Lie to Me (8 page)

He kissed her. He couldn’t help himself, and, as they locked lips, he pulled her as close to him as he could, his cock pushing against the hot spot between her thighs. With a groan of agony, he forced himself to pull away. “My meeting,” he said.

She nodded.

He looked at her as he started walking into the living room and she followed him. As he shrugged into his black leather jacket, her eyes never left his face. He knew that because his own gaze never strayed from hers.

She is a Goddess!

As he strode to the door, he heard her footsteps behind him and turned.

She grinned at him, her brown eyes lit like two candles. “We should do this again some time.”

“No we shouldn’t.” He tried to sound harsh, but he broke into a grin. She enticed him to no end.

“We will,” she said, crossing her arms. “We won’t be able to stay away from one another.”

His gaze hit the heavens. “Just what I need. A short-term affair with my ex-wife, who, by the way, turns me on more than any exotic dancer.”

“Hmmm. You that familiar with exotic dancers that you can compare me with one?”

He grabbed her shoulders. “Never needed any. I had you, then my memories of you.” He kissed her quickly, and then left, slamming the door behind him, his legs weak. His bad leg throbbed a little, but he wouldn’t have traded the experience with Casey for anything on earth.

As he stepped down the stairs, he felt a rush of warmth that he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

The glow didn’t last very long. Damian thought about the unpleasant encounter he planned for the following morning.

He hadn’t seen his father in five years. He would have tried for fifty more, but he needed to confront him. And, if he were super unlucky, he’d also have to see Sam…again.

The more pleasant visit, Alex, would happen at another time.

Chapter Five

Miles had reverted back to his normal self the next morning.

Casey, dressed in a ribbed short sleeve white blouse and two-tier knee length brown and white skirt, moved around the kitchen as she poured cereal and milk for a quiet Miles. He’d awakened on time, put on the baseball jersey and jeans she’d set out for him, and then come to the table to sit down, bowing his head.

Frustrated Casey tried to make lighthearted conversation. “Must have felt overwhelming to see Daddy again, huh, Miles?”

Miles nodded. When she handed him a bowl of cereal and a spoon, he dug in right away, still not lifting his gaze.

“You told him a lot of things you never told me.” She stood with her hands on her hips, watching him as she shoveled in the Fruity Flakes.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbled, in a cross voice.

“But you told Dad.” As great as last night had been with Damian, at least in the sack, she was hurt, although relieved that her son had confided in him.

“Dad’s like me.” He kept eating. “You’re not. You were perfect.”

Casey froze. “Where did you get that idea, hon?”

Miles set down his spoon and looked at her with flashing eyes. “Lots of people—teachers, the principal—they tell me what a perfect student you were.” He put his elbow on the table and dug his fist into his cheek.

Casey let out a breath.
Great.
No wonder he didn’t confide in her about school. She sat down on the chair beside her son. “You didn’t tell me Grandpa hit you.”

“I deserved it. I’m bad. Plus he acted sorry both times.”

Casey’s gut clenched.

There was a knock on the door. Miles flew off his chair and answered the door before Casey could even get up. “Daddy!” He jumped into his arms.

Damian picked him up and hugged him as Casey approached them, unable to keep a smile off her face. His hair looked mussed and freshly washed, and he looked sharp with his black leather jacket unzipped, a blue t-shirt underneath it, and a starched pair of light jeans. Her body heated as she thought of the night before. He hadn’t forgotten either, if his bright eyes told the story. As his gaze fell to the boy in his arms, he smiled gently. Casey warmed. It was sweet to watch Damian’s change in demeanor when he held Miles.

“Why are you here?” Miles gripped him around the neck for dear life. “To see me?”

He nodded, but his eyes were on Casey. “I’m going to school, talk to the principal, charm a few teachers—you have that Ballantine charm too, Miles,” he grinned, as did Casey, “I’ll let everyone see I’m not the drunken dad I used to be.”

“Good. Make the kids shut up about that. It makes me fight ’em.” Miles snuggled into him, his head on his shoulder.

“The kids will like me,” Damian promised. “I’ll make you proud I’m your father.”

Miles pulled back. “You’re so big. No will dare make fun of me after they see you.”

“I’m going to start volunteering too. They’ll get to know me.”

“Cool! I won’t be afra—the kids will be nice to me if
you’re
around. Think I’ll end up tall, like you?”

Damian nodded. “Mom is tall, and the Ballantine men are huge. You’ll tower over everyone by the time you’re fourteen.”

He grinned from ear to ear.

Casey put a hand over her mouth to hold in sobs. She wanted to help too, but couldn’t think of anything to do—

“Case,” Damian said, his voice commanding and firm, “Get your sweater—it’s chilly out. Call the store, your assistant manager, anyone and tell the person to open for you; that you’ll be late. We’re going together as a team, Miles’ parents. And then we have that second visit to make.”

At that moment, she’d never loved him more. No matter what he said about their relationship being all about sex, that wasn’t true. He understood her. He’d included her, knowing she needed that. Grabbing a white sweater off the sofa, she said, “Thanks.”

They locked in a gaze and he winked at her.

Holy Hell, she almost fainted dead away. She hated the control he had over her. It unnerved her.

Damian set Miles down. “Get your coat, sport. School will be different from now on.”

Casey reeled at how the school personnel reacted to Damian’s amicable, but firm demands. In a meeting with the principal and Miles’ teachers, they agreed to test him again. They’d also help him assume leadership roles in class so that he could make more friends, and allow Damian to volunteer at school for as long as he stayed in Wisconsin. Damian took the strongest stand against barbs about the mill being directed at his son, at least from the staff. Not that anyone admitted taking the layoffs out on Miles, but nobody denied it either.

As Casey and Damian left the building, she felt a surge of pride and affection for him, something that transcended the mind-blowing sex of the previous night. He could have taught her father, the congressman, a few tricks about wooing people to his side. He could charm a snake out of its skin without playing a flute.

“I can’t thank you enough,” she said, grabbing his hand as they walked to his rented Honda Civic. “So where are we going now?”

“I’m going to see my father at the mill.” He leaned his back against the car and crossed his arms letting go of her hand, and she saw a dark shadow pace over his features.

“Do you want to go alone?” she asked Damian gently, touching his arm. “I know this will be emotional for you—maybe I’ll just be in the way—”

“No, babe, I
need
you to come with. Need a witness in case either Dad or Sam try to kill me.” He flashed her a grin.

She grinned back at him, enamored, and he reached over to give her a hug.

The paper mill emitted a stench that reminded Damian of rotten eggs. Depending on the wind, certain parts of Wepeika also carried some of the same odor. Damian, when he’d been in favor with his father, had tried researching ways to minimize the smell. His father had fired him before he’d made progress, if, indeed, there was any way to combat the odor. Damian wrinkled his noise as he and Casey strolled down the corridor. “The workers have to smell this all day,” he murmured. “For that alone, they deserve good wages.”

Casey had her hand over her nose and mouth. “You said it.”

Walking through the black tiled floors and dirty whitish walls gave Damian an eerie feeling. He remembered, as a little kid, coming to work with his father. Without a doubt, he’d been his father’s favorite, and heir to the paper mill. Sam had been really jealous of the favoritism. Often Michael had dragged all three sons to work with him, taking special pains to teach even a very young Damian about how to run the business while Sam stood nearby, a more eager pupil, and Alex found paper and pencils to sketch. Damian thought of those times and almost smiled.

Some of the workers recognized him and stared. Others waved. He nodded at those who waved. For the most part, he tried not to meet the curious stares of the workers. Casey grabbed his hand and squeezed it, and he appreciated her silent communication of support.

When he reached Michael Ballantine’s suite of offices, he pushed open the door and stepped into the plush surroundings to confront the secretary. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

Damian flashed her his best grin and paused at her desk. “I can’t believe my eyes, Flora. You look so much younger than you did the day I last saw you.” Which was a day he’d been shit-faced drunk.

Flora, with her crooked bun, glasses, and dour black suit, clasped her hands to her heart.

He bent over the desk and kissed her knuckles. “It’s really me. Flora, was that beau of yours smart enough to marry you?” He winked at the middle-aged woman, remembering years past. While he’d spiraled downhill, she’d mothered him, brought coffee to his desk, and worried about his lifestyle. For a moment she gave him a soft smile that almost made her seem pretty, but, just as fast, it fled. “I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here. I was told to call security if you showed up. Don’t make me do that.”

Damian glanced over at Casey. She gave him a sympathetic look, and he let out a breath. This wouldn’t be pleasant, but he would do it. “Flora, don’t call security, but I have to see my father.” He yanked on Casey’s arm, and started walking toward his father’s office, Casey keeping up with him.

“Wait!” Flora had gotten up and he could hear her carpeted footsteps right behind him. “Damian, you know I’ve always liked you, but—I can’t even repeat what your brother told me—don’t make me have you thrown out, dear.”

“Don’t do it then. I won’t leave even if security comes.” He put his arm around Casey and whisked her down the hallway at a faster pace.

“Please, you can’t! He’s going over some things with—”

“I don’t care if he’s with the President of the United States.” Damian spoke in a pleasant voice, but didn’t break stride. When he reached the oak double doors, he banged his fists against them. “Let me in, damnit!”

Flora spoke up from behind him.” Don’t fire me, sir! I couldn’t stop him!”

“Open up!” Damian ignored her, as he rattled the doorknob. “If you don’t, I’ll kick it in.”

“Oh, great! Just what we need!” Sam, from the other side, sounded furious.

Damian smirked at Casey as he heard both his father and Sam whispering to one another.

“Call the damn cops,” Sam finally said, loud, for his benefit. “Flora, skip security. The cops!”

Damian threw his entire weight against the door, straining the wood. “The police?” He spoke equally as loud. “What a scandal that would be. The Ballantines hate scandals.”

A commanding but calm voice rang out. “Flora, go back to your desk. I’ll take care of the problem.” There was a brief pause. “Sam, let Damian in.”

Hearing his father’s steady, authoritative voice had startled Damian, although he didn’t know why. Maybe from not hearing him for so long. Damian stopped his assault against the door and once again put his arm around Casey. She slid hers around his waist in, what he felt, was a show of support.

A moment later, Sam stood before him, his legs astride, the door not completely open. A large purple bruise marred his jaw and a swollen nose distorted his normally handsome face. Even dressed in one of his brown designer suits, complete with silk tie, he couldn’t capture the distinguished air he flaunted so much.

“What does the other guy look like?” Damian asked with feigned innocence. He knew that, except for a slightly puffy lower lip, he appeared unscathed.