Rule's Obsession (The House of Rule 1)

But now he was on a course to mend his fuck-up, and she was falling for it, thank God. Yeah, she was falling for it one hundred percent, and before the night was over, he'd have her in his bed and that was all he cared about. Fuck the rest of the world.

He didn't give a shit anymore that she wasn't right for him. His brothers could both go take a flying leap. He was going to keep her and keep her as long as he wanted. After all, how much more damn money did his family need? He didn't really need a wife, shit, he'd been doing without one for all this time, he could continue on for a while longer. He and his brothers were already rolling in dough; they had more goddamn money than they could spend in several lifetimes. So, he wasn't going to think about the business.

For once, he was going to have what he wanted. Since the day his father had died, Damian had lived and breathed the business. He'd taken on the considerable burdens, along with his brothers, and every day of his life since had been dedicated to bringing in the money and keeping his mother and the girls in comfort.

Yeah, there was no denying that he liked the cash. He received satisfaction from closing deals and seeing the money double. And there were other residuals: the women, the real estate, the respect. He admitted that he liked his life and everything about it. He didn't mind working hard, he didn't mind the travel, he didn't mind the responsibility, in fact, he relished it all.

There was only one damn thing that made him edgy. The thought of having to tie himself to a woman solely for the business. He wanted to choose his own woman. He resented the fact that he had to think of the corporation first, even when it came to something so potentially fucking detrimental to his happiness.

But he wasn't going to worry about it right now. He was giving himself permission to do as he liked for a bit, a sabbatical from the pressure of finding the right woman. Because, evidently, he wanted the wrong woman, and for a change, he was going to do something selfish.

His mind made up, he let his responsibilities go and immersed himself in the tantalizing prospect of nailing Angie to his bed.

But first, he had to get through dinner.

He watched her from across the table, the heightened color in her cheekbones giving her a heated flush that accentuated the delicate oval of her face. Her hair was shiny and healthy, hanging in lustrous curls around her shoulders. Her beauty was exotic, and it abruptly occurred to him that this was really going to happen; the fantasy that had been fucking with him for months was within touching distance.

She looked up from the menu and their glances connected; he felt an aggressive, feral need rise in his blood. He struggled to remain seated; there was a persuasive beat in his veins that begged him to pull her from the restaurant at that very moment. He knew he couldn't do that, and it was a test of his control to appear calm. He grasped the edge of the table to keep from reaching across and dragging her from her seat. His knuckles turned white with the effort.

As his attention remained focused on her, her eyes widened imperceptibly and he saw a tiny tremor in her cheek. It hit him all at once that she was somewhat agitated around him, maybe even scared, and instead of making him uneasy, he admitted that her apprehension was a powerful aphrodisiac to the predator within him. He smelled her scent; a primal urge to pursue threatened to overwhelm him. His muscles contracted as his shaft engorged and become rigid. The urge to mate rose up and took over his senses in a compulsion that he had to physically restrain.

It became a contest to see if he could continue sitting in his seat. As he sat back with a false air of indolence, he soothed the beast inside by allowing himself to touch her.

As their eyes held, he reached out, picked up her hand, and laced her fingers through his.

Chapter Five

As Damian seized her hand in an unyielding grasp, Angie knew she was quietly panicking. She could only describe the look on his face one way. Territorial. He was silently watching her as if he were going to pounce at any moment. He resembled a predator biding its time, and she felt like the prey that was about to be consumed.

Unable to control her instincts, her eyes broke contact with his and slid down his tightly held body.

His massive shoulders were emphasized by the casual shirt he wore, the material clinging to muscles gone taut. He didn't resemble a businessman in that moment, his look was too powerful. His air of self-confidence was almost too much; it was as if nothing could touch him. As if he held some kind of inner knowledge that told him that he'd always come out the winner.