Moody Bastard

Her voice broke. “Because I’m twenty-five, Court! I’m tired of wondering about it. I want to see if…I want to have sex,” she said, eyeing him to see what he thought about it. “Are you a virgin, Court?”

“No,” he said softly. “You know I’m not, I lost that at prom, ages ago.”

“I didn’t go to prom, because I was in love with a man ten years older than me.”

“Is this about that man? Or about sex?”

She scowled at the question, her body still hot, burning, and hot. How could it be about that man? She’d read the newspaper, saw that he was back, and when Regina squealed to tell her that he was going to be at the auction, Sydney had decided that she needed his help, and that nobody would buy him for the night as long as Sydney had her inheritance money. But it was not about Damien. She didn’t love him anymore—love had turned to hate for a decade. She tore everything she read or heard about him, it hurt so much to remember the way he’d rejected her.

No, it was not about Damien. She only felt lust for Damien, and that was all. This was about finding a way to find a good, real man in her life. Court.

He parked underground at one of her spaces, and walked her to the elevator, then to her door. She opened it and let him step inside. “Thank you, Court.”

She smiled at him, even though Damien’s angry face in the end haunted her, her body still restless and frustrated.

She glanced up into eyes that didn’t torment her, that didn’t make her feel inadequate, just happy and content. And she rose up on tiptoe and kissed him, wanting him, needing him, though it wasn’t him she was kissing in her mind. It wasn’t him she needed to touch, to ravish.

She plunged her hands into his hair, aware of him going stiff in shock, “Please kiss me,” she begged, “Please make love to me, please, let’s go there, we get along so well, you accept all of me,” his hands were coming to her shoulder. They weren’t large, tanned hands, they weren’t feeling her up in greedy delight, and they weren’t Damien’s hands. And they were pushing her away, rather than pulling her closer. Closer to his beating heart. His rapid breath.

“Sydney,” he said, alarmed. “What has he done to you?”

“Nothing. Don’t you feel something for me?” She met his stunned gaze. “I love you, Court.”

“I love you, too, Sydney, but we’ve never…do you love me like that? Do you?”

“I think I do. I just love you. Is there any other way?”

He cupped her cheeks. “Yes. There’s friendly love, and there’s…I don’t know, the other kind.”

“I just love you, Court.”

He embraced her, and his arms didn’t wrap hard enough, and it made her throat close.

“Sydney…I want to tell you…”

“Oh, my, I’m making a fool of myself, I know I am.”

“Sydney…” Court’s eyes looked troubled now, and she knew it was because of the way she’d jumped on him.

“Please. Don’t say anything. I’m acting stupid, I’m not myself, and I just…let me go to bed. I need to rest. I think I just need to rest. We can talk of this tomorrow. We can go to lunch. Will you take me out to lunch?”

“I’ll take you anywhere, Sydney. Anywhere you want. Just rest.”

She did not rest.

She was wide awake, miserable. Her actions with Court had stunned her. Their relationship had been about smiles and talk, not about sex and kissing. It would be awkward tomorrow. She’d have to explain Damien and how did one explain a natural disaster like that?

No, Damien wasn’t the natural disaster. The natural disaster had always been the way he made her feel.

And then she did something she knew that would top off all the catastrophes. Everything. She had done this before, and it had broken her heart. And now she was going to do it again, once and for all.

He could finish her off…

He could wreck her.

Destroy her.

Thirty minutes later, she knocked on Damien’s door. When he opened, his eyes were glazed. He stood shirtless, in black silk pajama buttons that looked crazy sexy combined with his tattoo, and he had a drink in his hand.