Rule's Obsession (3 page)

Digging her keys from her purse, she hooked the strap across her chest and was almost to her car when she glanced back up. Her steps immediately faltered as she recognized the tall man lounging against a vehicle parked next to hers, directly next to her driver's side door. Over six feet of muscle-packed male leaned against the gleaming black Mercedes as if he owned the world and everything in it.

She recognized him immediately, of course. The air became lodged in her throat at the same moment she realized butterflies were going crazy in her stomach.

When she refused to come any closer,
the Devil Incarnate
stood to his full height and raised an arrogant eyebrow as he challenged her,
"Now what are you going to do?"

Biting the inside of her cheek, Angie crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "What do you mean by that?"

"Look around you, sweetheart. It's pitch-black and there's no one around. What if I were a stranger who meant you harm?" His eyes blazed, shooting arrows of flame. "What the fuck would you do? Those ridiculous little razor-blade earrings wouldn't help you."

Angie took a moment to calm her racing heartbeat as she studied him. It
was
evening, but it was far from pitch-black; the parking lot was well lit and although his purpose for being here was dubious, she didn't think he meant her any bodily harm. "Maybe I have a gun," she dared him caustically.

He lifted his eyes heavenward as if she didn't have a working brain cell in her head and then glared at her again.
"Do
you have a gun?"

Of course
she didn't have a gun. "Are you a stranger who means to do me harm?" She shot back, repeating his words to him, wanting only to get to the bottom of why he was accosting her like this.

"If I were, honey, you'd be in the trunk of my car by now."

Chapter Two

Angie saw his hand swing out as he indicated the sleek black vehicle he'd been leaning against.

She let out a controlled breath and tightened her arms over her chest. "What do you want, exactly?"

For mere seconds, the look he gave her was raw; it held a sexual sizzle that produced a masculine scowl and then his features went blank and his eyes became hooded. "You screwed up my hair."

And he waited so long to complain about it?
She stood up straighter and took immediate offense. "I damn sure didn't."

"You always cuss for no reason?" he questioned hotly, as if grilling her were his supreme right.

"Only when I
fucking
feel like it," she slammed back, trying to piss him off but not really sure of the reason why.

His nostrils flared and his gaze dropped to her breasts and then to the vee between her legs. The moment began to feel surreal to Angie as he watched her as if he wanted to find the closest horizontal surface and shove her down onto it. All she could do was try to control the trembling in her legs and moderate the oxygen she pushed in and out of her lungs. After an abbreviated silence, he asked, "You always wear black?"

Angie sucked in a breath at the blatantly sexual look on his face and retaliated quickly, "You always hit up on women you barely know?"

"Only when I want to fuck them, and I'm
not hitting up on you,"
he answered succinctly, animosity dripping from his voice.

Her eyes flared at the intended insult and then she narrowed her gaze on him. "You're crude. Get away from my car and go the fuck away."

He seemed to ignore the observation about his character and went back to the subject of the cut she'd given him. "Look what you did to my hair." He turned until his profile was in her direct line of vision.

She couldn't see anything wrong with his hair from where she stood. It was damn perfect, just like the rest of him. He had broad shoulders sitting atop a lean body, a chiseled face with a bone structure so masculine that she had to swallow before she could form an answer. "What's wrong with it?"

"You screwed it up. It looks like shit."

"That's bullshit. Is that your lame excuse for coming here to see me?"

He raised a single eyebrow. "What if it was?"

"I'd say you're stalking me then."

He studied her as if trying to delve inside her thoughts. "That's not the reason I'm here. But you do need to fix my hair."

"Whatever."

"I'm serious, sweetheart."

"I'm not your sweetheart. Don't call me sweet--"

He spit out a laugh that contained no humor.
"Who the hell would want you for a sweetheart?
I'm sure nobody could ever trust you enough to fall asleep around you. You'd probably drive a stake through their damn heart."

Angie couldn't decide if he was just plain rude or over-the-top, obnoxiously rude. She could definitely see a gleam of sexual heat in his eyes, no matter what he said. She opted for the response that wouldn't give him an opening into what she figured he really wanted from her.
"Fuck you."

A deadly stillness came over his form and his mouth flattened while his eyes lit up. "Bring it on, baby."

A wave of heat rolled down her spine, but she immediately ignored it. If this was a come-on, it was one unlike any she'd ever come up against. "In your dreams, Mister. Go away."

"I'm not going anywhere until you agree to fix my goddamn hair."

She sighed in resignation. "Okay, fine. Come in on Friday and I'll fix it."

"I need it fixed by tomorrow morning."

"Well, that's a problem because I don't work again until Friday."

"You can fix it tonight. Right now. We can go back to my condo."

Her stomach clenched tightly and her fragile control almost snapped but she held it together. "You've got to be kidding me. After you just threatened me?"

He took immediate exception to that and stood to his full height, the aura of casualness leaving his stance. "How the hell did I threaten you?"

"What was all that bullshit about strangers and harm and it being dark outside?"

"They weren't threats for God's sake, it was concern," the words were ripped impatiently from his throat.

"Concern?"

He raised a single, arrogant eyebrow. "You think you're bullet-proof, darling? Has it occurred to you that you might attract unwanted attention in that get-up?"

He glanced away and looked around the parking lot before leveling his gaze on her once again. Who was this guy who thought he could give his opinion on how she lived her life? She tried to temper her response. "We're in a safe neighborhood. Nothing's going to happen."

He shook his head with a pained expression but changed the subject. "I need to talk to you."

Finally. Now they were getting somewhere. She knew this wasn't about his damn hair. "About?"

"I don't want to discuss it here. You want to go somewhere else?"

She'd give him a minute of her time because he'd been coming to the salon for a long time, but go somewhere with him? "Um, not really."

"Look, I don't mean you any harm, but I need a favor."

Okay, now that sounded a bit too intriguing to ignore, even for Angie. "A favor?"

"Yeah," he answered curtly.

Angie studied him a moment, trying to take his measure. When she answered him, she opted for a touch of humor. "Something to do with the fact that I give an outstanding haircut?"

A look hardened his features. "No. Something to do with the fact that even though you're wearing skull-themed bling and purple lipstick, you still look completely fuckable."

"I'm sorry,
what?"

"I said you look fuckable--"

"I heard you the first time, dude. You're not making any sense and causing offense isn't going to get you anywhere."

His eyes hardened, a darkly sexual look coming to the fore. "I don't mean any offense, but it's the truth. You look like the spawn of Satan."

She lifted her chin and gave him a glare. "Thanks for noticing, but that doesn't explain anything."

His gaze slid down her body before lifting to her face again. "You're appropriate for what I need because you're the epitome of
inappropriate."

Angie couldn't keep her confusion from coming through. "Huh?"

"You look like the devil's daughter and yet you're sexy as fuck. Absolutely inappropriate for a man like me."

"
Right."
Angie drew out the word on a breath, a tiny curl of both excitement and disappointment coiling in her belly. "I admit I'm a little out of my element here." She sucked in a breath. "I don't know what the hell you want, I don't even know your last name, but I'm pretty damn sure you're insulting me."

"I don't mean to be insulting." He paused a moment, contemplating her. "We're from two different worlds--"

"Yeah, and I think we need to keep it that way," Angie answered shortly.

He continued as if he'd never been interrupted, "It would be totally believable that I'd be unable to resist you." His eyes ran over her once again and when they rose to hers, she saw a warning reflected there. "Totally false, but nonetheless, believable." He pushed away from where he stood and took the five steps that separated them, holding out his hand.

Very carefully, Angie put her hand in his and her palm was promptly enclosed within a firm, sinewy handshake. "Damian Rule."

Angie licked her lips as both trepidation and excitement rushed down her spine. "Angie Ross."

"Nice to formally meet you, sweetheart. Can you spare me some time? There's a restaurant down the road and I promise I won't keep you out long."

Angie absolutely knew she should decline; nothing good could come from a meeting between them. He was insulting, antagonistic, and far too appealing for his own good. But the reason that she knew she was going to agree was simple. She was curious. She was
dying
to know what the hell he wanted.

She shrugged her shoulders and named the closest restaurant with an attached bar that she figured he'd appreciate.

"Yeah, that's the one," he agreed to her choice.

She pulled her hand from his. "I'll meet you there."

****

Damian snagged a booth in the corner and held himself rigidly as he waited for Goth girl to arrive. She came in five minutes behind him, and although courtesy dictated that he stand at her entrance, his very noticeable physical reaction to her wouldn't allow him to move from his seat.

It was a knee-jerk reaction that he was going to have to get a handle on; surely time spent with her would lessen her physical appeal. He certainly had no plans to do anything about it. He wasn't going to sleep with her.
He. Was. Not
. He needed a business arrangement with her, and he couldn't sully that with an exchange of bodily fluids, no matter how hard she made him.

She slid in the seat across from him and didn't mince words. "What's up?"

"I've already ordered a drink, what do you want?"

She glanced from him and looked at the male waiter who'd come to her side. Damian felt the immediate loss of connection when she broke eye contact. As she turned a megawatt smile on the new arrival, Damian experienced a hot rush of anger, even as he took a forceful hit to his equilibrium, his senses stunned by the beauty that transformed her face.
He wanted that smile for himself.

"I'll have a Diet Coke, please," she addressed the other man in a tone so feminine and pleasant that Damian clenched his fists.

The waiter stared at her for a moment too long by Damian's estimation, and when the younger man turned away, Damian tried to get a grip as he studied her. "You don't think you should have something stronger?"

She raised a single, perfect eyebrow. "Will I need something stronger?"

"No. Just thought we could make this easier by sharing a drink."

"Anesthesia by alcohol? Not tonight, thanks. I have to drive and I haven't had much to eat today."

After the drinks were placed in front of them, Damian requested two menus. He wasn't hungry, but she very obviously was.

When they were alone again, he studied her stiffened shoulders and attempted to put her at ease by admitting to his earlier lie. "You didn't mess up my hair."

She studied the menu and didn't bother to glance up. "No shit. Why'd you say that in the first place?"

"It was a reaction. You looked ready to bolt and I thought it would keep you in place for a few seconds more."

Her eyes flew to his and she asked neutrally, "What do you want with me?"

He declined to answer her question yet. "I hope you order something. I don't like knowing I'm holding you up from your supper."

She held his gaze for a second and then glanced at the menu once more. The waiter appeared again and she ordered an appetizer.

"Is that all you want?" Damian asked. The small helping wouldn't be enough to keep a bird alive.

"Are you going to eat half?" she accused.