Rule's Obsession(23)

As she stared up at him, a current of both pleasure and panic slid through her system. She remained silent, and he continued, "When I get home from work, I want you to be here. I want you to sleep in my bed every night without question. I want to know where you are and that you're safe when I'm not with you."

With his words, his strokes became stronger, more determined, and full-blown arousal came roaring back. His fingers left her chin and together, they looked down at where they were joined. The sight was more than erotic; it was profoundly sexual and within mere minutes, they were exploding in each other's arms as the wave crashed over them both.

In the next moments, he'd carefully released her and balanced her on her feet. He'd led her to the bathroom where he'd cleaned her up gently and patiently. When she'd climbed into bed on legs that trembled, he'd followed her there and had taken her into his arms.

She was lying on her back and he turned to face her. Propping himself up on an elbow, he leaned over her. "I want an answer."

Torn by conflicting feelings, she tried to answer him, "I don't know. It's a lot to think about."

"No, it's not. It's simple . . . nothing to think about," he shot back, determination lacing his words.

Angie held onto her resolve by thinking of the logistics. "The salon is so far away from here."

His eyes glittered but he remained silent. Watching him, it hit her all at once and she blurted out, "You want me to quit my job."

He inclined his head but said nothing, only continued to watch her with his hawk-like eyes.

"I don't know if I can get another one around here," she replied, knowing damn good and well she was feeling him out, trying to get inside his head to find out what he was thinking.

His eyes narrowed and he began shaking his head, slowly, back and forth.

"I have to work," she said, half-panicked.

He continued to shake his head.

Deep. This shit was getting deep. "I don't have any money. I mean, not enough--"

"You don't need any money, Angie. You don't need anything." His words were firm, ringing with conviction.

She took a stabilizing breath, forcing herself to calm down. "You want to support me?"

"Yes," he replied unequivocally.

"Why?" She couldn't get too excited here. She knew him. This would be nothing more than a convenience for him. It wasn't as if he wanted marriage. He wanted convenience and she needed to remember that.

"Because I want you here," he said tonelessly, as if he was tired of the debate and didn't want her to question him further.

She remained quiet for a moment. "I'll have to think about it."

His eyes had narrowed as if pissed or displeased. He'd rolled over, switched off the lamp and Angie had tossed and turned and had gotten very little sleep at all.



When her cell phone rang, Angie came back to reality. It was Damian's mother, and she slid the bar to answer. She saw the time and knew he'd be boarding a plane for New York about now. They hadn't resolved anything between them last night.

"Hello," she announced, putting the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she used the opportunity to tidy up her station.

"Hi, darling. How are you?"

Guilt rushed through her. She was beside herself . . . trying to figure out if she should move in with this woman's son. "I'm great," she lied. "And you?"

"Very well. The romance thrives," the older woman said with a hint of humor.

"That is great, then."

"Yes, it is. Listen darling, I'm having a little get together Saturday night and I really, really want you to stop by after you get off work if you can. It's nothing formal . . . not a sit-down meal. Just drinks and finger foods."

A tiny trickle of unease slid down Angie's spine. Damian wouldn't be there but that shouldn't matter. In fact it should be easier as he still didn't want his mother to know about their relationship.

And besides, Angie liked his mother and was pleased that the older woman seemed to care for her as well. "Sounds fun. Should I bring anything?"

"Not a thing. Now I want to warn you that Damian won't be coming. I don't know if you've spoken to him, but he'll be out of town."

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. She remained silent and after an abbreviated pause, Mrs. Rule continued, "Anyway, Rick wants to be introduced to a few of my favorite people, and you're on the list, darling. But not only that, he knows you as well so it would be nice for him to see a familiar face, don't you think?"

"That's so sweet. Yeah, I think it's a good idea. Are you sure I can't bring anything?"

"Nothing, darling. Just your sweet little self."

"Okay. So, what does 'nothing formal' mean?" Angie asked.

"It means you can dress however you want. Casual."

"What are you going to wear?" Casual in Angie's world meant blue jeans or shorts. But she didn't think Mrs. Rule's idea of casual was the same.

"I'm going to wear a wrap-dress. I've had it for years but it's a classic. It has good lines . . . and I feel really good in it. I'm still at that stage in the relationship where I worry over these things."

Angie heard the excitement in the other woman's voice. "Okay, I'll wear a sundress then. How's that?"

"That sounds fine, darling. I know you'll be adorable. I think Courtney mentioned she's going to wear something along the same lines. Now do you remember how to get to the house?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm sure I'll be able to find it."





Chapter Nine




The rest of the week dragged for Angie. Work was exhausting, and every spare minute she had, she worried about the decision she was going to have to make when Damian returned.

She pretty much already knew that she wanted to move in with him. But she wasn't thrilled about quitting her job. She needed to stand on her own two feet, to make her own money. If something happened to them, if they broke up, she didn't want to be left out in the cold with no income and no place to live.

It occurred to her that she might offer him a compromise. Maybe during the week she could stay at her apartment, but on her days off, she could come stay with him. It wasn't the best idea, but it was all she could come up with. It wasn't really any different than the routine they'd already fallen into, but they'd never acknowledged it out loud.

She held on to the belief that the suggestion might appease him but the text messages she'd received from him during the week made her realize he wouldn't go for the idea.

His first had come the morning after he'd left. Slept like shit.

She'd sent back a reply: I'm sorry. Mattress uncomfortable?

It was fine.

She keyed in a quick response. I'm sure it's difficult to be away from home.

His response came back instantaneously. It's difficult to be away from you.

Angie read his response and heat bloomed through her veins and in that moment, she decided not to play any more games. I miss you.

He hadn't answered, but she figured that he'd either been called away by his business dealings or maybe he thought that his feelings had already been explained. And they had. She knew he missed her.

The next morning his text was more abrasive but no less disconcerting to her. Why don't you quit that fucking job and catch a flight up here?

Angie stared at the screen while the blood pumped furiously through her veins. She stalled, not knowing how to answer. Seconds turned into minutes and finally, she keyed, I can't.

She hadn't heard from him since.

On Saturday night after work, Angie went home and showered and changed clothes before heading to the Rule household. She'd splurged on a spray-tan the day before, and she felt pretty good in her ankle-length summer sundress and sandals. She'd forgotten what it was like to wear color; leaving the black behind almost felt as if she'd come out of mourning.

When she arrived, the door was opened by a man she recognized. He was the same man who'd pulled Courtney from the last party she'd attended, and there was absolutely no doubt in her mind that he was one of Damian's brothers. With the door wide, he stared at her on the threshold and raised a single eyebrow. A stream of shock slid down her spine. The resemblance was uncanny. Both of these Rule men were tall, dark, and undeniably handsome. They both had dark, wavy hair and their skin tone was almost swarthy, as if they belonged to the great American melting pot of ethnicity.

"Hi," she said, almost stumbling over the word as he continued to stare down at her.

He paused in his perusal, and then pushed the door wide. "Come in."

"Thanks."

As she stepped over the threshold and looked around, he said from behind her, "You belong to Damian."

She stopped short and turned to face him. "I don't really belong to anybody."

"Right."

Before she had time to answer, his mother sailed up with a smile and a champagne glass dangling from her fingers. "Angie, darling." The older woman leaned in and gave Angie an embracing hug that threatened to slosh the liquid from her glass. Angie smiled and hugged her back. "I see you've met my middle son, Nick."

"Oh. Not really." Angie faced the man again and held out her hand, hoping she didn't appear to be as awkward as she felt. "Angie Ross."

He gripped her hand quickly and released her without lingering. "Nick Rule."

Before Angie could say anything more, Justine grabbed her hand and began leading her into the room, while whispering, "He's not for you, darling. We've still got to give Damian time to pull his head from his butt."