Moody Bastard

Now he had to put her behind. She was too sweet to mesh into his partying lifestyle, the glamour of being a Knight. Movie stars, particularly, doted on him. They wanted dibs on the biggest rocks, and they wanted to be dressed by them for the Oscars. Damien was happy to supply, was happy to go to their parties, fuck everyone, have a good time, smoke some pot.

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.