15. Soundtrack Piano Music and Nerves

CHAPTER 15

SOUNDTRACK: PIANO MUSIC AND NERVES

“And these are our pates de fruits, compliments of the chef,” the server says two hours later, placing a tiny silver tray onto the table. “We have cranberry, lingonberry, and plum. Can I bring you anything else at all?”

Damien eyes the little jellied candies with a handsome smirk. This is the third or fourth dish that’s appeared compliments of the chef . “I don’t see how there’s anything left in that kitchen that you haven’t already brought us, except the check. I won’t need to eat again,” he declares. “I don’t mean tonight. I mean ever.”

The server grins. “Very well, sir.”

She glides away, and Damien picks up one of the jellied candies and pops it into his mouth. He studies Nicolette with fond eyes. “I have to say that it’s been interesting dining with royalty. You’re a fun date, Overland.”

She feels herself blushing and takes another small sip of wine. She’s already had enough, and the bottle is still half full. “Here,” she says. “Drink some more of this, because I shouldn’t.”

He covers her hand with his. “Can’t, darling. I’m the driver. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Oh.” She lets out a jittery breath. “Does it get old being the driver? Always the one who has to be responsible?”

“Well, sometimes. But it’s a role I chose,” he reminds her. “And for you? It’s a pleasure. ”

Her heart flutters. Hell, her whole body flutters. But there’s also a shiver of nerves that goes along with it.

“You okay over there? You seem a little jumpy all of a sudden.”

It’s true. She’s had a lovely meal up until now. Damien’s enthusiasm for the restaurant was fun. It was his idea to order different things so they could try as many dishes as possible.

They had, and it was all fantastic—maybe even more so because her family wouldn’t dream of swapping bites across the table.

There are too many people in her life who know how to suck the joy out of everything. Damien is not one of them. Which is why she’s suddenly on edge.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” she says resolutely. “I’m just gathering my courage for what comes next.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “The drive home? I don’t think my food coma is actually dangerous.” He reaches across the table and takes her hand. “Hit me, Overland. What’s bothering you?”

Be honest . This is Damien, after all. He listens better than anyone else. “It’s like this—I’m a little nervous because I want you to take me home with you tonight. But I haven’t been with anyone new in…” She blows out a breath. “Over ten years.”

He strokes her hand. “So another time, then. There’s no rush.”

That’s a nice thing to say, and she knows he means it. But earlier tonight, Damien gave an impassioned little speech about not wasting any more time, because you never know how much you’ll have.

She takes another ill-advised sip of wine. It’s a 2015 Bordeaux and outrageously good. There’s no way she can finish the bottle, and that seems like a crime. “I have an idea,” she says suddenly.

The corners of his mouth twitch. “You going to share?”

She raises a hand and gestures to the head of service, who comes shooting over. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Marie? Could you do me a favor and ask the night manager if he has a room open tonight? I don’t know if I feel like driving home.”

“Of course, Ms. Overland. One moment.”

Damien watches her from across the booth. But he doesn’t ask what she’s doing. He only smiles. “Aren’t you going to try the jellied fruit? Or am I the only one who’s going to have to roll out of here. ”

Her heart is thumping, but she takes a candy. The fruity flavor bursts against her tongue.

Marie returns within two minutes, passing Damien the check, and passing Nicolette a key wallet with two cards inside. “Lucky for you, weeknights during stick season are quiet.”

“Thank you so much.” She checks the room number—702. The top floor, so probably a suite. She drops the wallet into her bag. Then she pushes the wine bottle toward Damien. “Here. Now you don’t have to drive back unless you want to. And this wine isn’t going to drink itself.”

His eyes warm as he considers her. Then he reaches for the bottle and pours himself a glass. “I knew you were a fun date. But you should tell me where you see this going.”

Gathering her courage, she reaches across the table and clasps his free hand. “You tell me.” She drops her voice. “I shaved my legs, stashed some condoms in my purse, and got a hotel room.”

His forehead wrinkles. “I’m not great with contextual cues. Could you be more specific?”

“ Damien .”

He smiles suddenly. “Just teasing, Overland.”

She sips her wine, still holding his hand. They lapse into an anticipatory silence. Until this week, Nicolette has rarely allowed herself to consider this moment, even though she’s always been wildly attracted to Damien, from the first time they met.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks in a silky voice.

“The first time we met,” she blurts out. “You were wearing a blue-and-white gingham button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.” She’s always secretly admired his forearms. “That day is seared in my memory.”

He grins. “You, too? I thought it was just me.”

She squeezes his hand. “I was a bit of a wreck, and you were so great. Kind of like right now.”

He drags his thumb across her palm, and she feels it everywhere. “You’re not a wreck, honey. You weren’t then, either. You were just working through some stuff.”

“If you say so. I asked you…” She lets out a nervous la ugh. “…if you knew how I could become a whole lot more interesting in the next two hours. Kind of have the same question right now.”

“Buddy, that’s impossible.” He lifts her hand and leans forward, kissing her knuckles, and his whiskers tickle her skin. “There’s no way you could ever be more interesting than you are right now. I felt the same way fifteen years ago. You’re already all the Nicolette that I ever need you to be.”

When he lifts his brown eyes to hers, they’re full of the same warmth they’ve always held, plus a new and fascinating splash of heat.

Suddenly she’s perfectly ready to go upstairs.

Nicolette has never stayed in the hotel before, so she’s never seen room 702. It’s an exquisite suite done up in a Nordic style, with lots of blond wood, warm lighting, and pale linens. “Wow,” she says.

“Yeah, wow,” he says. “At least your father has killer taste. Nice decor.”

“Oh, he has people for that.” She crosses the room to stand at a floor-to-ceiling window that faces Lake Champlain in the distance. It's been dark for hours, so the view isn't spectacular. But she can pick out the lights of the ferry boat on its way back toward Vermont from New York State.

Damien arrives behind her. She can see his reflection in the glass, and he looks thoughtful. “Nic?”

“Mmm?” She turns around. Since he’s standing so close, she’s kind of trapped herself between the glass and the solid warmth of him. She inhales a whiff of his cologne, and it makes her heart whir.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

A giddy thought bubbles up inside her. “You really want to know?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

Her gaze flickers toward the king-sized bed and its regal white comforter. “I’m wondering how much small talk I have to make before you toss me on that bed.”

“Not much, actually.” He scoops her up into strong arms, and she lets out a little squeak of surprise. “Gotta say, this is more fun than picking up your luggage.”

She laughs into his shirt collar for a second before he sets her down on the end of the bed. “Wait, these boots! I don’t want to kick you.”

“Yeah, Overland,” he says, catching one of her heels in his hand. “The boots were a rookie move.” He fiddles with the zipper.

“Told you I was rusty.” She pushes his hands out of the way and sheds one boot and then the other.

Damien aims his sport coat at a chair, and the moment her boots hit the floor, he’s already easing her onto the bed and covering her body with his.

She sucks in a breath, waiting for his kiss. But it doesn’t come. Instead, he pauses, forearms braced on the bed as he looks down at her. “You were wearing a tank top and a pink sweater.”

“What?” she gasps, her brain muddled by the proximity of his mouth and the delicious weight of his body against her hips.

“The day we met.” He smiles. “I wanted to kiss these freckles.” He drags a fingertip across the bridge of her nose. “You’re blowing my nineteen-year-old mind right now. Every time I ever saw your name on my schedule was like a gift.”

Her breath stutters in her chest. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“I was just a dumb kid, and you intimidated me.” His smile is wry.

“Do I still intimidate you?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Not like that. Sorry for the long wait, but I’m kind of like that wine we drank at dinner—improved with age.”

Then, still smiling, he finally pounces. The first kiss steals her breath with its sweetness. He tastes like red wine and good times. His second kiss is hungrier, though. Almost as hungry as she is.

Her hands go straight to the buttons on his shirt. As she gets to work, he groans happily. “Love your hands on me.”

“Help me out, then,” she demands.

He sits up, straddling her body, his fingers finishing up on the buttons. The muscles in his chest flex as he struggles out of the shirt.

She’s been waiting too long for this view—miles of olive skin over a firm chest. A light dusting of hair between his pecs that gathers down the centerline of his abs before disappearing into his jeans.

There’s also a big scar cutting a slash down one side of his torso. A literal battle scar. But we all have those, and it doesn’t dampen the view. She licks her lips and reaches for his fly.

“You’re going to kill me,” he rasps. “Can I take this off?” He reaches for her sweater.

“Any time,” she says easily. An hour ago, she was nervous about this. And, yeah, this version of Damien—the turned-on, half naked one—might be new to her, but it’s still him , the guy she’s trusted for almost half her life.

That makes it easier when her sweater suddenly whooshes off her body.

And that makes it easier when Damien is suddenly gazing intently at her La Perla lace bra. The see-through one. “Mother of God,” he whispers, running a fingertip down the bra’s plunging neckline and over the swell of her breast. “You can’t even be for real.”

She’s about to argue when his mouth begins a delicious journey around the edges of the lace. Her body flashes hot, and her nipples harden against the lace.

With a happy grunt, Damien kisses the stiff peaks through the lace. His touch makes her shiver. “Spoiler alert, but I also own the matching panties.”

His groan is ravenous. “Show me.”

There’s another scramble while she sheds her suede skirt and tights.

Damien uses the time wisely, dropping his trousers and toeing off his socks, leaving him in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs currently strained by a healthy bulge in front.

Nicolette’s body temperature goes up another degree as she tosses her clothes aside.

“Just damn,” he says, crawling onto the bed again on hands and knees. His gaze is laser hot and making a slow perusal of her body. “I was going to say that I didn’t know they made lingerie this hot. But it’s probably only this hot on you . ”

She shivers under his gaze. And when he drops his mouth to trace the seam of her panties against her tummy, her muscles clench with anticipation.

“Breathe,” he commands.

She gasps for oxygen.

“Good girl,” he purrs before nosing his way down onto the lace.

Her skin is a riot of heat and goosebumps as he teases her with his lips, dropping soft kisses over her panties.

It’s sweet torture, and he doesn’t stop. He spreads her legs and flattens his tongue over the lace until she’s writhing and tugging on his hair. “Damien…” she begs.

“What do you need, Nic?”

Everything . She needs everything. But first she needs… “My purse,” she gasps.

He chuckles. The he rolls off the bed and retrieves her bag from the floor.

“Sorry,” she says, dazed. She unzips the bag and finds the strip of condoms. She’s too turned on to speak any further as Damien casually slips off his boxer briefs, leaving nothing but an ambitious, jutting erection.

He moves around the bed, all popping muscles and warm skin, then lowers that warm body down until he’s seated behind her. Clever fingers unclip her bra, removing it.

And when his hands slide around her ribcage to cup her breasts? She sighs happily.

Damien kisses the back of her neck. “I feel like a lit fuse,” he says against her skin. “Fifteen years I’ve dreamed about this.”

She leans her head back against his chest, looking over her shoulder. “In your dreams, what do we do next?”

He chuckles and buries his face in her neck. “Let’s just say it evolved over time. So which version do you want? The scrappy nineteen-year-old fantasy? Or the go-all-night version from when I was twenty-one? Twenty-five? Thirty? Pick a year.”

Feeling sparkly inside, she hugs his arms around her body. “All right. I pick this year.”

“Mmm, good choice,” he says, kissing the other side of her neck. “ Year thirty-five is hot and filthy. I’ll need you on your hands and knees. Hands on the bed.”

He kisses her neck again, and she feels it everywhere .