Rule's Obsession(11)

"We tell her the truth? That our relationship is casual?" she clarified.

A muscle flicked at his jaw. "No. The less she knows the better. As far as she's concerned, we're friends, nothing more, no relationship."

"Just friends?" she questioned.

"Just friends," he agreed.

Angie cleared her throat. "And are we?"

His hand left her face as he threaded his fingers through her hair. "What?"

Her pulse became erratic as she questioned, "Are we friends?"

His gaze became almost glazed as he glanced down at her lips and lingered there. Finally, he raised his eyes to hers, but he took his time about answering. "Sure. Why not?"

Why did she get the feeling they were at cross-purposes? "I can't . . . I can't think of a reason."

A half-smile twisted his lips. "As my friend, will you let me buy you dinner tonight?"

The butterflies that had been humming low in her stomach took flight and began beating against her breastbone, because she knew that dinner was definitely not the only thing on his agenda. Say no. Say no. Say. No. She waited a prolonged second before answering, "Okay."

A look of satisfaction crossed his face. "Then, fine. I see no reason we can't be friends."



Her doorbell went off at seven o'clock on the dot that evening. Her nerves had been shot the rest of the day, knowing he was coming to get her, and now, as she opened the door, she took a sustaining breath as she found him leaning negligently against her doorframe.

"Hi." The word was a croak from her throat.

His gaze dropped to her black stilettos and a subtle tension seemed to take hold of his body. "Hello."

"I'm ready to go."

He twisted his head to look inside her apartment, but he made no move to try to go inside. He glanced back at her and cocked his head in a motion for her to follow him. "Let's go."

Angie closed the door and locked it with fingers that shook, and as they walked down the exterior stairs, she held tightly to the rail, the heels on her shoes and the trembling of her limbs making the descent more difficult than usual.

He didn't try to rush her as he led her over to his Mercedes; he opened the door for her and stood back as she sat down. The door closed with a quiet snap, and as he was walking around the car, Angie tried to settle her nerves by taking a few deep breaths.

It didn't work; the only thing it accomplished was to make her hyperventilate.

When he opened his door, sat down and started the engine, her heart rate was still too elevated for comfort. She looked around at the interior of the elegant vehicle, at the detailed luxury, and she knew, without a doubt, that they lived on separate planets.

He looked at her but remained silent, the engine idling.

After a moment, she couldn't stand his hooded stare any longer. "What?"

He let out a sigh, and leaned over and pulled the strap over her shoulder, and buckled it into place. Her heart began pounding a loud cadence, and when he placed a simple kiss on her forehead, she about lost it--her nerves were all over the place. She was elated; she was terrified.

He didn't make idle chatter as they drove to the restaurant, and before long, they were sitting in a corner booth with a bottle of wine between them.

"You didn't wear the lipstick," he accused lightly.

She took a sip of her wine before answering, "You said it was too much."

"It would have been too much if I was forced to stand in a room full of other men and watch them staring at you as if you were fair game."

The smoldering fire in his eyes, combined with his silken words, made a hot ache begin to grow in her belly. "Oh."

"Oh, what?" He reached across the table and picked up her hand in both of his and began to play with her fingers.

Her heart beat unmercifully. "Okay . . . I know you want me to wear the lipstick."

He studied her, making no attempt to hide the fact. "I want you to wear the lipstick when it's just you and me, like it is tonight."

The blood surged from her fingertips where he caressed her. "We'll see," was the only answer she could manage.

He raised one wicked eyebrow. "We'll see?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "Casual, right?" she challenged, in a bid to remind him of their agreement, which surely didn't include him telling her what to do.

He released her hand and leaned back in his seat, picking up his wineglass.

When he only stared at her from across the table, she asked, "Right, Damian?"

After studying her for what was almost too long for comfort, he responded, "We'll see."

The way he copied her words but turned them around made her tremble, and in that moment, she admitted that she felt an unequivocal and total attraction for this man. Trying to get a grip, she wrenched herself away from his undeniable magnetism by flipping open the menu and glancing down.



There was little doubt in Damian's mind that when he died, he was going down. Straight down. He already knew he was doomed, and the scam he was performing on Angie was going to cement the deal. He'd almost fucked up beyond what was repairable when he'd issued that idiotic warning to her. What the hell had he been thinking? He knew the answer to that question; he'd been trying to scare her off because he knew damn good and well that he wouldn't have the willpower to stay away from her all on his own. So, he'd tried to take the power out of his hands and damn if it hadn't almost worked.

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.