by Lynda Chance
As she rattled on and on, Damian could focus on only one thing. Goth girl hadn’t kept the money for herself. She’d given it to her friend, making any disparaging thoughts he may have had about her mercenary ways, false.
He gritted his teeth. He wanted to think of her as mercenary. He needed to think of her as grasping and avaricious. He didn’t care for women who were greedy. In fact, he could now admit that he might have had an underlying reason for giving her the money and setting up the date to begin with. He’d wanted to think badly of her.
But now she’d gone and fucked that up for him. Instead of being greedy, she’d proven herself to be caring and unselfish.
Shit. It pissed him off just thinking about it.
Another nail in his coffin.
****
Angie finished her sandwich and glanced up from wiping down the counters in the small kitchenette.
Her stomach plummeted to her feet as Damian crowded the doorway. He glanced to the right and then to the left before focusing his attention on her with inflexible intent. He took a step forward, and she watched in appalled horror as he both slammed the door and then turned and locked it, trapping her inside the small room with him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The screech came from her throat even as she tried to sound composed. “You can’t be in here.”
“I think you’re wrong.” He lifted his hands with supreme arrogance to indicate his location. “You see me, right?”
“Did you have an appointment?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why else would I be here if I didn’t?”
His hair did look newly trimmed. “You can’t be back here,” she repeated, dumbstruck.
“I have a problem with you that we need to discuss.”
The look in his eyes raised her hackles and she backed up until her spine touched the counter and she couldn’t go any farther. “What’d I do now?” She’d tried, every minute of every day since she’d gotten out of his car, not to think of him, but it was an impossible task.
“You gave away the money,” he accused.
Angie narrowed her eyes as she attempted to understand what his problem with that could be. “So? It was my money, right? You gave it to me, and I gave it to Janice.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said in a voice that promised retribution.
“Why? She needed it more than I did.”
For whatever reason, her comment appeared to land like a hit to his upper torso as Angie saw him actually flinch. He remained silent but took several steps forward until he stood just beyond her comfort zone. She sucked in a breath and steeled her nerves. “Look, I’m sorry if you wanted me to spend it on … a more suitable wardrobe or whatever, but it was my understanding it was mine, to do with as I pleased.”
His generously curved lips parted in a snarl. “It was yours. But you were supposed to want it for yourself.”
All at once, Angie thought she understood. “Oh. Okay. You thought I was a greedy little bitch and now you’re pissed to find out that I’m not. Well, that’s too damn bad.” A flare of temper hardened her voice and every curve of her body radiated defiance, “So you can leave now.”
He didn’t move a single muscle. Unless you counted the tic flaring in his cheek, he was absolutely still as he watched her, like an animal ready to pounce. The accusation in his eyes was menacing, sinister even, but the sexual threat that lay just underneath the surface had Angie hyperventilating.
As she stood rooted to the floor, he came another two steps closer and lifted his hand toward her hair. He did so very slowly, as if giving her a chance to rebuff his advance, and when she became too paralyzed to move, his fingers landed in her hair and spiked through her tresses, holding her scalp within his palm. As he held her hostage, he leaned down and bit at her bottom lip, just a tiny bite, but it reflected his impatience, and it sent currents of thrilling heat radiating through her bloodstream.
She closed her eyes against him, and when she did, his hand tightened on her scalp and his arm wrapped around her waist. “Yeah, you were supposed to be greedy,” he said with anger. “I don’t like greedy women.”
Her eyes flew open to find him staring down at her, his nostrils flaring. His belligerent words struck her in the heart. “Douche bag,” she bit out.
A ferocious look crossed his features and he looked as if he wanted to shake her, but he didn’t. “Not. Nice,” he bit back, and if possible, his hands turned even more vise-like.
“Too damn bad if you don’t like it. You’re not the boss of me; you don’t tell me how to act.”
“I don’t give a shit about being the boss of you. I don’t want to tell you how to act. All. I. Want. Is. To. Fuck. You.”
She took a quick intake of breath and ignored the tingle between her legs. “Too bad. You’re an ass. A fucking—”
Her words were cut off when his mouth swept down onto hers and every thought in her head splintered as heat, an amazing heat slid down her spine and coalesced within her veins. A great wave of pleasure inundated every cell in her body, a feeling unlike any she’d ever experienced exploding within and consuming her in its entirety. Her blood began pumping rapidly as his arms held her imprisoned, her femininity no match against his masculine virility as he held her with a barely suppressed violence that excited her so much she could barely manage to breathe.
Angie gave herself approximately ten seconds to enjoy his kiss, maybe twenty, possibly thirty, and then she slid her arms between them and began pushing against him. His chest was like a solid wall of iron, with no give at all, and her fingers spread out over his muscles, testing his strength and trying without much success to force herself to step away from him.
He must have felt her conflicting emotions and he lifted his head, his eyes dilating before focusing on her. A tinge of red colored his cheekbones, and the fervor reflected in his eyes both fascinated her and threatened her ability to stand on her own two feet. When he spoke, his voice was gruff. “I may be an ass, but it’s your fault. If you weren’t so fucking beautiful, maybe you wouldn’t have my head so fucked-up.” As he spoke, the arm that held her slid down and his fingers grabbed the fleshy part of her butt and squeezed, sending new currents of electric heat along her spine. “It would be good, angel,” he said, self-assuredly. “What time do you get off?”
Abruptly his question bled through her messed-up brainwaves, and she realized what he was asking her. “What time do I get off? That’s it? Where’s the sweet talk?” His arrogance and conceit knew no bounds. As she waited for his answer, Angie admitted she wasn’t in any danger of falling in love with him, but she was captivated by his irrefutable strength and masculinity; she knew she shouldn’t be, but she was. The window for imposing her will was narrowing, she could feel herself literally falling under his spell as she wondered for the zillionth time what it would be like to go to bed with him. She ached to sleep with him, and that exasperated the hell out of her. How in the hell could she want to sleep with somebody she didn’t even like?
His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Sweet talk?”
“You warned me that you might try to sweet talk me into bed. What? You can’t even be bothered with that?”
He shrugged a shoulder but made no attempt to release her. “Okay. How’s this?” A frown of concentration came between his brows. “You’re gorgeous and it wouldn’t be just for me. I could get you off, too, baby.”
As his words sank in, Angie began pushing against him. “Oh, my God.” He let her go after a minute pause and she paced across the small room before turning to face him. “You’re unbelievable.”
“What exactly do you want me to say?” he asked, modulating the question evenly.
She began shaking her head in denial. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, and when he spoke, his words were edged with steel. “You’re only denying the inevitable.”
Angie rolled her eyes and began shaking her head. �
�Yeah, I don’t think so.”
“You think you can stay away from me?” His question contained a hint of laughter, an arrogant boastfulness.
“Well, it’s probably going to be hard, what with your silver tongue and all, but I’m going to give it a shot.”
“You’re making fun of me,” he said with a frown.
“Little bit, yeah.”
“You think this is funny?” His tone, though controlled, suddenly held an ominous quality.
“Not really. Just not interested.” Angie bit her lip. She had no idea how she managed to tell such a bold-faced lie.
He studied her a moment in controlled silence, myriad expressions crossing his features. “We’ll see.” With that, he turned and walked out and only when he’d left the building, could Angie begin breathing normally again.
****
A few days later, Angie finished up a haircut and castigated herself for not being able to concentrate as usual. The episode with Damian Rule had screwed up her ability to go on as usual; she didn’t know why, but she felt different. His challenge that she wouldn’t be able to stay away from him was messing her up on the inside, and suddenly, every man she saw on the street or came into contact with at the salon, she compared with him. And much to her annoyance, every one of them came up lacking. As she swept up around her station after her last customer, the receptionist, a girl called Amber, came up to her. “There’s a lady who wants to see you.”
“Who is it?” Angie asked, wishing she had a few minutes before her next appointment to calm her nerves.
“I didn’t ask.” The girl went back to the front of the salon and Angie followed her. Much to her shock, Damian’s mother slid to her feet and before Angie could catch her breath, the older woman enveloped her in a warm hug.
“Surprised to see me?”
Surprise didn’t begin to cover it. Think of the devil and his mother appears. “Sure am. How are you, Mrs. Rule?”
“I’m well, darling. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d come check out your little shop. It’s nice.” She glanced around, smiling. “Do you have time to sneak out for a while? I’d love to take you to lunch and we can have a nice, long chat.”
A chat? Um, no. “I wish I could, but I’m working straight through. I’ve got appointments lined up all afternoon.”
The older woman’s face fell. “Oh, poo. That’s too bad. Maybe I’ll make an appointment and you can do my hair next week. I’m looking for someone new, anyway. That way we’ll have plenty of time to talk.”
“That sounds wonderful.” That so did not sound wonderful. Angie grabbed a card from the reception desk and handed it to her. “Call anytime. I’d be honored to do your hair.”
“Can we set it up now?”
“Umm,” Angie faltered, “I don’t see why not.” Damn it.
She grabbed the appointment book and they quickly agreed on a date and time and then the other woman gave her a swift hug and began to leave. But before Angie could breathe a sigh of relief, the older woman stopped and said, “You’re just as cute as a little button. I want you to know that it didn’t take me long at all to realize that you’d be perfect for Damian. You look as if you’re a spontaneous kind of girl, and that’s exactly what my son needs in the rigid life he insists on leading.”
Angie had no clue how to react or what to say and stumbled over her answer. “Thank you so much. I’ll see you next week.”
“I’ll be here with bells on, darling.”
Great. Just what Angie was afraid of.
****
On Angie’s day off, she found herself standing in front of a large glass and steel building in the middle of downtown, staring up at it. She glanced back down at the business card Damian had given her and decided that she was definitely in the right place.
Had she made the correct decision to come here? That, she didn’t know. She’d begun losing sleep from worrying about her appointment next week with his mother, and for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what to do about it. Should she tell him? Did he have a clue that instead of meeting her and looking at her with contempt, his mother seemed to actually like her?
And why hadn’t she just picked up the phone and called him? It would have been so simple to give him a head’s up about his mother’s upcoming visit. But no, she hadn’t done that. She was standing in front of his building, refusing to believe that the reason for it was because she couldn’t stay away from him, just as he’d earlier challenged.
She could stay away from him if she wanted to. Of course she could. She couldn’t be controlled by her libido, not if she didn’t allow it.
But who was to say that she shouldn’t allow herself to see him? Who really cared if he was right? This wasn’t about who was right or who was wrong. She was caught up in her own emotions and this didn’t have anything to do with reason.
She acknowledged that he was one of the most compelling men she’d ever met, and the spark of excitement she was experiencing just looking up at the building where he worked was filling her drab life with animation.
Her heart pounding an erratic rhythm, she straightened her spine and walked inside the glass doors.
****
Damian called ‘enter’ and glanced up as his secretary hovered just inside his doorway. “What exactly was it about no interruptions that you failed to understand?” He attempted to control the impatience in his tone but knew that he hadn’t managed it.
She flinched and he felt a small sliver of guilt. He’d been out of sorts for a few weeks and didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. “I’m sorry, sir, but the situation seems a bit out of the ordinary.”
“What exactly, seems out of the ordinary?”
“There’s a woman here to see you—”
“How is that out of the ordinary?” Damian spit the words out. One of the reasons he’d given precise instructions was the amount of work he had scheduled and the random women who occasionally showed up at his office who attempted to stop him from accomplishing it.
“She has a card with your personal cell phone number, and she’s … different.”
Damian’s throat closed up and a tight coil of sexual tension consumed him. “What’s her name?” he managed to ask, fighting his arousal at just the thought of the little witch coming to his office. No need to bust a fuse, Rule, it won’t be her.
“Angela Ross.”
Damian felt his temperature skyrocket. “Send her in.” His abdominal muscles tightened. “And no interruptions while she’s here. Understand? I don’t care if the President of the United States calls. I don’t care if the building catches fire. No interruptions.”
“Yes, sir.” His secretary turned with visible relief and Damian stood up and walked around to the front of his desk, waiting for the little witch with ill-concealed impatience.
****
Angie followed Damian’s secretary across what seemed like miles of plush carpet and walked into the office when indicated. She was still in a state of shock; she’d found out in the reception area that he didn’t merely work in the downtown high-rise, he owned the building.
She heard the door snap closed behind her, and with her heart catching, she faltered just inside the large room. Her gaze was caught and held by dark eyes as he leaned against a desk of solid mahogany while standing completely still, obviously awaiting her arrival. His eyes were both sharp and hooded, his body held in a pose of relaxation that seemed inconsistent with the almost tangible electricity that radiated from him in waves.
Her pulse pounding, her footsteps stalled completely. Before she could get a word out, he pushed off the desk and began to track her across the office, his muscles corded and his eyes reflecting a sheen of purpose. The space between them narrowed rapidly as his eyes fell to her throat and then scanned her body quickly before lifting to her face again.
Any semblance of a smile dissolved as his expression hardened imperceptibly; a raw sizzle filled the air as his brooding features reflected a harsh, ata
vistic hunger that almost brought Angie to her knees as he stood not six inches away in all his tall, masculine glory.
He stood almost indolently for the beat of three seconds before reaching out and seizing her with a dominant force that gave her not an ounce of choice in the matter. He mumbled two words, “Thank fuck,” in a guttural rasp that, had she realized it, contained an evocative foreshadowing of his future intent where she was concerned.
Chapter Four
The oxygen froze in Angie’s lungs as she felt, with some annoyance at herself, his short pursuit closing around her as her blood sizzled with a desperate need to give in to him. He was too good-looking, too compelling, too commanding for her to keep refusing him. She’d already been through the arguments in her head; she wouldn’t be able to come up with the necessary willpower to continue to deny what they both wanted. It was a heated debate she’d been having internally for days and days: Stay away from him. No. He’s bad for you. I don’t care. You might get hurt. I’ll take the chance.
Her mind was in a convoluted frenzy as she stood frozen within his embrace. With the fingers of both hands wrapped around her upper arms, he jerked her forward until her upper torso clashed against the hard planes of his stomach. Immediate, potent awareness hit her in an arousal of need so powerful that she could barely breathe. His mouth swooped down to hers, and as she tried to stand upright, he propelled her backward until her spine was flattened against the door.
One brawny hand released her, and she heard the sibilant hiss of the lock being turned behind her. A delicious shudder of anticipation heated her blood. This was not what she had come here for. She looked up into fevered brown eyes staring down at her and felt seared by his potent magnetism. Her heartbeat hammering in her ears, she couldn’t tell if the pulse she felt pumping came from his chest or hers. Her reaction to him was so swift and violent that she almost couldn’t believe it. Certainly nothing in her past experience had come even remotely close to the overwhelming way that he made her feel.
