Rule's Obsession (The House of Rule 1)

****

A week later, Damian silently castigated himself as his hair was being cut. What. The. Hell? What the fuck was wrong with him that he couldn't stay away from this place? He could have easily gone another week before getting a haircut to begin with, but coming here again? He needed his fucking head examined.

The hairdresser, Janice, was exceptionally talkative today, and although he tried to drown her out with his thoughts as he looked around for the little witch, he couldn't help but hear at least half of what she said.

"So, anyway, I can't thank you enough."

His eyes snapped back to hers. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Thank you for the money. I mean, I realize that it actually came from Angie, but you gave it to her, and without the generosity from both of you, I'd still be in a fix. I can't tell you what it means to me. I'm sure Angie told you about the situation my ex left me and my daughter in."

As she rattled on and on, Damian could focus on only one thing. Goth girl hadn't kept the money for herself. She'd given it to her friend, making any disparaging thoughts he may have had about her mercenary ways, false.

He gritted his teeth. He wanted to think of her as mercenary. He needed to think of her as grasping and avaricious. He didn't care for women who were greedy. In fact, he could now admit that he might have had an underlying reason for giving her the money and setting up the date to begin with. He'd wanted to think badly of her.

But now she'd gone and fucked that up for him. Instead of being greedy, she'd proven herself to be caring and unselfish.

Shit. It pissed him off just thinking about it.

Another nail in his coffin.

****

Angie finished her sandwich and glanced up from wiping down the counters in the small kitchenette.

Her stomach plummeted to her feet as Damian crowded the doorway. He glanced to the right and then to the left before focusing his attention on her with inflexible intent. He took a step forward, and she watched in appalled horror as he both slammed the door and then turned and locked it, trapping her inside the small room with him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The screech came from her throat even as she tried to sound composed. "You can't be in here."

"I think you're wrong." He lifted his hands with supreme arrogance to indicate his location. "You see me, right?"

"Did you have an appointment?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Why else would I be here if I didn't?"

His hair did look newly trimmed. "You can't be back here," she repeated, dumbstruck.

"I have a problem with you that we need to discuss."

The look in his eyes raised her hackles and she backed up until her spine touched the counter and she couldn't go any farther. "What'd I do now?" She'd tried, every minute of every day since she'd gotten out of his car, not to think of him, but it was an impossible task.

"You gave away the money," he accused.

Angie narrowed her eyes as she attempted to understand what his problem with that could be. "So? It was my money, right? You gave it to me, and I gave it to Janice."

"You shouldn't have done that," he said in a voice that promised retribution.

"Why? She needed it more than I did."

For whatever reason, her comment appeared to land like a hit to his upper torso as Angie saw him actually flinch. He remained silent but took several steps forward until he stood just beyond her comfort zone. She sucked in a breath and steeled her nerves. "Look, I'm sorry if you wanted me to spend it on . . . a more suitable wardrobe or whatever, but it was my understanding it was mine, to do with as I pleased."

His generously curved lips parted in a snarl. "It was yours. But you were supposed to want it for yourself."

All at once, Angie thought she understood. "Oh. Okay. You thought I was a greedy little bitch and now you're pissed to find out that I'm not. Well, that's too damn bad." A flare of temper hardened her voice and every curve of her body radiated defiance, "So you can leave now."

He didn't move a single muscle. Unless you counted the tic flaring in his cheek, he was absolutely still as he watched her, like an animal ready to pounce. The accusation in his eyes was menacing, sinister even, but the sexual threat that lay just underneath the surface had Angie hyperventilating.

As she stood rooted to the floor, he came another two steps closer and lifted his hand toward her hair. He did so very slowly, as if giving her a chance to rebuff his advance, and when she became too paralyzed to move, his fingers landed in her hair and spiked through her tresses, holding her scalp within his palm. As he held her hostage, he leaned down and bit at her bottom lip, just a tiny bite, but it reflected his impatience, and it sent currents of thrilling heat radiating through her bloodstream.