Page 53 of The Queen (Masterpiece Duet 2)
The official name on the paper is Dr. Robert Stanhope, since no serious academic journal would consider publishing work by an undergraduate. I’m getting byline credit, which is still pretty cool.
“I don’t know if I can solve poverty, but I’m going to try.”
“You could try in Tanglewood. There’s still plenty of slums and addiction plaguing the city.”
I had planned to go to Tanglewood, but only in a loose and tenuous way. It will always be my home, the city of my heart, but I wasn’t sure I could handle running into Damon Scott. Wasn’t sure I could handle having him mock me just to prove he didn’t care about anything or anyone.
It’s been months since I last set foot there. Months since I walked out of the Den, my head held high, my heart in pieces. Now that I’ve graduated, I want to go back.
Bitterness seeps into my voice. “And sit in your lap? Have you kiss my feet?”
A rough sound. “I’m sorry about what I said.”
“Sorry,” I repeat dully.
“Sorry that I was a bastard. Sorry that I’m not worthy of you.”
“Don’t mock me,” I say sharply. “Not here. Not now when there’s only two of us.”
“I’m not mocking you. I’m not worthy of you, Penny. Never have been.”
“Then why are you sitting on the floor of my room, the same way you were when I was six years old.”
“Because I’m the same person I was back then too—hungry and scared and so fucking lonely I would have done anything to be close to you.”
Something fits into place in my heart, a proof that has an answer. I can’t quite trust it, though. Logic only takes me so far. There’s still enough hurt to cloud the answer. “And that makes me—what? The girl who found you by the lake? Someone who offers you a pillow?”
“Yeah,” he says, his voice hoarse.
“What about your parties? I’m sure someone there would bring you to their bed.”
“I don’t want them. You know that. I never did.” He sets the papers down beside him. Runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it in that way that makes him not only handsome but devastating. “I never slept with anyone there.”
“Never?” I ask, amused at the idea of Damon Scott as a monk.
“I lost my virginity when I was eight,” he says, and my amusement turns to dust. “I’ve slept with a lot of people in my life. Some by choice. Some not. But when you were sixteen, I kissed you.”
My breath catches, because I remember that kiss. I can’t forget that damned kiss.
“I haven’t touched anyone since.”
“God, Damon. Why are you telling me this?”
“You know. Do you want me to beg? I deserve that. And I’ll do it.”
I make a sound of fierce denial. “Stop.”
“I’m not mocking you.” He laughs, self-deprecating. “I wasn’t mocking you then, not really. Do you know how I dream about you? About serving you? I’m always at your feet, Penny. Always beneath you.”
“So you want to serve me? You want to obey me?”
“Yes,” he says, so fervently I almost believe him.
“Come here then.”
It’s hard to be this close to him and not curl into his chest. Hard to see him smile and wonder if it’s real. It would be so easy to believe every word that comes out of his handsome mouth, but I’ve learned to be careful. If nothing else, dealing with Jonathan Scott has taught me that. With a dark sense of wonder I realize he’s left that legacy.
Damon stands and crosses the room in two long strides. There’s a man in my room. Not just any man, but one who owns a whole city. One who’s done terrible things.
One who’s saved my life.
It would be such a relief to say yes, to absolve him of everything. To hold him to my chest. To fall into his arms and let him take care of me, but I’m not that girl anymore.
“Beg,” I say instead.
Damon Scott does not hesitate. He falls to his knees in front of my small bed, his head lowered. He’s as much a supplicant now as he was a king before. “Let me touch you. Let me hold you. Let me love you the only way I know how.”
There’s a tremor in my chest, but it’s been too long. A semester since I left him. Weeks since he told me he loved me. Years since I first loved him. “What if it’s not enough?”
His voice when he speaks holds a note of fervent prayer, as if I’m more than a person. “When you were small, I loved you as a child—smart and generous. When you were a teenager, I loved you as a young woman, strong enough to face anything.”
I watch him, unable to look away, almost unable to breathe.
“When I saw you walk into the Den, I knew you were more than I could survive. You were the death of me. Every fake smile and stupid fucking laugh. Every time someone thought they were seeing the real Damon Scott. You broke everything.”
