse in her body back to beating for him.
She looked out the window, watched as the highway’s street lamps passed by in a blur, everything beyond them dark. The only hint that they were near the beach was the briny air winding its way in through the car’s partially open sunroof.
She hadn’t hesitated when he’d said he had a place she could regroup. Not as long as she should have anyway. It had taken her less than ten seconds to calculate her options — go home to Primo and live with what he was doing or take Damian Cavallo up on his offer.
Something had changed inside her with the knowledge that Primo had set fire to the shelter. Something irrevocable. Part of her hoped it would change back, because if it didn’t she was screwed. If it didn’t, she had no life to speak of.
No home. No family.
Damian had offered her refuge when she had none. Taking him up on it didn’t make her any more of a traitor than talking to him. She didn’t know anything about Primo’s operation that would be helpful to Damian. Even if she did, he hadn’t asked her for anything, had insisted his offer had no strings attached. It was an offer too good to refuse. One that would give her time to figure out her next move.
She was surprised to feel the car slow beneath her. She’d been too distracted by her thoughts to notice when they’d gotten off the highway. Now they were on a narrow street lined with trees so tall on either side they nearly blocked out the moonlight.
“Almost there,” Damian said.
He pulled up to a gate and keyed in a code, waited for it to swing open, then continued up a straight driveway leading to a house lit up at the end of it. She could already hear the rush of water in the distance, the salt in the air stronger here than it had been as they made their way to the tip of Long Island.
He parked to the side of a circular driveway and turned off the car. He sat for a moment, looking at the house, something complex moving behind his eyes. Then he opened the door and stepped out of the car.
She followed suit, suddenly realizing she didn’t have any of her stuff. No change of clothes. No clean underwear. Not even a toothbrush.
She followed him up the steps of a surprisingly modest house. She didn’t know what she expected. The apartment in Tribeca had been large and obviously expensive, but the decor had been exposed brick and overstuffed sofas and rich carpets on the hardwood. In other words, the opposite of the apartment she shared with Primo.
It should have prepared her for something like this — expensive but lacking the overt display of wealth that was a hallmark of everything Primo bought.
She waited on the porch next to Damian as he unlocked the door. It was too dark to see much beyond the lawn, but the ocean sounded very near, the waves crashing in a rhythm that was already working to soothe her frazzled nerves.
Damian opened the door and stood back for her to enter. She was careful not to brush up against him as she passed, all too aware of the attraction arcing between them like a live wire. She was already on dangerous ground, far from home, alone with her brother’s enemy.
She entered a wide foyer, a staircase rising to a second floor above. Damian closed the door behind them and led the way down a hall, past darkened rooms to an expansive great room at the back of the house. It was dark but she didn’t need lights to see the view highlighted by the wall of windows at the back of the house.
The ocean was stretched out before them as far as the eye could see, a nearly full moon shining a column of light on its waters.
Damian stepped up to the glass and she saw that the windows were actually floor-to-ceiling doors with hinges designed to be invisible to the eye. He folded one of them back and a gust of sea air blew into the room.
“There’s no one on either side for at least half a mile,” he said, walking out onto the deck. “I’ve had the property manager stock the fridge. You should have everything you need to be comfortable.”
“You’re not staying?” she asked.
“I’ll stay tonight because it’s so late,” he said. “But I’ll be out of your way first thing in the morning.”
It seemed like there was more to the sentence, something he wasn’t saying, but it was none of her business. He’d already done too much in bringing her here.
“You’re sure it’s alright that I stay?”
He smiled. “It’s fine. I haven’t been here in ages. Someone should enjoy it.”
She scanned the empty beach, a desolate strip of sand that extended in either direction. “It’s a beautiful place. Why don’t you come more often?”
