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It had been all that had mattered to her high school friends, who had stopped talking to her because her father had killed a man. It had been all that had mattered to Nate, who hadn’t wanted her as much as he had wanted to ingratiate himself with her father and snag himself a little corner of the Randolph empire. And it had been all that had mattered when she had been headhunted for the dream job of pastry chef at a new Parisian restaurant.
She had been so stupidly excited, so proud of the offer and the hard work and skill that she thought had got her noticed so quickly, but they had only wanted her in order to forge a connection with her father, to invite his patronage, perhaps even his investment.
Discovering that had crushed her.
Eventually she had abandoned her father’s name for good. She had returned to Santa Barbara to pull the broken pieces of herself back together and had rebuilt herself as Carrie Miller, creating a life and a business without the weight that accompanied her globally recognisable surname.
It was the best thing she had ever done. Not only did her anonymity feel like a shield against any repeat of the frenzied media hounding that had followed her family and traumatised her as a little girl, it also gave her the luxury of knowing that all her success these past few years was her own, earned by hard work, dedication and skill.
That was all she wanted—to be recognised and treated as her own person, to be judged on her own merits and mistakes, to be accepted and loved for the person she was and not the name she bore.
But, with the past being what it was, would Damon really be able to do that when he was still in so much agony over his father’s death?
Would he be able to see her as Carrie Miller and nothing more?
‘It’s complicated, Damon,’ she said finally, trying to contend with the disappointment crashing through her that she ultimately wasn’t brave enough to take that chance. ‘You just need to trust me. It is better for both of us if this begins and ends right now.’
Displeasure had Damon’s jaw tightening, and Carrie braced herself for a further demonstration of truculence, but instead his arm curled around her waist, and before she knew what was happening he had drawn her flush against his hard body and his mouth had come sweeping down against hers.
The sensation of his firm lips moving with slow sensuality against hers had her eyes fluttering closed, and as the sharp sweetness of the kiss pierced all Carrie’s levels of resistance her body softened with a surrender she had thought it was impossible for her to feel.
For the last five years the thought of being touched by another man had consumed Carrie with fear and anxiety. The memory of how each and every one of Nate’s caresses had been a lie, a mere tool to draw her in and use her for his own ends, had caused her to retreat from whatever small moments of attraction she’d felt and from any physical contact with the opposite sex. But with Damon she was aware of only the heat between them, so hot it burnt away all else, leaving no oxygen for doubts to feed on. She could only feel the rightness of his caresses, could only think of having more—more of his mouth, more of his hands on her body. More and more and more.
‘Say that again,’ Damon murmured against her lips. ‘Now you know how I taste, tell me again that it’s better to end this now.’
Carrie couldn’t. All she could do was stare at him, dazed and amazed and silent. She hadn’t known it was possible for a kiss to be so compelling, to leave her feeling so replete and yet hungry for more at the same time.
With her legs threatening to turn into liquid as the impassioned heat of their kiss continued to burn through her, Carrie curled the hands resting against his strong chest around the lapels of his jacket as her quivering body half collapsed against his. It was a mistake, but one she didn’t recognise until it was too late...until she was achingly aware of every solid line and ridge of his body and the awesome power contained beneath the suavely dressed surface and the gentlemanly veneer it projected.
The thrumming she could feel beneath her hands and the steely press of his erection left her in no doubt that beneath the gentleman was aman. A hot-blooded man who hungered and craved, who sought and took. Who knew how to use his body to drive a woman wild.
As though to prove that very point, Damon lifted a hand to her face and trailed his fingers lightly across her cheekbone. ‘You said this can’t go beyond tonight...but what about tonight? Can we have that?’
The question was unexpected, and Carrie blinked with surprise. Damon’s eyes held a gleam...a look that sent a thousand shivers skittering across her bare shoulders and had feeling pulsing all over her body. She understood what he was asking, what he was proposing. One night together. No questions asked, no answers needed. A continuation of what they had already started.
She should say no. She knew that. That was the smart thing to do. Therightthing to do. But the voice urging that course of action had become very quiet, almost muted by the force of that kiss and by her need for this one man that was building with every passing second, blooming into something larger and stronger every time he touched her.
And Carrie knew in that second that there was only one answer she could give to his question. It was not a choice. It was not a decision. It was a need—an imperative. And it had been from the first moment their eyes had locked.
One night with him. That was all. And then she would walk away, as she already should have done.
‘Yes, we can have tonight,’ she answered, barely able to hear her voice over the riotous beats of the heart.
‘Then if that’s all we have, let’s not waste it. Let’s go somewhere. Just you and me.’
‘But the party....’ Carrie began, looking up to where music and chatter and laughter drifted down to them.
‘Forget about the party. I don’t need to be here. It’s just a chance for Jean-Pierre to show off his chateau. I would rather be with you.’
He wound his fingers through hers, then brought their intertwined hands to brush against his lips. And it was only the lightest press of his mouth, but it completely undid the last bonds holding her together.
‘Then let’s go,’ she said, and smiled before she could think twice.
Damon took her to his penthouse. It was just off the Champs-Elysées, nestled within the architectural beauty and all-round luxury of the city’s Golden Triangle. From the large terrace it offered spectacular midnight views across the whole city. With one sweep of her eyes Carrie could look from the Eiffel Tower to the Sacré-Coeur Basilica to the American Cathedral and the Pantheon.
She did her best to concentrate on the breathtaking sight, but she was too aware of the nerves that had her stomach swooping and the whirring of too many thoughts in her head. Doubts and questions over what she was doing...what she was thinking.Ifshe was thinking.
She knew she had not yet passed the point of no return. She could change her mind and leave, let the memory of Damon fade until it was as if meeting him again had never happened. But then she heard footsteps behind her, and as she looked over her shoulder her eyes crashed into Damon’s, that sinfully slow smile worked its way across his lips, and her head fell silent. The flutters in her chest disappeared. Even her stomach settled. And there was only a peaceful kind of certainty that, even though it was a tangled mess, and even though Damon with his string of previous girlfriends and very public lifestyle was entirely the wrong man to be taking this chance with, she was exactly where she needed to be. Where she should be.
