Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Damien

"That smells so good already. What is it?" The moan Frankie lets out as she re-enters the kitchen almost does me in. Then I see her in leggings and an oversized t-shirt, looking relaxed. Almost happy. Because of me. "Damien, is everything okay?"

I clear my mind of my dirty thoughts and flash my most charming smile, letting my gaze linger on her body. "Everything's great. Even better now that I get to see you like this. Relaxed. Beautiful."

She rolls her eyes, but the blush on her cheeks tells me she appreciates the compliment. "So, what's making my house smell so amazing?"

"It's nice to meet a woman who isn't afraid to show her love of food."

"Oh, believe me, I love food. A lot. Now, tell me what you've got cooking."

I cover the pot and reach for the bottle of Pinot Noir that I opened on the counter to breathe. "Coq au vin."

She nods approvingly. "Yum. I had it at this French place in Silver Lake. Think you're as good as they are?"

"Absolutely." I hold up my glass with a grin. "Let's toast to new friends getting to know each other better. Much better," I add, because that's my plan for tonight. Getting to know more about the beautiful detective.

She cocks a brow. "Are we friends now?"

I nod. "To be honest, I don't know how any of my other friends taste, but I think we can be friends. Can't we?"

Her gaze is sharp, but there's humor in her eyes. "That depends on your definition of a friend."

I smirk, liking where this is going. "Ask me anything," I tease as she slides that beautiful ass onto a seat at the counter, dangling one long leg seductively. "Go on. Anything."

She takes a sip of wine, savoring it with a moan that I feel in my cock. "Okay. Do your parents love to brag about their successful son?"

My lips curve into a sad smile. "My parents died when I was young. They've been gone for quite some time."

"Oh shit. I'm sorry, Damien. I didn't know."

My smile turns genuine. "It's refreshing that you didn't. Most people think they know everything about me."

"Everything?"

I nod. "So, is it safe to say you haven't googled me?"

"Well," she says, tossing her head from side to side, "I am a detective. But I'm not into celebrities, except Gil Grissom. He makes law enforcement look good. Really good." She laughs at my shocked expression. "What? He does! And he's smart."

Seeing this side of her endears her to me. It's a stark contrast to her usual composed demeanor. It also keeps her off the topic of my childhood. Her eyes light up as she talks about the fictional CSI character, and I'm captivated by her genuine excitement.

"Gil Grissom, huh?" I say, leaning across the marble island to peer into her eyes. "I never pegged you for an old crime show enthusiast. Though I suppose it makes sense, given your line of work."

Frankie's cheeks redden, but she doesn't back down. "What can I say? Old crime shows are my guilty pleasure. And Grissom……well, he's in a league of his own."

I put this info in the back of my mind. The little details, the unexpected quirks, make Frankie all the more intriguing to me. I wonder what other surprises she has in store.

"Well, detective," I say, a playful glint in my eye, "I may not be Gil Grissom, but I hope I can make real-life company look good too. Really good."

She laughs, the sound warms something inside me. "You're doing all right so far, Damien. But don't let it go to your head."

I feign innocence. "This head?" I say, pointing at myself.

"Yes." She giggles. "That head. So, where did you come from? Are you an L.A. native?"

"Sure am. You?"

"Same," she nods, taking another sip. "My parents died when I was young, too, so it's just me now. Well, and Jay, who's practically family."

I consider telling her about Olivia but decide against it. Not yet. "I'm sorry about your parents. That must have been hard."

She nods. "Dad was killed trying to take down a criminal organization." Frankie looks away, telling me her story as though talking to herself. "Mom couldn't handle the grief. She never got over it." She finishes her wine. "So…she…uhm…committed suicide."

"I am so sorry, Francesca," My grief for Francesca is overshadowed by the fact that she's giving me parts of herself she keeps hidden. She's trusting me, which plays into my hands. "Is that why you became a cop? Your father?"

She smiles, holding out her glass for a refill. "No. It was Jay. The way he came in that night like a charging bull was better than anything I'd ever seen. I wanted to feel that strong and powerful."

Interesting. "And do you?"

She nods. "Most days, sure. The job is tough, and the good guys don't always win."

They won't win in my case either, but that's an issue for later. "But it feels good when you get the bad guy, right?"

Frankie shrugs. "Good? It feels good to get them off the street, but it feels great telling the victims' families that the guy who tore their life apart can't hurt anyone else." She smiles wide enough to convince me of her sincerity. "That makes me feel as if I'm making an actual difference instead of just taking out the trash."

She licks her lips, making me long to stick my tongue in her mouth, but I ignore my rising erection. "My father used to say the world needs garbage collectors. They keep everything smelling like roses." I can't believe that memory surfaces right at this moment.

"Been a while since you've thought about your folks?" she asks nodding, a sympathetic smile on her face.

"Yeah," I admit, letting out a shaky sigh. "A long while."

The mood lightens with Frankie's laughter while I add the half-cooked chicken to the pot. "Now I get why you're single. We're terrible at this."

I turn with a grin. "Terrible at what?"

"Fun and flirty date banter, obviously." Her amusement is at odds with her words. "Favorite color?"

"Red. You?"

With her finger on her chin, she bats her eyes flirtatiously before saying, "Purple. Favorite food?"

I don't have a favorite, but that's not a normal get-to-know-you answer. "Uh…Italian."

"Favorite band?" She grins, playing along.

"Don't have one."

She rolls her eyes with fake exasperation. "Hey, you have to pick at least one."

"Okay, I'll bite. Uhm, Queen."

"Freddie Mercury? Really? Me, too. I loved listening to them when I was a kid."

That brings back a memory I don't care to discuss. "When I was a teenager, I was really into rock music and that was the last time I was passionate about music, so Queen it is."

Her brown eyes widen in surprise and then a shocked laughter burst from her. "You were totally one of those grunge-y rock boys, weren't you?"

"I plead the fifth."

Her laughter gets louder at my response and it's such a welcome sound that I don't care it's at my expense. "I'll bet you were adorable. Was black eyeliner involved?" Her eyes go wider as her excitement grows. "Please tell me black eyeliner was involved!"

This is a stark contrast to the Frankie who's been tired and moping around her house for the past week. It's nice to know that she feels my absence as greatly as I feel hers. "There may have been eyeliner involved for a brief period, but that's all you get."

"Thanks. I can picture it clearly," she says, closing her eyes with a sweet smile. "Please tell me that's done because I can't take the aroma of that chicken anymore!"

I lift the lid to poke a thigh and declare, "It's done." We work together for the next few minutes to get dinner on the table. It feels domestic, as if this isn't the first time we've done this.

She views the romantic setting, and her eyes widen. "Wow, this is impressive, Damien."

"Right?" I pull her chair out, and her smile grows brighter. "I'm kind of an impressive guy."

"Modest, too," she adds with a laugh.

"Modesty is overrated. If I ask you about your detective skills, I'd hope you'd say you're good, possibly one of the best. Because it's true." The smile she gives me is playful, and I know my words are getting me closer to where I need to be with this woman.

Instead of answering, she digs into the coq au vin and mashed potatoes. She spears a glazed carrot, eating with a softly erotic moan. "Damien, this is seriously good." She lets out another moan and her eyes roll back in her head. "Damn."

I laugh. "So, I'm forgiven?"

She freezes with a forkful of mashed potatoes halfway to her mouth. "Oh, I see," she says, her brown eyes dancing with amusement. "Is this your sex meal?"

I laugh. "My what ?"

"Sex meal," she says, grinning. "The meal you cook when it's time to get naked."

She's curious about me. Another good sign. "I don't have a sex meal, Francesca."

Her lips pull together into a pout, her brows lifting in disbelief. "Oh, come on. You've never done it?"

"No," I answer honestly. "Because I don't cook for women. Until today."

"What? Why the hell not? You're an incredible cook."

I shrug. "It gives women the wrong impression." It's a lesson I learned the hard way shortly after making my first billion, but well before that, if I'm being honest. "I just don't need the headache."

"And what impression should I glean from this delicious meal?" she asks before taking another bite. "Because damn, I can see why you don't do this for every woman you date ."

My smile widens, genuinely amused. Her words send a rush of warmth through me I haven't felt in forever. "You should glean that I want to know more about you. What you like, what you love. What pisses you off. All of it."

"So, you want my secrets?" she questions playfully.

"And if I do?" This is the moment of truth, whether she'll trust me or keep me at arm's length.

"If you do, this is a good start. Ignoring me for a week, however, is not."

"Message received." Even though I know where this is headed, I like her. She's more intriguing than any other woman I've known. There's strength and confidence about her that pulls me in like a magnet. It's why I'm here tonight. "It wasn't my intention to ignore you," I lie easily.

She waves me off. "Consider that your one pass, Damien. Anymore, and I'm out, no matter how charming you are." She points her fork at me to make sure I understand she's serious.

"Got it, but you definitely underestimate just how charming I can be." I give her a slow and seductive smile, and the way her eyes glaze over is like a fucking aphrodisiac I feel all the way down to my bones.

Francesca sits back, staring at me with her head tilting to the side and a slow smile forming on her lips. "Believe me, it's not possible. It's coming out of your pores. It wafts off you like a second skin."

Her words make me laugh, and that shocks me more than anything. "I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not."

"Welcome to the club."

I lick my lips and lean forward in full seduction mode. "Any club you're in is one I want to belong to, Frankie."

She laughs, but her eyes are full of heat. "See, too much fucking charm. It really is ridiculous, you know." Her smile is playful, and she's not put off by my charm, though she's not completely sold on it either.

"It is ridiculous," I agree. "But you like it, anyway."

"Maybe," she replies before pushing her plate away. "Or maybe I'm just too enchanted by your handsome face to be objective."

I shrug. "Works for me either way."

"Now that's a lie." She calls me out, but I don't mind. "You know you're rich and gorgeous and smart and charming," she begins, rolling her eyes as if extolling my virtues annoys her. "But you want someone to want you because you're smart and funny, probably even kind. You want someone to see you, the real you, and want you despite the rest."

"Then I guess you better get to know me. The real me."

I wonder if she'll like what she sees when that moment arrives.