The Last Girl (Sand & Fog #7) Page 7

  “Only if you’re sure.”

  Please, Mom, don’t be worried or hurt. Her body was emoting like a physical vibration against mine. “I’m sure.”

  I held her until I felt a firm squeeze, then I stepped back. I left the kitchen quickly for the hallway that led to my dad’s recording studio. It was where he always met privately with his visitors, and I hoped that, whoever was there, the next round of my homecoming wouldn’t go as badly as in the kitchen with Chrissie.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE STUDIO DOOR WAS ajar, and I could hear music echoing in the wood-floored hallway long before I reached the room.

  That made me happy, instantly uplifting my mood. It meant whoever the Bentley belonged to was one of Dad’s musician friends, and even better, I loved the sounds of home and hearing him play softened the edges of the tension I’d left the kitchen with.

  In good times and bad, it was the familiar melody of my family I counted on to carry me through: my mom or dad singing, either live or by recording; the signature sound only my dad could create with the metal strings of a guitar; laughter and the loud, overlapping voices of my family that there’d soon be as my siblings started trickling in one by one to see me.

  When I reached the studio, I didn’t immediately go in. Dad was jamming with someone, I could hear they were in the pocket going to town on one of my dad’s earliest releases, and I waited for the music to stop. It was hard to say how much later I heard my dad’s voice from the room, but it was my chance to interrupt and I did.

  My face filled with a smile, I pushed open the door and stepped in. “Guess who the cat dragged home...”

  I felt it before I realized it: the stare immediately fixed on me and the large body rapidly setting down a guitar to stand. It stopped my words and forward motion.

  Now, I’m not the kind of girl who loses her composure, or fumbles through awkward moments, or turns into a jumbled mess when there’s a handsome man in the room. Well, not generally, I reminded myself, except it seemed with him.

  Forget that we were in Paris together half a day ago or that I thought I’d left France before him, which should have made this moment completely impossible, because I’d landed smack-dab in the center of impossible for a second time in less than twenty-four hours. Probably thanks to the nuisance of customs, a process I couldn’t avoid and he apparently could, was my guess for how it’d happened that he’d reached my house before me. Because there he stood, staring at me like my father was.

  The owner of the Bentley and my most recent Khloe embarrassing moment. Full lips, beautiful teeth, chestnut-brown hair, amber tiger eyes, dressed in jeans and a pullover sweater, and smiling in a way that should have calmed me but didn’t.

  There wasn’t time to question how he knew my father; it was irrelevant because he obviously did. There wasn’t a need to question why he was there, not from what was in his gaze. And there was much I should have thought through in my greeting, especially in front of my dad, but I didn’t.

  “Hello, Damon. It’s nice to see you again.”

  My dad lifted an eyebrow at that, but it wasn’t enough to claim my attention from the man whose smile slipped into a grin.

  “I’m flattered you remember me,” he said, smooth and gracious. “Ours was such a brief introduction. Had I known you were Alan’s daughter it would not have been that way.”

  Flattered, my ass, and brief introduction likewise. By no magic of loose definition could anyone call our minutes in Paris an introduction.

  His arched brow conveyed I wasn’t winging through this with aplomb, that he’d hoped I would, and belatedly it occurred to me that he hadn’t told my dad we’d met.

  “I remember everyone I meet, whether I like them or not.” I had no clue why I said that out loud, except Damon scrambled both my mouth and brain.

  “From the sounds of it, I should consider myself fortunate you remember me at all, KK,” Damon surmised charmingly.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “What?”

  “KK.”

  My dad’s black stare grew more intense and widened. “I guess introductions aren’t necessary. Come give your dad a hug. It’s good to have you home, princess.”

  I gratefully went to my father and stepped into his open arms. “I missed you, Dad.”

  He kissed my black curls. “Doesn’t sound to me like you’ve had a moment to miss me. Your travels are always very amusing. I can’t wait to hear how you know Damon.”

  Great, not a subject I want to discuss with anyone.

  “Mom wants you on the patio in ten minutes,” I said, keeping my gaze trained only on Dad.

  Alan laughed. “Then I’ll be there in nine.”

  I was able to lose myself briefly in Dad’s smile. “No, ten minutes always means twenty from you.”

  “Cheeky girl,” he growled affectionately.

  I crinkled my nose. “I’ll get out of your way.”

  Without daring another glance in Damon’s direction, I kissed my dad’s cheek and went toward the door.

  “I should get out of your way also, sir. I’ve intruded long enough.”

  Damon’s voice entered my ears and ran white-hot through my body, the richness of his baritone stirring my senses and the respect he paid my father confusing me. Sir? From an HRH to my dad. I couldn’t comprehend his deference.

  “You haven’t intruded at all,” I heard my dad respond, and the two men began quickly talking to each other, Damon with respect and my dad with his elegant superiority.

  Thinking my second interlude with Damon Saxe was officially ended, I was about to pat myself on the back for the neat escape I’d made when my dad said, “You’re no intrusion, Damon. Join us on the patio. You haven’t met my wife yet and Chrissie would be disappointed if you didn’t stay.”

  NOT MANY PEOPLE COULD say they’d just gotten their ass kicked by charm, but I could.

  As I fled down the hallway toward my bedroom I was certain that was what had just happened in the studio via Damon. I’d wanted him gone from my existence and instead he’d wormed an invitation to stay longer.

  That he was in my house was no less difficult to make sense of than the certainty that he was there because of me. The two thoughts were ridiculously vain and borderline preposterous, but it didn’t change the absolute way I felt them to be true.

  Why had Damon Saxe followed me from Paris to California? Instinctively I knew it wasn’t exclusively because he was interested in me—though he was. I suspected it had something to do with my relationship with Zane, Zane’s warning to stay away from Damon, and whatever had brought Damon to my suite at the Hotel Brittany.

  That was what this was about—whatever was going on between Damon and Zane. The only part I couldn’t discern was how I was a party to it, but Damon popping up unexpectedly in my life a second time clearly suggested I was.

  I didn’t believe in kismet or fate or destiny—all that rubbish girls embrace in the hope of finding a happy ending—and I didn’t even believe in happy endings because there would never be one for me.

  I replayed in my head my scant minutes with Damon in our first two meetings. It did nothing to bring understanding and only made my heart race faster with concern over him being here.

  After closing my bedroom door, I leaned back against it and stared at my room with what I was sure was a what the fuck expression on my face.

  I tried to steady my careening thoughts and welling alarm and decide what to do next. This had something to do with Zane. I was sure of that.

  I found my purse laying atop the suitcases Cody had neatly stacked in the center of my bedroom and rummaged for my cell. Damon had made my family’s house his first stop in California, Zane would know why, and it was time to get some answers from him about what was going on.

  Two days ago I’d never met Damon, and Zane had never spoken about him. Now Damon seemed to pop up unexpectedly everywhere I was. I didn’t believe in random occurrences or coincidences, and I didn’t think Damon
being here was either.

  I hit Zane’s number and nervously listened to the rings. It wasn’t until I’d initiated the call that I remembered we’d broken up earlier that morning and he might not be inclined to take a call from me.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  Click.

  “Hey, KK. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you again. What’s going on?”

  I frowned at the phone. He sounded like a beaten puppy, cautious, exhausted, and emotionally drained. Yes, my suspicions were on target. There was some kind of conflict between Zane and Damon, and I was somehow involved in ways I couldn’t imagine.

  “Going on? You gave Damon Saxe my phone number and now he’s at my house. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  As silence stretched between us, I dropped down on the edge of my bed, leaning slightly forward, staring into the screen though we weren’t on video, and waiting.

  A labored sigh passed from Zane and out of the phone speaker. “Don’t freak out. Why do you overreact to everything? It’s nothing. I told Damon about us, he was curious to meet you. That’s all.”

  His explanation was harmless, but how he said it wasn’t. Nervous, and I could feel he was withholding details from me.

  “But why?”

  “Why do you think?” He laughed, abrupt and stilted. “God, KK. A bit paranoid? You’re a beautiful woman, you know that. I showed him a picture of us last August. He was hot trying to get your details after seeing you. Which I didn’t tell him. I told him we’d split up this morning. I guess he got it into his head to make a run at you.”

  A run at me? That didn’t pass the smell test. Damon Saxe didn’t chase women. He didn’t have to. And the hairs on my arms were still standing up, the unfailing alert when someone tried to lie to me. No, Zane’s explanation didn’t hold the feel of truth.

  “You didn’t tell him who I was when you talked about me with him. That part was obvious in how Damon stared at me in Paris. He called me KK, which he wouldn’t have done if he’d known my name.”

  “Fuck, what kind of friend do you think I am? Of course I didn’t tell him anything about you. Not that he didn’t try to worm your details out of me.” Zane was growing rapidly more animated, and it told me he was feeling defensive. “You’re very adamant about maintaining your privacy. And I would never violate your trust. He wanted to know who you are, and I didn’t tell him. That shouldn’t get you angry with me.”

  A sudden thought made me sit up. “Damon wasn’t waiting in our suite at the Hotel Brittany for you. He was there for me.” Another long stretch of quiet came through the phone. My mouth tightened, infuriated. “The silence isn’t working, Zane, and you don’t have to bother denying it. Why would he come to Paris to see me?”

  My legs jiggled as I waited for an explanation.

  “Zane? Answer me.”

  “Fuck,” he growled. “To warn you off me. Jesus Christ, that should be obvious after having spoken to him alone last night. You made quite an impression on him. Enough so that he wouldn’t take my word that I ended it with you this morning. It’s why he called while we were in the air. To confirm I hadn’t lied about ending it. You didn’t take the call, he didn’t trust me after that and there was no way out of it but telling him who you are. That’s why he’s at your house. To verify I’m not lying to him.”

  My brows furrowed as I racked my brain to remember the few sentences Damon had exchanged with me. My interest in you or banking the repulsive thought of leaving you tangled up with Zane. Damn it. Because of how he’d stared at me I’d focused on the former and not the later part of that comment. “None of that makes sense. Why would Damon go to such trouble to warn me off you?”

  “That’s what Damon does. Steps into my life and demolishes it. He doesn’t approve of my lifestyle. Cade and I spent some time with him in Italy last summer while you were home with your family. We drank too much. Talked too much. You know how guys shit talk when we’re together. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I told Damon about Cade and my arrangement with you. I admit the talk got out of hand. Both Cade and I said more than we should have, and I apologize for that. Somehow Damon came away assuming you were some kind of victim of us or something. He believed we were manipulating you and took it on himself to put a stop to it. There. I’ve told you everything. That’s why he was in Paris. He’s got a serious savior complex that’s made him a pain in my ass since we were kids.”

  Oh God, how could Zane have told his cousin about our party lifestyle? It was my private business—everything about me I considered my private business—and Zane knew the rules and that I expected my friends never to talk about me to anyone. New fears sprang up in my thoughts as I wondered what else Zane had run his mouth about to Damon.

  “Stop talking in circles. What does he think I should know about you that I don’t?”

  “Nothing, KK. You know everything about me,” Zane exclaimed, his voice rough and miserable.

  “I don’t think I do. In fact, I’m starting to feel like I’ve completely misjudged you as a friend.”

  “How could you say that?” My observation had hurt and made him angry.

  “Because you lied to me in Paris and you’re lying to me now,” I announced firmly.

  “Believe what you want. It’s clear you’re not going to believe me.”

  “I would believe you if you’d told me the truth.”

  “Which I have. Damn it, I love you. I didn’t want Damon stepping in and ruining what we have, and I didn’t want to end it with you in Paris. But I couldn’t stop him and there didn’t seem to be another choice. Damon’s got everything wrong in his head. But you don’t have to believe me. Talk to him. You’ll hear everything I’ve been telling you from him.”

  “You warned me to stay away from him. Now you’re telling me to talk to him. Which is it I’m supposed to do, Zane?”

  “You wouldn’t take my advice even if I gave it.”

  “What haven’t you told me, Zane?” As crazy as the worry was, I couldn’t stop myself from asking. “Is he here to tell my dad about things? How I live when I’m in Europe?”

  Zane laughed so hard my nerves nearly snapped. “God, I’ve never known anyone more paranoid about what their parents know about them. You’re twenty-two. You really need to have a straight talk with your parents. And, no, polite warnings to a father about their daughter’s behavior wouldn’t be Damon’s style. But whatever happens, Khloe, remember, sometimes the savior isn’t the good guy. For your own sake, stay clear of him. With everything you have going on in your life, he’s a problem you don’t need.”

  My face contorted from my welling emotion. Everything going on in my life. Polite euphemisms like episode and vague banalities like everything. That was the closest any of my friends ever came to talking about the issue I desperately kept secret.

  Unlike Cody, I wasn’t critical of their lack of seriousness with the issue I lived with daily. It was why they were my preferred circle of friends, what I liked about being with them, and the balance that made my days home with my family easier for me.

  “Zane? When you were drunk in Italy, you didn’t tell him what I told you in confidence, did you?” I expected him to snap “no,” and when he didn’t my eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Outside my family, you’re the only person who knows other than Cia and Gretchen. I’ve never even told Cade. Whether you tell me now or I find out later, I’ll know it was you if Damon...”

  The call clicked off before I finished, and my worry anxiously churned in my stomach. I felt like my very existence was careening out of my control and as if I were totally exposed, and I wasn’t even sure I was either.

  Calling Zane hadn’t helped anything. I was no clearer on the purposes of Damon’s mysterious intrusion into my life or what his being at my house could mean to my future. Rather than answering my questions, confronting Zane had added to them.

  Instead of joining my parents and Damon on the patio for tea, I went to the guesthouse where Cody’s pa
rents lived to see if he was still there.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “HE’S AT THE HOUSE?” Cody sat beside me on the front steps of his parents’ cottage and shook his head.

  “I know, right? Not the homecoming surprise I expected.” I took another big gulp of my wine. One look at my face as I waited at the front door for him was all it took for Cody to grab me a drink and haul me outside to talk. “I can’t make sense of what Zane told me. I can’t believe he told his cousin about me. And I’m not even close to being able to deal with Damon being here. Something is going on, Cody. I can feel it. Why would someone like Damon Saxe even care about how I live when I’m off with my friends?”

  Cody nodded. “Maybe everything Zane told you was bullshit. Ex-boyfriend propaganda. Even though he ended it with you, it doesn’t mean he’d be all right with his cousin stepping into the vacancy. Maybe Damon being here is nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing. You’re the one who always tells me to trust my instincts.”

  “I think your instincts are wrong this time.” He lifted a brow. “Have you considered you might be making a much bigger deal out of this than you should because of all those secrets about your traveling circus that you keep from your parents? It could be you feeling afraid of being found out and not instinct.”

  I lifted my chin in defiance of Cody’s penetrating, probing stare. “I’ve got nothing to be ashamed about. When I’m off with my friends I’m not doing anything I wouldn’t be doing if I were college. That I prefer to keep it my private business doesn’t mean I’m ashamed. I’m not.”

  “Then you’ve got no reason to worry over why Damon’s here.”

  Cody was unfailingly levelheaded, but I sensed he was wrong about there being no cause for concern. I propped my chin on my palm and stared across the lawn at the privacy wall that blocked the view of the patio where Damon no doubt sat with my parents.