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, atavistic 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.