I am about to take it off and lay it on the decking when Damien stops midway through a lap. He treads water, his body turned toward me, but the shadows and light that play across his face, reflected by the motion of the water, make it impossible for me to read his expression. All I know is that I feel the heavy weight of his gaze upon me, and though I want to cut through the water and go to him, I remain rooted to the spot. It’s fear keeping me here. I’m afraid that I have overstepped my bounds. That I’m interrupting a moment when he needs to be alone, and that instead of comforting him, my presence is going to have the exact opposite effect.

The longer he stays at the far end of the pool, the more that fear grows in me, so that when he finally does move toward me, I take an involuntary step backward.

It is only when I see his face that I stop. He is looking at me with such open adoration that it makes my heart skip a beat.

He stops swimming and stands in the chest-deep water. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“How do you expect me to sleep without you beside me?”

I’ve moved forward again, and the robe floats around me. Damien eases closer, cutting through the water, then tugs on the sash at my waist. The robe drifts open, exposing my body. He slips his hands up to my shoulders and slides it off. The damp material sticks to my arms, but I move forward, leaving the robe behind me, until I am no longer wrapped in silk, but wrapped in Damien’s arms.

“I think I ruined the robe,” I say. “I didn’t actually mean to wear it into the pool. I was watching you and got carried away.”

“I know the feeling.” His hand gently strokes my face while his other arm holds me firmly around the waist, as if afraid I’ll float away like the robe.

“Do you mind that I’m here?”

His mouth curves into an ironic smile and he pulls me closer. I feel his erection press against my thighs. “What do you think?”

I swallow and shake my head. But it’s not sex that I’ve come here for, though with Damien standing naked and erect next to me I am having a hard time recalling what my purpose actually was.

But, no, I do remember. I tilt my head up so that I can look directly in his eyes. “I was worried,” I admit.

“About the phone call? I told you it wasn’t about Carl’s threats.”

I nod, then take a deep breath. “Was it about the tennis center?”

He looks at me sharply. “You know about that?”

“Is that what’s bothering you?”

He hesitates, then gives one curt nod. “Yes.”

I bite my lip, because though I believe him, I’m certain that’s not the full story.

“How did you learn about it?”

“I saw the paper. You left it by the boxing bag.”

The corner of his mouth tugs upward. “Perhaps my subconscious wanted you to find it.”

“Well,” I say with a laugh. “That’s a start.”

As I had hoped, he laughs as well. Then his shoulders relax and he pulls me closer, his arms closing around me in a tight hug. I sigh and put my arms around his neck, then bury my head against his chest.

“I’m not a fan of Richter,” he says. “The idea that a professional tennis facility will bear his name pisses me off.”

“Can’t you do something?”

“I could buy the goddamned center,” he says. “But I won’t.”

I want to look at his face, but I don’t move. I’ve told him that I suspect abuse, but he’s never told me if I’m right or not. I stay very still, wondering if now is the time when Damien Stark will reveal his secrets to me.

“The call that upset me,” he begins. “It was from my father.”

“Oh.” I’m surprised enough that I do move, leaning back so that my weight is supported by his arms as I look into his face. It’s hard, and there’s something dark in his eyes. I’d been right about his earlier hesitation, and this is the reason why. The topic of Damien’s father is never an easy one.

I know they aren’t close. I know that Damien’s father pushed him to compete the same way my mother pushed me into pageant after pageant.

I know all that, because Damien has told me. But what I suspect is truly vile; I believe that Richter was abusing Damien, and that Damien’s father knew. But he forced Damien to stay with the son of a bitch anyway.

I swallow, and then speak the words that I know I shouldn’t: “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” The word is simple and final.

“Right. Okay.” I try to keep my voice casual, but I know I’ve failed when he presses his forehead against mine, his hands firm on my shoulders.

“I know it bothers you,” he says. “And I’m sorry.”

I start to protest. Every Proper Nikki attribute that was pounded into my head by my mother is ready to burst out and reassure him that no, really, it’s fine that he’s keeping secrets, fine that he doesn’t want to talk to me. Fine that though I now turn to him for comfort, he leaves our bed in the middle of the night to find solace in solitude.

Proper Nikki wants to say all of that, but I mentally shove my heel hard into the blond twit’s ass.

I take a deep breath, and this time it’s not Proper Nikki or Rebel Nikki or Social Nikki. It’s just me, wishing that I had some magic formula to make everything better for Damien, whether he tells me the truth or not. “It does bother me,” I admit. “But only because I don’t like to see you wounded.”

“And here I thought I hid my scars so well.” He is only half-teasing.

“You do,” I say. “But you’re talking to an expert at hiding scars. I see them even if no one else does. And I know how much it helped me to talk to you. To know that I could borrow your strength if my own wasn’t enough.”

He starts to speak, but I press a soft finger over his lips and shake my head.

“I mean it when I say that I want to be there for you, Damien, but saying it that way makes me sound more altruistic than I am.” I take a deep breath because honesty is never as easy as it should be. “The truth is that it feels unfair. I’ve shared everything with you, but you still keep so many things locked up tight.”

“Nikki—”

“No,” I interrupt. “This isn’t a demand or an accusation. It’s an apology. Because it was my choice to tell you, and it’s unfair of me to be irritated because you haven’t made the same choice. It’s not like we’re playing Follow the Leader.”

“No,” he agrees, and I see the faintest hint of a smile touch his lips. “But considering how much I enjoyed our game of Simon Says, perhaps we should add that one to our repertoire.”

I cock my head and grimace. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” He pauses. “Thank you.”

I look at him, at this man who commands an empire. But right now the power and the fame and the money mean nothing. He is just a man. My man. And in that moment I must acknowledge the truth that has gone unspoken and unexamined for so long—I am falling in love with Damien Stark.

The thought doesn’t scare me. On the contrary, it makes me smile.

He matches my grin, then brushes his fingertip over my lower lip. I open my mouth, drawing him in, tasting the chlorine and the soft comfort of Damien’s skin. “What are you thinking about?”