Moody Bastard

  Sydney was too…closeted. Too pure. But dammit, answering her sex questions had made him feel incredibly protective of her, and incredibly, inexplicably hot. Who knew what that was about?

  He certainly didn’t.

  His head shot up when his assistant announced Detective Keller to see him, and he told her to let him in.

  “Mr. Knight,” he greeted. “Here’s everything so far on the young man you were inquiring about.”

  “Thank you.” Damien took the proffered file and opened the folder to take a look at some pictures. Sydney, actually, appeared in some. His chest moved proprietarily. “Care to give me a brief?” Damien told him.

  “Clean as a whistle, the young man. No records, not so much as a parking ticket. Although he apparently suffers from ADHD, he’s a model citizen. Works at Will Morgan’s Art Gallery with the young lady in the picture—the one you also instructed me to watch.”

  His assistant rapped on the door. “Sir, there’s a young lady here to see you, Miss Sydney Morgan. She says she doesn’t have an appointment and wonders if you have two minutes.”

  “Speak of the devil and she appears,” Damien murmured, his chest flipping strangely knowing she was here. He pushed to his feet and buttoned his coat button, then slapped the folder shut. “Thanks, Keller, keep me apprised.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He went around his desk as Sydney came into his office, his heart starting to hammer.

  She entered with a decidedly feminine look on her face, a shy look of a woman who’s been known intimately by a man. It had a decidedly erotic effect on Damien. The blood pooled in his groin, and he was overcome by the memory of her—touch me—so fast, that he stiffened his muscles against the surge of desire coming forth. She was a virgin. And she was saving it for someone else. Damien was not going to go there.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, keeping his expression shuttered.

  She stiffened, as though having expected him to greet her differently, then she scowled. “It didn’t work.”

  “No?”

  “Not at all! I need more lessons. I come to ask you to name your price for another evening of lessons, or maybe two or three more. I need to have it nailed down by this weekend so I can make my big move.”

  “Big move? What are you going to do, Sydney? Propose to him?”

  She thrust her chin up. “I’m giving him my v-card, remember?”

  Her words settled like a ton of steel atop his shoulders, making his eyebrows draw low over his eyes. “Get an escort, Sydney, I’m a busy man.”

  “I’m not getting an escort! How am I supposed to talk about this with someone I don’t even know? Please. We may not like each other, Damien, but sexually we go very well. I don’t feel comfortable talking about sex with anyone else.”

  Her nearness made his senses spin, his nipples throb in aching remembrance of her soft little suckles. He wanted a repeat of last night, but he wanted to go all the way with her. All the way. With her.

  She was a rough diamond he ached to uncover. But he wasn’t going to polish her up for some dickhead she loved.

  Even the thought left a sour taste in his mouth. Yesterday had been torture for him. Torture.

  His eyebrows furrowing at the memory, he found himself walking over and stroking a hand down her hair, the feel of it glide under his fingertips causing his heart to turn over in his chest. He had an overwhelming need to fist it in his hands, turn her face up and kiss her. “Take that brown paint off,” he murmured, the huskiness in his voice betraying him.

  She scanned her face as though he confounded her. “You used to make fun of it.”

  He put distance between them, critically aware that if he didn’t, he was going to do something stupid. “Because it was damned lovely on you. You need to read between the lines when a man talks to you. If he teases you, he wants to…Look, just get it off.”

  She scowled.

  “Take that shit off your hair. Don’t ever change for anyone, Sydney, much less a loser man, you got it?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?” he gritted, raking his fingers through his hair, growing exasperated.

  “On whether you’re helping me or not.”

  He should say no. In fact, that’s what his glare should tell her so.

  Sydney was trouble with a capital T and Damien didn’t need to be lusting after some young little thing like her that wanted lessons. He opened his mouth, thinking of saying; Have a good life, Sydney, it’ll probably be an okay one as long as you don’t look me up again, but instead he heard his own voice say, “Meet me at my apartment building at eight.”

  six

  Naturally, he lived in the most expensive building in the city, at the very top floor.

  Sydney could have almost filed her nails in the elevator, the ride took so long.

  Damien opened the door in a white dress shirt, and dark slacks. The top buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned—and even with the merest glimpse of his tan skin, it felt like she’d just seen something indecent, her senses kicked into overdrive so bad.

  “Hi,” she said, her smile trembling.

  She didn’t know why she was so disappointed that Damien looked less than thrilled to see her, just shrugging and letting her pass.

  She hated to admit this, but she’d actually been aflutter at the thought of seeing him again and asking for his help just once more. He was incredibly good with all these sexual things, and if she could get over the fact that she was truly enjoying learning from him, she could actually receive something good from the man, for once in her life.

  Of course she hadn’t rushed to do his bidding about her hair, which might account to his less-than-welcome stare. Which was far better than the look he’d given her before she left his office, when he’d admitted her red hair had looked lovely on her and had surprisingly awakened a ton of butterflies in her stomach. Did he really think her hair had looked damned lovely on her? Then why had he called her Fire Head, damn him.

  “All right, so what’s the problem?” he asked, not even inviting her to seat over at the spacious living room behind him, a place which already appeared crowded with artifacts from his travels.

  “We need something more, Damien,” she began, searching his face as she wondered what had gone wrong with Court this morning. “I kissed him, or at least tried to, and he did not respond the way I liked.”

  His eyes shuttered, heavy lidded, unreadable, as he took a step forward and almost backed her into the door. “Did you brush your lips against his?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you lick yours first?”

  “Yes. I licked his bottom lip, then the top.”

  He dropped his head to gaze down at the floor while his chest expanded on a quick inhale. Then his head shot back up, he tugged on his tie and yanked it off, looking supremely frustrated.

  “We need something more effective,” Sydney pressed.

  “The guy you’re lusting after needs to pull his head out of his fucking vagina. If he doesn’t then nothing you do will work.”

  “I’m not lusting after him. I love him!” I am lusting after you, she thought confusedly.

  She honestly didn’t understand how that could be. She loved Court, knew him from head to toe, but her thoughts had been consumed by Damien. When she kissed Court she had imagined it was Damien. What was wrong with her? She needed Court to react soon before she started getting really confused about everything.

  “What if I caressed him,” she began, taking a step forward. “You know…there.”

  “Be specific.”

  “In his,” she signaled at his sable black pants.

  His eyes were dark. So dark. She’d never seen a night this black. “You want to touch his cock.”

  His voice sent a pleasant shiver up her arms. “Uh, yes.”

  “All right. Let’s see you touch it.”

  She sucked in a surprised breath, watching him, feeling like she’d been offered to go out to Africa
and pet a wild lion.

  His lips curled into a smile, and he took her hand within his, and a spark rushed up her arm. Her heart flipped in her chest when he lowered her hand over himself. There. On the part that was hard and enormously bulging against his dress pants. His hand pressed into hers, forcing her to cup him, his smile still lingering as he watched her with eyes that glimmered like onyxes.

  Her fingers felt seared, and she almost squeaked on contact, but instead she opened her hand to engulf more of him, marveling at his rigidness. His size.

  All those nights she’d wondered about him, wanted him, when she was so young, and now she was touching him. Her brain spun, feeling him under her hand, digging her palm slightly into him and watching his nostrils flare as he held her curious gaze.

  “What do you know of caressing a man?” he asked, his expression becoming somber.

  Her voice wavered. “Whatever you can tell me.”

  He flicked open the button of his slacks, his fingers deft and tanned, and his smile completely faded until his face was all lust. All thoughts of sex.

  “Slide your hand inside,” he rasped, parting his slacks so she could see his cotton briefs beneath. A hot knot of desire formed in her throat as she slipped her fingers into the waistband, the rest of her hand following.

  Oh. My.

  Her eyes blurred when she engulfed him—a very small part of him. He was burning hot inside his pants, and so hard, and so large, he overflowed her ridiculously. Her eyes widened, but his gaze had gone half-mast. He cupped her jaw almost tenderly, and bent his head.

  He kissed her. His mouth was slow but strong, taking hers, opening hers. He grabbed her closer and groaned, pushing her against the wall, grinding his hardness into her palm.

  She gasped from the force of his response. “It worked with you. Do you think it’s the right call?”

  Panting, he shoved himself into her touch again, his face as she’d never seen it, raw with passion. “The only thing that will make that guy’s nuts react is if you kick them, Sydney.”

  Her skin felt feverish for more of his kissing. “Please tell me, Damien.” “No,” he breathed, leaning his head to hers, breathing on her. “Don’t…touch…him…”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t want to touch him.”

  “Why?”

  “You touch a man’s cock when you want sex. You want love? You go for this.” He cupped the back of her head almost gently and covered her lips, his kiss deep and drugging.

  The word “love” coming from his mouth shouldn’t have affected her, it really shouldn’t have, but hearing it in his deep manly voice sent a tremor down her spine.

  She squeezed his erection in her hand and tried to fist him, and his answering growl reverberated in her core. He grabbed her hips and lifted her, and her legs automatically went around his hips, her arms flying to his shoulders as she tried to hold on with a startled squeak.

  He pressed her into the wall and shoved his glorious hardness into her body, grinding it at the juncture of her thighs, pulling back to watch her reaction. Her clitoris responded and swelled and throbbed, and her hips rocked up to him.

  “Damien,” she gasped, her frightened eyes clinging to his. “Does it always…feel so good, so intense…”

  He did it again, grinding, breathing harshly and pressing closer. “No.”

  “Why does it feel like this…?”

  “Because I desperately want you.”

  He overtook her mouth again, and a bolt of lightning shot straight to her core. She shuddered helplessly, needing his touch, needing his kiss, needing to understand why he’d just said what he had said to her.

  She pulled her head back, shocked. Yesterday, he hadn’t wanted her. Had he? She licked her lips, meeting his gaze.

  “You’re teasing me again,” she whispered, not a question, a statement.

  “No,” he murmured, stroking her wet lips with two fingertips. “You’re teasing me. Yesterday, you teased me, Sydney, you…I can’t…”

  He dropped her back to her feet, putting distance between them, jamming his fingers into his hair.

  She frowned as he started pacing, watching him crack his neck to one side, then the other. “But…I don’t understand…”

  Her stomach roiled with need. She could hardly breathe as she stared at his impenetrable back while she arranged her clothes with unsteady hands.

  “Damien, please explain to me. I thought you were okay with it. I don’t understand.”

  “It’s very simple.” He turned, his gaze pinning her to the spot. “If you love him so much—go to him. Do not come to me. If you need him so much—go to him. I owed you for that time I hurt you, I consider that debt paid. I promised not to try to have sex with you…”

  He squared his jaw, his eyes burning. “But if you ever come to my office, if you ever set so much as a foot near me, I won’t care about the promise I made to you. You come looking for me, Sydney, I’ll take it as a sign that you want to fuck me. And I’ll be happy to oblige you. In fact I’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll wish you’d stayed home.”

  She stared dumbly, her mind spinning in confusion and disbelief.

  Because I desperately want you…

  I’ll fuck you so hard…

  He meant that as a threat, maybe. So why did the opposite happen? Her body wanted to melt as those words replayed in her head, but she stiffened against him. He was Damien. He was playing her, he had to be playing her. Wasn’t he?

  “I’m sorry to have put you in this…spot. So don’t worry, I am not coming back. I have a man already, and he’s gentle and kind! I’m going to go all for him on Friday. We have a new exhibition and we usually have dinner from there. It’s the perfect night. So perfect. And I don’t care what you say, I’m going to go for a kiss and I’m also touching his…whatever. Goodbye, Damien.”

  She could feel his angry glare as she stormed out.

  seven

  Hours later, heading home in the back of his car, Damien reached for a drink, his hand unsteady. “Shit.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t need this kind of shit. Sydney made him…vulnerable. He didn’t like it. He never put himself in a position to be rejected like he’d been as a boy. He’d rather bail. He’d rather not be appreciated, not be loved, cared for, wanted, even. He’d rather be alone than hear those words again.

  You’re worthless—you’re as dirty as your fucking bitch of a mother—you have the blood of a drug addict in your veins— You’re not good enough to be a Knight—Don’t set foot here again—You’re not my son—You’re not wanted here.

  Bile rose up in his throat, and he tossed it down with a gulp of whiskey. Sydney was a virgin. What would he do with a virgin? He had no experience with virgins. Hell, she fucking loved another man.

  Did he want her to reject him?

  She’d glory in it. She’d glory in tearing him to pieces just like he’d torn her.

  But for him, it had been a necessity. She’d been too young. Fucking fifteen years old, for God’s sake. Asking a twenty-five year old man to make love to her. He’d had to say no or else he’d prove to his father he was as dirty and worthless as he’d painted him to be.

  He’d sent her away the only way he knew he’d succeed. With harsh words, words that broke the hope in her face until her eyes lost their spark and filled up with tears.

  Who cared that she scrambled his brain with her smiles? Who cared that she’d been the one good thing he’d ever found in San Francisco, the one thing that had made him want to stay just to watch her grow up?

  He’d had to make her stop believing he was some sort of perfect specimen of a man for her.

  It didn’t matter now that he’d been protecting her.

  He’d hurt her. And she would gladly hurt him back.

  Then again…he rubbed his chest and groaned. He was already hurting. He’d been all day glancing out the window, wondering what she was doing, and if now was the moment when this guy would have her s
pread open and moaning while he buried himself in a body Damien wanted to swallow up with his mouth, he wanted her so much.

  That day she’d knocked on his apartment door, fifteen and a baby, he’d had his first and only girlfriend waiting up in his bedroom. He’d denied Sydney and stood at the door, trembling with the need to run after her and hold her, tell her he’d lied when he’d told her he didn’t want her and never would. Instead he’d walked upstairs, and fucked his girlfriend like he was crazy about her, and as soon as they were done, she’d broken up with him—because he’d apparently called her Sydney.

  His family life had been blowing up in smoke before his eyes at the time. He had no last name, no father, and his mother had just died. He’d had to get out of the city before he broke down and sought comfort in the arm of a little teenaged girl who was not equipped to handle life yet, much less a man like him.

  But Sydney wasn’t a little girl anymore. And Damien was no longer running from his past. She was a woman burning for a man. And Damien wanted her to…Burn with me.

  Only me.

  Not thinking anymore, he pressed the button and told his driver, “Go to the Will Morgan Art Gallery.”

  The show was going perfect. Over half the works already had the red sticker that signaled “sold” and there were still more collectors pouring in through the doors. It was a collective exhibition, where she featured most of her artists, and they were all so eclectic and fun, laughter kept erupting from every corner as the collectors got to meet them all.

  She knew Court dreaded these sorts of events with too many people. But he was coping rather well, greeting the collectors, being his wonderful self with everyone.

  Her stomach jittered with excitement as she thought of the painting she had commissioned from Trini Daddy, a Cuban artist whose graffiti works were getting rave reviews across the art scene. Sydney had requested a special work made for Court that would simply say, “I love you, Sydney”—and it would be ready by tomorrow morning.