Moody Bastard

“This isn’t what I want,” she whispered painfully. Her body trembled in denial, because she wanted Damien more than anything. But she loved Court. Let go, let go, she told herself, of Damien’s arms. She couldn’t let go of Damien. Craved his touch so much.

She turned to look up at him. Her entire body responded at the sad frustration in his eyes. She wanted to melt in his arms.

Could her heart want something that the entire rest of her body didn’t?

She didn’t have to be a virgin to be with Court. Did she.

Did she?

A phone rang, and they were still holding each other, tense and wanting.

Damien let go with a sigh, then went and answered.

“So you asked him to come get you,” he said softly, when he returned. It must’ve been the downstairs concierge.

She swallowed. “He’s right for me. You…hurt me too much, Damien.”

He raked his hand restlessly through his hair and paced, not touching her again, and she watched him, a caged tiger with food inside the cage, convincing himself to let it go.

“Does he treat you well, Sydney?”

“Yes. He’s…he’d never hurt me.”

Even without locking gazes, the air between them leapt with need. She didn’t understand it. At fifteen, she had felt it, powerfully so. She had followed it, stupidly, thinking he felt the same. He hadn’t. She’d found him with a woman in bed, and he’d told her he didn’t want her and never would. But right now, she couldn’t convince herself that he didn’t. Right now, the whirlwind spinning all around her, inside of her, was inside him, too.

Disturbingly real. Dangerously real.

No. She just didn’t have the courage to let him break her apart again.

He should know how she felt. She was alone now, too, with no parents, like he was. She needed support. Safety. She needed Court.

There was a knock on the door, and Sydney reacted and finished slipping into her dry clothes and then went to the door. Growling, Damien slapped a hand over the parting before she could pull it open, his voice rough as she’d ever heard it as he clenched her back against him. “Stay with me.” He buried his nose in her hair, his hand fisting the fabric of her dress. “Sleep with me. I won’t take anything you don’t want to give me. I don’t want to hurt you—I swear to God I’ve never wanted to hurt you. Just stay the night with me.”

She closed her eyes, her throat tight with desire, her heart aching as she forced herself to remember the ocean of tears she’d already cried for him. “That’s the point, i

f I stay…I won’t be able to say no to you,” she croaked.

He captured her arm, clenching it urgently, his nose in her temple as he spoke in her ear, “Don’t say no. Don’t deny me. You want me, Sydney. It’s me you want.”

“But I love Court!”

She struggled to free herself from his deathly grip, and when he relented, he turned and set his arm folded on the wall, his head on it, as he breathed heavily. She went out with Court, saying nothing to him, closing the door, wincing when she heard something crash behind her.

eight

As Court drove her home, she thought of the way Damien had warmed her with his hands. Dried her. Of the way he’d held her, kissed her. Of the way he’d asked her to stay. And she wanted to cry.

Her throat closed, because it was a side of him that was dangerous to her. When he showed her tenderness, it disarmed her. She was used to his sarcasm or rejection, but his acceptance? Because I want you…

She swallowed several times and forced herself to speak, aware of Court eyeing her in worry. “I’m all right, I just made a mistake.”

“Sydney, a man like that has girls like you for lunch.”

She rubbed her temples, not knowing what to say, blurting out the truth.

“I wanted him to, Court. I went and bought him for a night so I could learn about sex from him.”

“What? Why?”