Moody Bastard

one

Damien Knight’s millionaire bachelor lifestyle went to hell the day he realized he was jaded.

He didn’t know when it happened, or even how.

A week ago, he’d flown across the Atlantic in his luxurious private jet, on his way back to San Francisco after years of living across the continent, sowing his wild oats. He’d flown with six beautiful naked women that had composed his “harem” for a couple of years, and instead of playing with them during the long flight, he’d fallen asleep.

Then, his suspicion was confirmed when he arrived at the city, threw a party, invited his friends and all the females he knew, and when things got interesting and his favorite kind of women—lesbians—had sandwiched him, he’d suddenly preferred to get drunk.

He’d also failed to get drunk, even after an entire bottle of Aviator Gin, his favorite drink in the states.

Yeah, things have really gone to shit, he decided, scowling as he drove to downtown Frisco.

He was also moody, unpredictable, and restless, and even more dissatisfied with his groupies, his fans, and his life, than he normally was.

Which had to be the reason he’d caved in on Bentley Knight’s favor.

Damien had very little friends, and good friends? Hell, he only had a handful. Among them, his cousin, Bentley. So when he’d called and said, “I need you to fill in for me, man, some shit auction my sister organized. I’m stranded in O’Hare, and I need a bachelor millionaire to fill in for me. There aren’t just many of us in the city anymore and Regina begged me to give you a call.”

“What? Is she scared of calling me?”

“She knew you’d say no, man.”

He burst out laughing, then he figured it couldn’t hurt to add some variety to his nightly have-an-orgy routine. Hell, maybe even his cock could use a little break from all the activity. “All right, so what the hell am I supposed to do?”

And Bentley told him. The event was called Date a Millionaire for a Night, and if Damien’s night ended up being as corny and lame as the title, he’d rather have stayed home watching something as exciting to him as the fishing channel. Which put him down like anesthesia.

Damien really could’ve laughed and said to find another millionaire, one without any pride, but this was Bentley. And his sister, Regina, was friends with a little redhead Damien was curious to see. So when he’d casually inquired whether Regina and her friends would be there, and when the answer had been an affirmative, Damien said yes.

Another sign that his life was falling to shit.

When he couldn’t stop wondering about that little redhead.

He’d traveled for years, visiting his diamond mines in Australia and Africa, their cutting centers in Israel, making pit stops in luxurious places like Monte Carlo, London, Paris, to get laid and drunk before he continued on with his work. His goal as young had been to become the biggest diamond corporation in the world, more powerful than DeBeers, his greatest competitor, and he’d succeeded. Thanks to him, the Knight’s didn’t own jewelry stores. They owned the mines.

He’d gotten everything he’d wanted in life. A lot of sex, a lot of women, and more money than he could almost fit in his offshore accounts. His father may have thought shit of him, but he’d proved the man wrong. He was still a bastard, but he was a very rich, very capable bastard, and in the end, Damien had been the only thing the old man had left.

A son that wasn’t even his.

The man Damien had grown up calling “father” had heartlessly disowned him, punishing Damien’s mother when he’d found out she’d had an affair the same day they buried her, but when the time came for Damien’s father to follow her, the old man had begged for Damien to take his name back.

The honorable “Knight” name had come too late. Damien’s troublemaking reputation had already been cemented across the world. The respectable name, and all his billions, didn’t make Damien any less of a bad boy than he’d been when he had no name, and no bank account.

The name had done nothing for him when he’d worked the mines with his bare hands. Thanks to his aggressive nature and asshole tendencies, he’d gotten the job done, and for several years, the worker strikes had been put to a halt, ever since Damien had taken charge.

Oh, yeah, he didn’t have a bone of mercy in his body, because nobody had ever had mercy with him.

But now, he felt restless like he’d never been in his life, unable to sleep, unable to enjoy…hell, anything.

He attributed his moodiness and restlessness due to the fact that he was back in San Francisco. His memories of the city weren’t the best. The press had a field day when he’d been disowned—Damien Knight product of an illicit affair. Disowned. The memories of those times had come crashing down on him the day he landed, making him wonder—Why had he even come back?

Hell, he didn’t know.

He didn’t know what he was looking for anymore.

Guess he was just tired of not belonging anywhere.

And yet coming back to San Francisco hadn’t really made much of a difference. He was still restless and dissatisfied. Even the Victoria’s Secret models that had fooled around in his bed last night hadn’t really interested him. They’d been very content with his tongue and fingers, and with the diamonds he let them take home, but even so, they’d worked hours sucking on him, trying to get him hard.

He scowled at the thought of such a wasted opportunity, then steered his Veyron to the right and screeched into the valet of the Four Seasons Hotel, where his idiotic sale would take place.

He stalked across the lobby in search of the ballrooms, and then spotted the less-than-subtle sign.

A Night with a Millionaire!

Calling all single ladies out there! Do not miss our delicious millionaire auction, tonight only!

He followed the stupid arrow and strode into the brightly lit room, ignoring the gasps that arose at his entry. There were easily three hundred women in here, and he didn’t want to get to know a single one. Without breaking stride, he headed straight to the back of the makeshift stage, searching for blonde, pretty Regina, Bentley’s sister, who was supposedly arranging the whole event.

He spotted his cousin at the end, blonde and tall, possessing of every Knight feature—blue eyes, blonde hair, elegant features—the opposite of Damien’s dark, rugged looks. He was extremely disappointed that she was alone. Damien was a sexual beast, unsatisfied with any one girl, he’d grown up with a “harem” of them, and no woman had ever, in her life, had looked at him the way that little redhead.

His chest cramped at the memory of her.

No thanks. Robbing cradles wasn’t really his thing.

“Where do you want me?” he asked Regina.

“Well, hello to you too, dear cousin. Hey, you need to take your shirt off, just to whet the ladies appetites,” Regina said.

Damien jerked off his black T-shirt, and the woman behind Regina gasped at the sight of his tattoo and nipple rings.