His expression turns serious. "I almost did. New York was hard. Being away from her. Being tempted. But no more. She's the only woman for me. d.a.m.n, Nik. How did I manage to get her?"

"Because you're a great guy."

"I'm f.u.c.ked up, and you know it."

"Everyone's a little f.u.c.ked up, but Courtney sees the guy underneath. And she loves you."

"She does," he says with a grin. "It amazes me every day, but it's true. She really does." He eyes me sideways. "Speaking of f.u.c.ked up, how are you really doing?"

I pull his jacket tighter around me. "I'm great. I already told you." I stop walking and dig my toes into the sand. The waves come in and swoosh over my bare feet before rushing out again, leaving me sinking a bit, the ground shifting under me.

Beside me, Ollie just gives me that look. Like he knows all my secrets, and I frown because it's true.

I shrug. "It's easier now. College was f.u.c.ked up for a while, but it got better." I shoot him a smile because he'd been a big part of making it get better. "And now, I don't know. But it feels good being away from Texas. Really, I'm doing fine." I shrug again. I don't want to talk right now.

I turn around and start walking. "We should get back."

He nods and falls in step beside me. We walk silently for a while, the lights of Evelyn's house growing closer. The sound of the ocean fills the s.p.a.ce between us. It's deep and rhythmic and I feel like I could get lost in it. Like maybe I already am a little lost.

We walk about fifty more yards, then he pauses. "So how do you feel about tuxedos?" he asks, as if it's the most normal question in the world.

"I feel good about them," I say. "Tuxedos are a time-honored tradition in the world of formal wear. I have to take points off for practicality, though. Hard to surf in a tux. Doable, but hard."

He laughs. "I want you to be my best man," he says, and I get a little lump in my throat. "Courtney's cool with it," he continues, "but she thinks the pictures will look better if you wear a tux. You know, the guy side in penguin suits, the girl side in silk and satin. What do you say?"

I hug myself and blink back tears. "I love you. You know that, right?"

"That's why I'm asking. It was either that or marry you, and I think the second option would p.i.s.s Courtney off." He watches me, obviously expecting me to laugh. When I don't, his expression softens. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For being happy for me."

"I am," I say, but I'm talking from behind my Social Nikki smile. The truth is that things are changing fast, and I don't want Ollie changing, too. He's been my rock for too long. What will happen to me if that rock suddenly shifts?

But I'm not being fair and I know it.

I start walking again.

"Nik?"

I wipe away an errant tear. "Ignore me. I'm just being emotional and weird. Girls and weddings, right?"

"Nothing's changing, Nik," he says, because he's tagged the hormonal excuse for the bulls.h.i.t it is. "Anything you need, anytime. Courtney won't mind."

Fear knifes through me. "She doesn't know about-"

"Of course not. I mean, she knows about Ashley," he says, but that's fair. He and Courtney had been dating when my sister's unexpected suicide had completely shattered me. She'd been more than a sister to me-she'd been my escape from the life my mother molded for me, and even though she'd already gotten married and moved away when she died, the loss had sent me spiraling down. Jamie and Ollie had been my life rafts, so of course he'd talked about it with Courtney.

"I only told Courtney that she'd died and you were grieving," Ollie says urgently. "You know I'd never share your secrets."

My relief is so intense I don't even feel guilty for thinking that Ollie would betray my confidence.

"Looks like we're not the only ones who wanted to escape the hoopla." He's looking toward Evelyn's house. There are people cl.u.s.tered on the balcony, backlit by the light bursting through the window. But they're not the subject of Ollie's comment, and it takes me a second to realize what he sees. When I do, I gasp.

A darkened spiral staircase leads down from the balcony to the weathered boardwalk, and there is a man sitting on the bottom step. I can't see his face-I can't see more than a dark shape. But somehow I'm certain who it is.

We approach, and he stands, and I see that I am right.

"Ms. Fairchild," Stark says, walking forward to meet us. He doesn't look at Ollie at all. His eyes are wholly on me-burning amber and deep, dangerous black. "I was looking for you."

"Oh?" I try to sound cool, but I'm anything but. "Why?"

"You're my responsibility."

I exhale a bubble of laughter. "I hardly see how. I barely even know you, Mr. Stark."

"I promised your boss I'd see you safely home."

Beside me, Ollie steps closer. He clasps my shoulder in a protective gesture. His fingers tighten, and I can feel the pressure even through the thick material of his jacket. "I'm about to head home. I'll be happy to give Nikki a lift. You can consider your responsibility absolved."

Without a word, Stark reaches out to me and takes the lapel of Ollie's jacket between two fingers, as if testing the quality of the material. His hand hovers briefly over the swell of my breast, and I am suddenly aware of how intimate the moment must appear, Ollie and I walking alone on the beach, me wearing his jacket ...

I feel an inexplicable need to explain that there's nothing romantic or s.e.xual between Ollie and me, and it takes a great effort to keep my mouth shut. I tilt my head up to look at Ollie. "That would be great. Are you sure it's not inconvenient?"

"It's no problem at all," he says. His hand is still on my shoulder and he increases the pressure as if urging me on. But there's nowhere to go, Stark is right there, larger than life, and the air between us is charged. If I move, I think ridiculously, I'll end up caught in his web. The thought isn't entirely unpleasant.

"I'm not looking for absolution," Stark says to Ollie. "But I do need Ms. Fairchild to stay. We have business to discuss."

I consider arguing, but I also remember his earlier comment-that if I was trying to find investors for Carl, I was doing a c.r.a.ptastic job of it. I tilt my head and nod to Ollie. "It's okay."

"You're sure?" His voice is tight. Concerned.

"Seriously," I say. "Go on home."

He hesitates, then nods. "I'll call you tomorrow," he says, but he's looking at Stark as he says it. He's gone into full big-brother mode, and I hear the message under the words. And she better be there and fine or there's going to be trouble.

My imagination, I realize, is running wild.

He kisses my cheek and starts to head up the spiral staircase.

"Wait," Stark calls, and Ollie pauses.

I hold my breath, wondering if I'm about to witness some testosterone-laden ritual. But all Stark does is reach out for the shoes that I'm still holding in my right hand. I hand them to him, confused until he steps closer and starts to gently ease me out of Ollie's jacket.

"It's okay," Ollie says. "I'll get it later."

But I am already out of the jacket, having moved quickly so that I can recover the distance between me and Stark.

"No need," Stark says, and his smile is bright and friendly as he hands Ollie the jacket.

Ollie hesitates a nanosecond, then takes it. He slips it on, keeping his eyes on me. "Be careful," he says, then disappears up the dark, twisting stairs.

Careful? What the f.u.c.k?

I glance at Stark to see if he is as bemused as I am, but it's clear that his thoughts have not lingered on Ollie at all. No, he's completely focused on me.

I s.n.a.t.c.h my shoes back. "Do we actually have any business to discuss? Because it seems to me that my business is downtown. With Carl. Preparing for a meeting I'll be attending in just over sixteen hours."

"The paintings," he says easily. "I believe you were going to help me?"

"Your belief system is all screwed up. I recall quite clearly declining your request for help."

"My mistake. I thought you'd changed your mind after I pointed out that I valued your opinion."

"You thought I'd changed my mind?" I repeat. "And on what did you base that hypothesis? The way I walked away from you? The way I ignored you?"

He merely quirks a brow, letting me know that all my surrept.i.tious glances toward him and Audrey Hepburn weren't so surrept.i.tious, after all.

He watches me, probably expecting a pithy comeback, but I'm not going to provide one. At this moment, silence is most definitely the best policy.

I tilt my head up to look at his face. The minimal illumination filtering down from Evelyn's balcony casts his features in shadows. His eyes, however, seem to absorb the light. The amber one, fiery and hot. The other one black and ringed with molten lava, so dark and deep I feel as though I could fall in and get lost. Windows to the soul, I think and then shiver.

"You're cold," he says, then trails a finger down my bare arm. "You have goose b.u.mps."

Well if I didn't before, I surely do now....

"I was fine when I had a coat," I say, and he bursts out laughing. I like the sound of it, so free and easy and always unexpected.

He slips out of his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders, ignoring my protests.

"We're going back inside," I say, shrugging it off and holding it out. "I'm fine, really."

He takes my shoes from me, but ignores the coat. "Put it on. I don't want you catching cold."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," I snap, shoving my arms into the sleeves. "Do you always get what you want?"

His eyes widen, and I realize I've surprised him. "Yes," he says.

Gotta give the guy points for honesty.

"Fine. Let's go inside. Look at some paintings. I'll tell you what I like, and then you'll do whatever you want."

He's looking at me with a somewhat baffled expression. "Excuse me?"

"You just don't seem like the kind of guy who actually takes anybody's advice."

"You're wrong, Nikki," he says, my name sounding like milk chocolate in his mouth. "I consider very carefully any opinion I value."

The heat coming off him is palpable. I no longer need the jacket. h.e.l.l, the d.a.m.n jacket is stifling.

I look away, at the sand, at the ocean, at the sky. Anywhere but at this man. I'm twisted up in knots, but that's not the problem. The problem is, I like the feeling.

"Nikki," he says gently. "Look at me."

I look without thinking, and there's no Social Nikki between us. I'm as naked as if I'd stripped off my dress.

"That man you were with. Who is he to you?"

Blam! Social Nikki is back on duty. I feel my face harden, my eyes grow cold. Damien Stark is like a spider, and I'm the foolish insect he's going to devour.

I look away, but only for a second. When I turn back, I'm flashing the very same plastic smile that he saw on a stage six years ago. I should turn the wattage up and tell him that Ollie is none of his business.

But I don't.

I'm not certain I understand the instinct that brings the answer to my lips, but it's the one that I go with, and as soon as I've spoken, I turn my back to him and begin the walk up the stairs, my words lingering in the air behind me.

"Him? That's Orlando McKee. We used to sleep together."

6.

This isn't exactly true, but it's close enough. It's a story that I can spin and weave without losing the thread of reality.

It's another layer of armor, and where Damien Stark is concerned, I need as much protection as I can get.

He is right behind me on the stairs, but they are too narrow for us to stand side by side.

"Nikki," he says, his voice like a command.

I stop and turn to face him, looking down from my position three steps above him. It's an interesting perspective. I don't think there are many people who've had the opportunity to look down on Damien Stark.

"What is Mr. McKee to you now?"

I'm probably imagining it, but I think I see something vulnerable in Stark's eyes.

"He's a friend," I say. "A very good friend."

I think that's relief on his face, and the juxtaposition of those two emotions-relief and vulnerability-make my breath hitch.

They disappear quickly, though, and his "Are you sleeping with him now?" comes out decidedly frosty.