Moody Bastard

  It would ensure the perfect beginning together after the perfect evening tonight.

  Sydney’s smile faltered when a tall, elegantly dressed male strode as though he were owner of the world through the glass doors and into her gallery, and her heart stopped when her eyes stared into that onyx gaze that had, unfortunately, been on her mind more than she wanted it to today.

  He wore a designer suit. He looked extremely sharp, but also a little tired, like he’d had a long day. The impulse to run her hands through his hair and mess it up further, the urge to kiss him, touch him, astonished her. He wasn’t her anything. Why should she want to comfort him?

  Except it was good to see him. Supremely, ridiculously good. Just because her pride demanded it, of course.

  “Hi,” she said, walking over to him. “You wear a suit.”

  “Animals occasionally pluck their feathers when they’re searching for a mate.”

  His smile was slow in coming, but when it came, it was a hundred percent sensuality, his eyes sparkling with such sexual mischief that Sydney could only manage to stare at him, the paintings forgotten, the most compelling work of art in the city suddenly standing before her.

  She’d heard him being called the black diamond, and she could see the hardness in him, the darkness, but also…that elusive worth.

  Her body responded. She remembered the piercings on his nipples, the way she’d tasted his skin. Drawn him into her mouth. His scent, when he stepped closer, tormented her. She closed her legs tighter, clenching her sex to keep it from dampening her panties.

  “Hi there,” Court came over, his beautiful face puzzled.

  “Court this is, uh, this is…”

  Damien stretched out a big hand, standing a head taller than Court, every inch of him so much more…male. “A friend. An intimate friend of Sydney’s.” His smile flashed extra wide, in her opinion. “She invited me to come. She said I definitely had to come.”

  Court stared dumbly at him, and Sydney didn’t know why the word “come” sent such a rush of moisture to pool between her thighs, but no matter how hard she gripped her sex, she felt her panties get wet and she wanted to groan.

  “What about you? Do you come often?” Damien asked Court, his eyes dancing with silent laughter.

  Her best friend eyed her with a look that said where-did-you-find-this-tool, then seemed to shake it off and formally said, “I am Court Reynolds, the gallery manager here at Will Morgan’s Art Gallery.”

  Damien only stared at him with a cold smile, making poor Court jerk his eyes away when he’d had enough, and Sydney’s insides roiled at the thought of Damien spoiling things with Court. Court was too nice and too good to have to put up with Damien’s bullshit.

  “Mr. Knight, thank you so much for coming,” Sydney said sweetly, but with an edge, “The De Kooning work is on hold but I will gladly notify you when it becomes available.”

  Damien’s fingers twitched at his sides. He curled them into fists, his eyes darkening, his smile fading as he met her gaze square on. “I’m not a patient man, Miss Morgan. When I want something, I want it now.”

  Her heart sped at the sexual inflection in his words, in his voice. “I’m sorry,” she said tightly, her voice dropping as she leaned forward just slightly, “someone has first choice.”

  “No, you’re not sorry,” he murmured, reaching out to stroke his knuckles across her jaw. “You’re not sorry at all.”

  A shudder followed in the wake of his touch, and then, a rush of color that heated her cheeks.

  They stared at each other for so long, Sydney forgot Court was standing there, watching. What was wrong with her? For the man who was her best friend and the perfect partner to watch her ogle another man, she felt awful. She had to get rid of Damien. Didn’t Damien warn her away only days ago? What was he doing here, except ruining her evening?

  Gently, she reached out and touched Court’s jacket sleeve, tenderly saying close to his ear, “I’ve known him for years, and he has more money than he knows what to do with. Maybe we can interest him on one of the Cy Twombly’s. Would you bring them out?”

  “Sure.” Smiling and instantly at ease, he pulled her close for a kiss on the cheek, and just the feel of it, the familiarity of his fresh scent and that tender kiss, appeased her, easing the roiling emotions Damien made her feel.

  When she turned, Damien studied her intently, his jaw tight, a muscle twitching at the back. He stepped threateningly closer, making her take a step back.

  “Please leave. Please. Go.” She couldn’t take her body’s response to him. It was too much. Too powerful. “Please go. I don’t want to deal with you today.”

  She didn’t even want to hear his answer. Her plan was perfectly set in motion and she would not let him ruin her evening with Court. Before he could speak, she spun around and fled to her back office, and then stormed out into a small patio, sucking in a lungful of breath air.

  Before her, on the grass, lay the Figure of a Resting Woman, by Fernando Botero, a beautiful curved woman cast in bronze, appearing to lie upon the grass. Sydney loved her curves, loved every inch of that sculpture. She’d belonged to her father and the look of happiness and satisfaction on her face, as though a man had just made love to her, had always made Sydney wonder what it felt like to feel so adored.

  She put her hands on her head and tried to calm down, but her pulse continued pounding in her throat. How could one mere man affect her so much?

  The patter of raindrops surprised her, and she glanced up, grateful for the tent above her head as the raindrops continued slapping down harder. She inhaled a long, calming breath—

  --and gasped when she was pulled her back living breathing brick wall. She recognized him instantly, all of her senses spun with the combination of his smell and warmth and nearness. This man she had bought and somehow owned her.

  Her pulse sped up, the excitement of him being so close causing an instant arousal. She was battling against it when he turned her to face him.

  Their eyes met—his nostrils expanded on a breath. He shot her a look of jealousy and possessiveness and lowered his gaze to her lips. She shut her eyes, moaning softly when he dragged his nose down the length of hers. He moaned too, a deep and pained sound as his arms slid around her waist and pulled her close. Their bodies close. Breasts to chest. She wanted to push him away but didn’t seem to have the energy to do so.

  And before she could find that energy, Damien covered her lips with his own. Another noise rose up her throat and Damien was there, smothering it with his hot and hungry tongue.

  He tightened his hold on her and Sydney’s hand roamed around his shoulders and scratched against his back as they kissed each other as if they were on death’s row.

  With fistfuls of his hair in her hands, she returned his kiss with equal fervor. Damien intensified the kiss by sucking on her tongue and fondling her buttocks with his large hands. He even forced her closer to that she could feel his prominent erection against her abdomen. A pool of arousal flooded Sydney’s panties as her pussy swelled in demand for Damien’s member.

  They were kissing like mad people when an angry voice cut through the haze, the darkness, the sound of rain and her breathing and Damien’s.

  “Look I don’t know who you are—but I don’t like you. And I want you to take your hands off Sydney. Now.”

  Damien went utterly still, and Sydney stiffened, her heart pounding even harder, her hands still in his hair, his hands still shamelessly on her buttocks.

  Damien didn’t turn to recognize the speaker, to even look at him. He tossed the words past his shoulder in an angry bark. “She doesn’t want me to take my hands off her,” he growled, and before she knew it, he was crushing her mouth again, as though to prove his point, to prove to her that she wanted him. That she belonged to him.

  She moaned in pure agony, fighting not to disintegrate under his flaming kiss again, and weakly she pushed at his shoulders, her mind screaming at her not to let Court see this.
r />   “I’m calling the police!” Court shouted.

  She tore free, panicked. “No. Court, its fine. It’s fine. It was a mistake, a stupid moment, he was just leaving!”

  She met Court’s confused blue gaze, feeling awful to put him in this position, not blind to the way his hands tapped restlessly at his sides, and how he was clearly making an effort to stand there. Stand there and protect her.

  Her mouth burned from his kiss, felt swollen and violated by the man who was both her greatest fantasy and her worst nightmare.

  Damien straightened, his broad shoulders heaving as he breathed. He scraped the back of a hand across his own wet mouth, his face grim and enraged. The rain was intensifying, pounding above them.

  “It means nothing, Court,” Sydney assured in shamed little voice, and Damien whipped his face to hers, his eyes narrowing to slits.

  Nothing? He seemed to say, with those eyes.

  She could see the rage spread across his eyes until they almost clawed into her like talons, then he curled his hands into fists at his sides, as though preparing to fight.

  “Go away!” she spat angrily.

  He spun on his heel and walked away, shoving past Court. Her arousal began to calm as soon as he was gone, but as it waned, anger surged within her, so potent she could barely stand it. That bastard. He knew what she’d planned for tonight. She’d told him. Had he just come to ruin her evening?

  Was he satisfied over the way she’d fallen into his trap? Was he thrilled that Court had seen this?

  “What’s going on, Sydney? Who is that man?” Court asked, sounding hurt and confused.

  A ball of emotion gathered at her throat, barely allowing speech. “He’s a man I had a crush on when I was a little girl.”

  “The one who made you cry all the time?”

  With renewed humiliation, she pursed her swollen lips together as her rising rage continued gathering force.

  “The one who only teased you? Who rejected you?” Court continued, sounding genuinely confused.

  The blood began to pound in Sydney’s temples as a surge of reckless anger continued building within her.

  “Why are you even talking to him?” he asked.

  “I’ll explain everything later, I can’t do this right now, Court,” she tried to say as sweetly as she could.

  She charged across the lobby, then outside, overcome with a thousand different emotions. Her body ached, and yet her spirit was raging to lash at him. To hurt him like he always, always, hurt her.

  He was outside, getting pounded by the rain as his chauffer pulled a Bentley around the curve.

  Sydney came over without him noticing.

  Rain pounded on her face, but she didn’t care. As soon as she’d spotted him, something flared inside her like a torch. She felt feral. Furious out of her mind.

  “Damien?”

  When he turned around at the tentative question, she slapped him.

  His head whipped from the unexpected impact, and still unsatisfied, Sydney lifted her hand again, but he snapped out a curse and caught it, jerked the car door open with the other and pushed her inside.

  “You!” she screeched, scrambling to the end of the seat to avoid him.

  “To my place,” he commanded to the driver.

  “No! What are you doing? I need to go back!”

  He slid the compartment window closed so the driver wouldn’t hear them.

  Sydney fumed and struggled to put distance between them, but he grabbed her and, with one jerk made her slide back down to where he was. “Who do you think you are? You’ve ruined tonight for me! You’ve ruined my life! How am I supposed to have sex with Court tonight after he saw you mauling me the way you did?” Sydney cried.

  “Do you really think I will allow you to give to him what you first offered to me? DO YOU?” he growled-yelled.

  An icy sensation spread across her skin, the clothes plastered wetly to her. Heat warred in her core, making the cold on the outside seem even more glacial.

  He raked his gaze across her inexistent curves, perfectly delineated by the flimsy silk blouse she’d worn. “It’s me you want, Sydney,” he ground, cupping her breast in one hand with unexpected gentleness. “You want me…in here.” He squeezed her breast, but it was her heart that pounded beneath his palm. “You want me badly.”

  Her teeth chattered, and he covered them with his lips, swiping his tongue across her lower lip, then stealing inside for a hot, heady taste. She wanted him so much, a fire burst open in her belly, incredibly hot, while her skin was growing numb.

  She stopped breathing and tensed at the contrast, trying to speak but her jaw locked and chattered, and he stopped.

  He cursed and swiftly unbuttoned her shirt, pulling it off her. She squirmed and whimpered, angry and in lust, not wanting him to touch her, not wanting to be desperate for him to touch her.

  She moaned through chattering teeth as he peeled off the sleeves of her blouse, then removed her skirt. She wanted to cry with relief that he would touch her, set her on fire so she could burn down all this anger at him, but instead, he reached for a black wool gabardine lying across the other seat, and gruffly said, “Put this on.”

  Her fingers were cramped as she slid them inside, the coat huge on her frame. Huge and smelling of him. She buried into it and fell quiet, trying to get warm, feeling cold and hot, confused, angry, frustrated. Her breasts ached, her toes, her fingers, her eyes—at the sight of him so near. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to kiss him.

  He’d made her teenage years miserable. Every word he said to her torture. Even the kind ones. Especially the kind ones.

  His shirt was still plastered to his chest, and she had the strangest urge to take it off and make him warm as well. But she wouldn’t. She was angry at him. She had a right to be angry at him! He had kissed her in front of Court! He could freeze for all she cared.

  She loathed the sound of her teeth chattering, but couldn’t shut it up.

  Finally he yanked his own shirt off and sent it with a splat to the opposite seat. Then he reached out and brought her against his chest.

  “You’re like that twilight guy that never has a shirt on,” she said scathingly.

  “Am I supposed to know who the teen stars of your generation are?” he whispered back, his tone soft against the top of her head.

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot you were so old.”

  When he softly chuckled, Sydney was once again frustrated that she couldn’t fight him, had a desperate urge to. How was she going to seduce Court now?

  How was she supposed to want Court when Damien kept kissing her and touching her like that?

  He clutched her closer and slid his hand up and down her arms, trying to warm her. She hated how good it felt, hated that she’d wondered half her life of how it would feel to be in these arms, protected and cared for by this man.

  They arrived at his apartment, and she could still not get warm.

  When he scooped her up, she let him, burying her face in his cold, wet neck so that she didn’t have to see all the people in the lobby. She wanted to lick all the water off his skin. Wanted to slide her fingers along his wet hair. But of course she wouldn’t. This was only attraction. Animal attraction that had nothing to do with love or even compatibility. Damien might drive her body crazy, but the man she loved and really wanted long term was Court.

  Oh Court.

  The thought made her miserable all over again.

  Shivering in his arms as the cold began to numb her on the inside, she didn’t want Damien to set her down, prayed for him not to set her on her feet in the elevator. He didn’t. Instead he tightened his hold and said shhhh as he gathered her to his muscular frame and he felt inexplicably warm against her.

  Oh my.

  She was disappointed in herself. She felt like she didn’t know this woman anymore, this…wanton. She felt that if Damien touched her tonight, she’d die. And if he didn’t? She’d die, too.

  She buried her face in his neck inste
ad and told her brain not to think for a second, let her just relax for a little bit—let her be held like this, if only for a couple of more minutes, until she called Court to come get her.

  Bubbling with rage, body strained with emotions and desire so fierce he could hardly stand it, Damien turned on the shower, his hand shaking as the hot water came rushing out while Sydney sat chattering on the bench of his marble bathroom, her lips a little too blue, to his liking.

  She wouldn’t be so cold if she had a little meat on her bones, but she was all bones and creamy white flesh, and she looked like a wet kitten, her brown hair clinging to the sides of her pretty oval face, his gabardine huge and draped awkwardly on her slim shoulders.

  He stalked back to fetch her, dreading to get turned on again by the sight of her nakedness, but he’d never even managed to get rid of this enormous woody, so yeah, he was still incredibly hard.

  The way she’d held onto him right now, as though she enjoyed his arms around her as much as he enjoyed holding her, dear God.

  He wanted her nipples in his mouth, her juices sluicing down his goddamned throat. A flash of jealousy struck him as he remembered the way she’d looked at her stupid blond friend, followed by a flash of yearning so violent, he almost wanted to hit something.

  He wanted her to speak like this to him, to look that way at him. Not wary, not angry.

  But she was angry. She hated him as much as she wanted him. Because you’re you, the voice of his father came back to lash at him. A thousand more million dollars wouldn’t change that. Nothing would.

  He’d been recognized as a Knight when his parents had no other choice. Before that? He hadn’t been fit to live in the home he grew up, before his father realized Damien was too different. Dark, rebellious, not the pretty, preppy, perfect boy his old man had been.

  He eased his coat off of Sydney’s slender body and scooped her back up again, then he stepped into the shower with her, her skin cold against his diaphragm. She gasped as the sprits hit her, then he slid her down to her feet so she wasn’t so close to the spritz. He stood behind her to keep her steady, wearing his pants only to protect her from him, from what he wanted to do to her, right here, right now.