Rule's Obsession (9 page)

But now he was on a course to mend his fuck-up, and she was falling for it, thank God. Yeah, she was falling for it one hundred percent, and before the night was over, he'd have her in his bed and that was all he cared about.
Fuck the rest of the world
.

He didn't give a shit anymore that she wasn't right for him. His brothers could both go take a flying leap. He was going to keep her and keep her as long as he wanted. After all, how much more damn money did his family need? He didn't really need a wife, shit, he'd been doing without one for all this time, he could continue on for a while longer. He and his brothers were already rolling in dough; they had more goddamn money than they could spend in several lifetimes. So, he wasn't going to think about the business.

For once, he was going to have what he wanted. Since the day his father had died, Damian had lived and breathed the business. He'd taken on the considerable burdens, along with his brothers, and every day of his life since had been dedicated to bringing in the money and keeping his mother and the girls in comfort.

Yeah, there was no denying that he liked the cash. He received satisfaction from closing deals and seeing the money double. And there were other residuals: the women, the real estate, the respect. He admitted that he liked his life and everything about it. He didn't mind working hard, he didn't mind the travel, he didn't mind the responsibility, in fact, he relished it all.

There was only one damn thing that made him edgy. The thought of having to tie himself to a woman solely for the business. He wanted to choose his own woman. He resented the fact that he had to think of the corporation first, even when it came to something so potentially fucking detrimental to his happiness.

But he wasn't going to worry about it right now. He was giving himself permission to do as he liked for a bit, a sabbatical from the pressure of finding the right woman. Because, evidently, he wanted the wrong woman, and for a change, he was going to do something selfish.

His mind made up, he let his responsibilities go and immersed himself in the tantalizing prospect of nailing Angie to his bed.

But first, he had to get through dinner.

He watched her from across the table, the heightened color in her cheekbones giving her a heated flush that accentuated the delicate oval of her face. Her hair was shiny and healthy, hanging in lustrous curls around her shoulders. Her beauty was exotic, and it abruptly occurred to him that this was really going to happen; the fantasy that had been fucking with him for months was within touching distance.

She looked up from the menu and their glances connected; he felt an aggressive, feral need rise in his blood. He struggled to remain seated; there was a persuasive beat in his veins that begged him to pull her from the restaurant at that very moment. He knew he couldn't do that, and it was a test of his control to appear calm. He grasped the edge of the table to keep from reaching across and dragging her from her seat. His knuckles turned white with the effort.

As his attention remained focused on her, her eyes widened imperceptibly and he saw a tiny tremor in her cheek. It hit him all at once that she was somewhat agitated around him, maybe even scared, and instead of making him uneasy, he admitted that her apprehension was a powerful aphrodisiac to the predator within him. He smelled her scent; a primal urge to pursue threatened to overwhelm him. His muscles contracted as his shaft engorged and become rigid. The urge to mate rose up and took over his senses in a compulsion that he had to physically restrain.

It became a contest to see if he could continue sitting in his seat. As he sat back with a false air of indolence, he soothed the beast inside by allowing himself to touch her.

As their eyes held, he reached out, picked up her hand, and laced her fingers through his.

Chapter Five

As Damian seized her hand in an unyielding grasp, Angie knew she was quietly panicking. She could only describe the look on his face one way.
Territorial.
He was silently watching her as if he were going to pounce at any moment. He resembled a predator biding its time, and she felt like the prey that was about to be consumed.

Unable to control her instincts, her eyes broke contact with his and slid down his tightly held body.

His massive shoulders were emphasized by the casual shirt he wore, the material clinging to muscles gone taut. He didn't resemble a businessman in that moment, his look was too powerful. His air of self-confidence was almost too much; it was as if nothing could touch him. As if he held some kind of inner knowledge that told him that he'd always come out the winner.

Angie felt like the spoils in a game that he was about to win. Her heart beat loudly in her ears as she stared at her hand held captive in his. His fingers were long, the ends blunt and callused. They clamped around her hand as if his ownership was a given. Angie sensed that he was ready to spring into action and tighten his grip if she so much as dared to breathe wrong.

She tried to conquer the involuntary reactions of her body that might give him even more power over her. She needed no handicap right now, and with dedicated effort, pasted a serene look on her features as she attempted to keep her pulse from spinning out of control. To say she found him disturbing was a gross understatement; his gaze was sharp and assessing, yet his eyes were filled with a remoteness that refused to show the savage, inner fire she absolutely knew was beating through his bloodstream.

He wanted her. That was indisputable.

There was more than an invitation in the heated depth of his eyes, there was a primitive possession, a merciless, inflexible determination that should have sent her running. But it didn't. She sat rooted to her chair, enticed by his pagan force, beguiled by his posture of authority that demanded her acquiescence.

It was powerful shit
.

Her heart pulsed an erratic beat as all through dinner, he watched her with his hawk-like eyes and his intensity never let up.

They spoke of inconsequential things, and far too soon for her comfort, they'd eaten and he'd paid the bill. He hustled her out to a night gone dark, and before long they were driving down the interstate in a direction that had nothing to do with him taking her home and everything to do with his intentions toward her.

She knew where they were going
.

His hand held hers over the console, his fingers playing with hers and this thumb pressing against her pulse point, making her blood pump more swiftly.

Few words were spoken between them, but Angie knew where this was headed. She wanted it; there was no denying that. How could she not?

He was handsome, rich, and compelling, and she was only human, after all. She experienced a gamut of emotions, all perplexing, but all leading to one thing.
She wanted to go to bed with him
.

And nothing would change that.

He drove to the west side of the city, where property was at a premium, and although the outcome would be the same, she realized that they weren't driving to his condominium. Before long, he was pulling into a driveway protected by a tall, wrought iron fence. He pressed a single button on the dash, and the gate began to open.

As he navigated the long drive, Angie finally found her voice. "Where are we?"

"My house."

A sudden tension filled her when she saw the size of the structure before her. "I thought you lived in a condo."

He glanced over as he pulled the car around back. "I have a condo for convenience." His eyes gleamed like black volcanic rock. "I
live
here."

He pulled into one of four bays, and as he escorted her from the garage, the automatic lights lit up the array of other vehicles parked there. Angie made out a top of the line Range Rover, a disreputable truck that looked as if it had seen better days, and a sports car, shiny and low-slung but she had no idea what it was.

The house itself was nothing less than a mansion. Bigger even than his mother's home had been, Angie had never been in a house of this size or spectrum before, and she was more intimidated than she cared to admit.

As he led her inside and she saw the scope of the rooms themselves and the way the entire house was furnished, she realized that he was far, far richer than she had imagined.
She should have gotten a clue when she found out he owned the business tower.
She swallowed hard as her steps stalled while she looked around. The rooms were picture perfect, putting a modern spin on the traditional. Angie had no idea what she was actually seeing, she'd never been exposed to a world like this before, but she recognized instantly that the walls were filled with art, not just decoration. Across the rooms, there were elegantly pared down pieces of furniture with subtle detailing, interspersed with outrageous Victoria pieces, and yet, they coexisted harmoniously.

As she hovered in frozen amazement, Damian walked back the few steps to where she stood and with a declaration of intent, swiped her wrist and began dragging her up the ornate, sweeping staircase.

A shiver of response took her breath away, and she stumbled once before quickly regaining her footing. Her stomach tied in knots from both the reality of his wealth and the heat blossoming between her thighs; she could barely get her brain to function.

She was on automatic pilot as she followed him up the stairs.

He strode down a corridor, flung a door open and led her inside what was obviously his bedroom. She saw massive furnishings and a sitting room off to the left, but that was all the time he gave her before dragging her over to the bed. He backed down until he was sitting, and spreading his thighs wide, he pulled her between them with little fanfare. Leaving no question of his purpose, he pulled his shirt over his head and sent it falling to the floor.

Feeling bereft of control, Angie gasped as she took in his jacked physique. His biceps were like iron, his chest lined with muscles so tightly laced they showed no give. The tendons of his neck were corded and displayed a pulse working heavily as the blood beat through his veins. Her world spun and careened on its axis as he sank one arm around her waist and pulled her head down with the other, until her lips were almost touching his. His eyes were still open and he paused before proceeding. "It's going to be good." His eyes reflected a harsh, almost demonic light, but his words were sensuous, as if telling her a secret that he knew to be true.

She felt a jolt to her system and with her pulse skittering alarmingly, she responded the only way she knew how, which was nothing less than the truth. "I know."

His hand locked against her spine, drawing her torso slowly, inexorably toward his. Her breasts landed against the hard planes of his chest, and a shudder that she couldn't suppress passed through her.

A tangible, magnetic bond flowed between them as his hand caressed the contours of her back. Her reaction to his touch was swift, almost violent and he watched her steadily, making no attempt to hide the fact. She was very aware of his assessment; she felt her pulse pounding from her fingertips to her toes.

His hands caressed down and locked onto her hips, his fingers biting into her flesh. She inhaled sharply at the possessive contact. Her fingers ached to run all over him, but she attempted to wait until her pounding pulse subsided somewhat and she could attain a level of control. As shivers of attraction raced through her system, she vaguely realized that his breathing was becoming affected. He pulled oxygen in and out of his lungs in a harsh rhythm, and she could see his chest lifting and falling with the effort.

His lips fell to the side of her face, and she felt the heady sensation of his kiss slide from her cheekbone to her ear. A delicious sensation arced down her spine and robbed her of any thought capacity she may have had left. Her world became sensory; all she felt was a drugging sensation as he seared a path down her neck to her shoulders.

Her hands fell to his biceps, and the hard, tactile strength under her fingertips was such a contrast to her own body that her knees weakened. She ached for his kiss on her mouth, but the ecstasy wrought by his attention elsewhere wouldn't allow her to divert him from his direction.

He brought her more tightly into the circle of his embrace by locking his legs around her, and as if knowing she couldn't escape, only then released her hips and brought his hands between them. He began releasing the buttons on her shirt, swiftly and with feverish intent. His gaze was a hundred percent focused on what lay beneath the cloth and a noticeable tic began to pulse in his cheek.

As he pushed open the panels of her blouse and the white curves of her breasts peaked through the lace of her bra, she felt the reflexive jerk of his shoulders under her palms. He breathed deeply, and pushed the shirt off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. His chest rose with his intake of oxygen and his voice came out in a low growl, "I'm trying like fuck to go slow." His eyes lifted to hers and Angie was hit by such a reflection of tortured impatience that it left her almost bewildered. He pulled in a deep breath and continued, "But I'm about to lose it and it's going to go fast."

His hands gripped her shoulders as he waited for an answer and Angie tried to get her short-circuited brain to function, but all she could do was nod her head.

At her agreement, his palms sank around her breasts and squeezed, his fingers unsnapping the center clasp of her bra, releasing her flesh from constraint. He began flicking his thumbs across her nipples in a twin assault, and in a last moment of sanity, Angie asked him, "You've got protection?"