by Leslie Kelly
Damien’s lips parted in a small, surprised inhalation, but he quickly schooled his features. He was used to not giving anything away, and he definitely didn’t want to let this gorgeous female know he’d been briefly rendered speechless by how stunning she was.
He’d seen the golden-blond hair confined in a tight bun, and the tall body clad in a somewhat baggy gray suit as he’d approached her. But nothing had prepared him for the big baby blues, surrounded by long, thick lashes. The heart-shaped face was flawless, the mouth wide, the lips lush, the cheekbones high.
But her makeup wasn’t exactly perfect—in fact, some dark smudges under her eyes hinted that she’d either cried or wiped off some mascara in the recent past. The thin streaks on her cheeks suggested tears.
Who made you cry? And how can I hurt him for you?
“Do you know anything about cars?” she asked, her voice shaking.
He didn’t even try to lie, though he also didn’t admit that he had a driver most of the time. “I’m afraid not. But I do have a cell phone and can call you a tow truck.”
She blew out a frustrated breath. “I can’t afford that. Not anymore, anyway.”
Curious, he raised a brow.
“I just got fired.”
Damien frowned, hearing the hurt in her voice that she tried to disguise with a harsh laugh.
“Can you beat it? Lose my job and have a breakdown all within the same hour. This day’s just stellar. Hell, this whole week’s going to be one for the record books.”
“That’s too bad,” he said, meaning it. “Where did you work?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She slammed down the hood of her car, giving up on even trying to figure out what was wrong with it. “It’s their loss, anyway.”
Swinging around to face him, he saw her eyes widen, much as his just had. He was used to having an effect on women, though he didn’t necessarily try to. Part of it was his money, some of which he’d inherited from his father, but most he’d earned on his own. But he’d also been gifted with his late father’s tall, lean build, black hair and dark brown eyes. He knew when women became aware of him as a man...and this one just had.
But instead of smiling flirtatiously, as he expected, she instead jabbed an index finger toward his chest, punctuating her words. “I was damn good at my job. Or I would have been, if they’d given me a real chance. I didn’t even make it through my probationary period.” She rubbed at her eyes, her shoulders slumping. “God, I need a drink.”
“That I can help you with. There’s a nice bar in the hotel next door, where I’m staying.”
He should know. He owned the hotel, too. As well as the parking garage in which they were standing. In fact, between his family’s corporation, his own international hotel chain and his new, just-for-fun enterprise, he owned quite a bit of prime Arlington real estate. Not that he was going to reveal that to this woman. He far preferred that people not realize who he was when they first met him, wanting to be judged on his own merits and not on the size of his bank accounts.
She sighed heavily. “Oh, here we go.”
“What?”
“See a helpless woman and move in for the kill, huh?”
He frowned. “First of all, you don’t appear helpless.”
“I’m not.”
“Second, I’m not a killer.”
“Maybe I worded that badly.”
I should think so.
“Lady-killer is more like it.”
His frown deepened. “I wasn’t moving in for anything. I’m not trying to prey on your tearful state, ply you with drink and have my wicked way with you.”
Well, not really. Mostly, he’d asked her to join him for a drink because she looked as if she’d been having a really crappy day. And, okay, he’d admit it, she was pretty damn stunning.
Damien hadn’t been involved with anyone in a few months. He’d had his nose to the grindstone because of a major expansion in the family business, plus stealing what time he could to oversee his own personal endeavors.
But it wasn’t just his work schedule that had kept him celibate. He’d also been trying to avoid the matrimonial traps single females sometimes laid out for him. Nobody was ever going to catch him in one of those—love and marriage just didn’t seem to work for the men in his family.
Even purely physical relationships had been difficult to arrange lately. Hell, his own mother threw a never-ending stream of “appropriate” women in his direction. So he’d found it easier to just keep his head down and his libido in cold storage.
This blonde had made him begin to wonder if it was time to change that, though. It had been ages since he’d been so instantly attracted to someone. He’d gone from cold storage to overheated in fewer than ten minutes, and he wanted to know more about the woman who’d so easily thawed him out, even if that only involved a drink.
She shook her head and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit of a man-hating psycho-bitch right now.”
“Was there a recent breakup to go with the firing and the breakdown?”
“Let’s start calling it ‘car trouble.’ ‘Breakdown’ sounds mental, and I haven’t reached that point. At least not yet.”
“Noted.”
“And the breakup was a few months ago. But more recently, a man made my work life hell, and another man fired me for it. I’m not fond of the male sex right at this moment.”
“I don’t blame you.” Then he shrugged. “Their stupidity, my loss.”
“I guess so.” A frown tugging at her brow, she suddenly squared her shoulders and stared at him, hard. “Why not?”
“Why not what?”
“Why weren’t you trying to pick me up?”
“Didn’t you just accuse me of being a killer?”
“Lady-killer. But you weren’t making moves on me. Why? Is there something wrong with me?”
Odd, now she seemed annoyed. He had thought by her reaction that she’d be glad he wasn’t coming on to her. Even though, technically, he supposed he was. For altruistic reasons, of course...at least until later, when she’d recovered from her post-firing, car-breakdown slump.
Damien wasn’t a hypocrite. He liked women; he especially liked beautiful women, as long as they didn’t expect anything long-term. And this one was an interesting combination of beauty and brains.
He suspected she had problems because of that mixture, judging by the fact that she dressed severely to play down her appearance, and kept what he suspected was a glorious head of hair so tightly constrained.
“Nothing’s wrong with you. Maybe I’m just a nice guy.” That amused him, since few in the corporate world thought of him as anything of the kind.
She snorted. “I’d like to meet one of those someday. Haven’t come across any in a long time.”
He sensed she was talking about her job again. He was suddenly curious about this position she’d lost. Given the way she spoke about the men she’d worked with, and the outfit, he suspected sexual harassment had been the underlying cause. Which totally pissed him off. He had younger sisters. If something like that had happened to them, he’d be out for blood. He also had a strict policy against sexual harassment in all his companies, even the hotels in countries where discrimination against women was rampant.
Nobody deserved to be judged or treated differently because of their sex or their looks. As ridiculous as it sounded, he’d learned that himself over the years. He’d been called a pretty boy when he’d inherited a huge mantle of responsibility at a young age and been underestimated more than once, though once was usually enough for most people. Of course, it hadn’t been enough for those closest to him...his own mother, for instance. Which was one reason he spent most of his time in his hotels and rarely went back to his Miami home.
Shoving that situation out of his mind,
he focused only on this stranger. “I suspect you could use a friend—and a mechanic—more than a date.”
She glanced down at her suit and made a face. “It’s these ugly clothes, isn’t it? I guess that’s one nice thing about losing my job, I don’t have to dress like a seventy-year-old librarian anymore.”
Noting she’d just confirmed his suspicions, he barked a laugh. God, did the woman really believe a baggy gray suit could disguise the fact that she had more curves than a circle?
“I doubt anyone would ever mistake you for an old lady.”
“Still, you didn’t try to pick me up, which means I’ve been playing good girl for so long, I have completely lost my touch.”
Playing good girl? Hmm.
“There was a time when I would’ve had you offering to buy me a drink, dinner and breakfast, in that order, within five minutes of meeting me.”
Would you have accepted?
“Under other circumstances, I probably would,” he admitted. “But the truth is, I’ve got two kid sisters, and if one of them had had a day as bad as yours, I’d hope some nice guy would offer to help her without any selfish motives.”
She eyed him steadily—God, those blue eyes—and finally a slow smile spread across her face. “You’re really serious.”
He couldn’t help returning her smile with one of his own. It creaked across his face slowly. He wasn’t used to smiling lately, given how hard he’d been working and the family nonsense he always had to deal with. “Yeah, I really am.”
Nibbling her lip, she cast an uncertain eye toward her car.
“If you can’t afford a tow,” he said, “let me call somebody. I have a friend who’s good with cars. He can be here in five minutes.”
That would be his driver, Jed, who’d just dropped him off on the main floor of the garage, near the doors leading directly into the building. He’d gone up to park in the reserved corporate level one floor up.
“Five minutes?”
Damien didn’t answer, instead pulling out his phone and dialing his driver. When Jed answered, he described the problem and then disconnected. “Less than five minutes,” he told her with a shrug. “He said you can leave the car unlocked and the keys under the mat.”
Her brow went up. “Seriously?” Quickly casting an eye over the dented vehicle, she added, “Then again, even if it could start—which it won’t—who’d want to steal it?”
“Good point. Now, while he checks it out, you and I can go to the bar, get out of the heat and talk about your horrible, no-good, very bad day.”
She glared. “You have kids!” Grabbing his left hand, she yanked it up. “You’re married, aren’t you? I should’ve figured.”
He couldn’t help chuckling at her indignant expression, and her assumption. “Not as much as a tan line on that finger, see? Not married. Never have been. No kids. But I have a three-year-old nephew who loves being read to.”
Sheepish, she murmured, “Sorry, Uncle...?”
“Damien.” He extended his hand to hers. “I’m Damien Black.”
He waited for any sign of recognition, such as dollar signs rolling in her eyeballs—he’d certainly experienced that before. But he saw nothing in her eyes but that same wary interest, as if she was trying to decide whether she could trust anyone with a Y chromosome.
Or maybe she was wondering if she could trust herself?
If she’d been, as she said, “playing” good girl...who was she when she wasn’t playing?
Hmm. He’d like to find out. He only hoped she decided to give him the chance.
Finally, after a long, breathless moment during which his heart started pounding with anticipation, she took his hand and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Damien. I’m Viv Callahan. And if you can have a gin and tonic in my hand within thirty minutes, I might just revise my opinion of the male species.”
2
VIV HAD BEEN a good girl for a long time.
She didn’t just mean the nine weeks she’d been employed by the Virginia Vanguard. Even before that, she’d been steering clear of men, though she’d never come clean to her friends about why. They knew she’d been bothered by her breakup with her ex, Dale, last spring. They didn’t know she’d actually been heartbroken, however.
It seemed as though the real Viv had been in hibernation ever since. But this guy, a complete stranger who in ten minutes had shown her more courtesy than any of her coworkers had in months, called to every wicked, suppressed instinct she owned.
As they walked together, side by side, out of the garage, she couldn’t help casting surreptitious glances at him. Under the bright, late-afternoon sunshine, his black hair gleamed luxuriously, like a sleek cat’s. His profile was incredibly masculine—the cheeks sharply cut, the jaw square, the nose strong without being overbearing, the brows thick over dark, chocolate-brown eyes.
Having been surrounded by beefy, brawny, self-important meatheads who’d been harassing her for weeks, she found his tall, lean-but-powerful body incredibly attractive. The tailored suit couldn’t disguise his broad shoulders, strong arms, slim waist and hips and long legs. Absolutely delicious.
Vixen Viv, who’d been in hiding since being so badly burned, began to awaken within her.
Damien was gorgeous, sexy, unattached and interested. Judging by the clothes and where he was staying, he was probably a successful businessman visiting the DC area. Not being a local, he wouldn’t be sticking around. That was just perfect, since she was in no mood to even think about anything serious. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told her friends she wanted some cock without complications. He could give her the one while letting her avoid the other. Win-win.
She had nothing to lose and no longer had a job to worry about holding on to. If she tried, she could seduce him into bed and not leave it until next week.
Besides, she was sick of allowing herself to live a life based on what one rotten man had done to her. If she’d told herself a year ago that a guy could hurt her so badly she’d give up men—and sex—for months, she’d have laughed.
Damien Black might end all that. He could help her shake off the unaccustomed insecurity she’d been experiencing since Dale had shattered her self-confidence.
She just had to make him want to.
Seeing a crack in the sidewalk, she edged closer to him, not wanting to trip. She also wanted to feel the brush of his sleeve against her arm, to catch a whiff of his spicy cologne.
“Watch your step.” He put a hand against the small of her back as they reached the jagged crack in the cobblestone.
“Thanks,” she murmured, not pulling away once they’d passed it. His hand stayed where it was, too, a fiery brand on her spine that she felt through her blouse and jacket. She didn’t mind the possessiveness of it, because it was simple and noncontrolling. He made no effort to manhandle her, but the power of the touch reached her on a deep, visceral level.
It had been a long time since she’d given up control in a sexual relationship, and she sensed by the power this man exuded, as easily as he wore his designer suit, that he was used to being in control. Having a man take what he wanted—as that ignorant hockey player had done yesterday—infuriated her. But letting him take over, now, that was a totally different story.
The thought made her shiver with naughty anticipation.
They were heading toward the ritzy new Black Star Hotel, which was on the opposite side of the garage from the high-rise where she worked.
Had worked, damn it.
The hotel had opened fewer than six months ago. Viv had eaten lunch at the restaurant a few times, since the place was so close to her office—former office. But she’d never stayed there. It was definitely out of her price range, as it catered to wealthy international tourists, who came to explore the nation’s capital, or Wall Street bigwigs on business t
rips.
Speaking of which... “I didn’t ask, were you heading somewhere when you decided to play Sir Galahad wielding his mighty cell phone?”
“Yes, but it’s nothing I can’t reschedule.”
“You’re sure? I don’t want to keep you from an important meeting or anything.”
“No. I was planning to stop in and check out a business interest of mine, but I didn’t have an appointment.” He glanced over at her, his lips quirking up into a smile. “It can wait.”
They reached the hotel, and the doorman immediately opened the door for him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Black.”
Nice service they had here, at least for the registered guests. Keeping staff good enough to remember the names of the clientele had to be expensive, which could explain why the rooms started at five hundred dollars a night.
“Have you been staying here for a while?” she asked as they entered the opulent lobby, tiled in sleek, black marble.
Tasteful gold accents brought in some color without making it look ostentatious.
“I got into town last night. But I always stay here when I visit DC.” He smiled and nodded at the concierge, who had immediately snapped to attention. “This is my favorite hotel chain.”
“They’re pretty new, aren’t they?”
“Not really. They started in Miami around twenty years ago, and have about fifty locations around the world. The Paris one is my favorite.”
Mmm, Paris. Visiting the city of lights was number one on her bucket list. She’d always loved the idea of it—the art, the music, the food, the romance.
Probably few people would believe it, but Viv was a romantic at heart. Most saw her as either a tough girl—as she’d had to be, being raised with all those brothers—or a sexual siren. So she seldom had a chance to reveal her softer side. And the one time she had...well, her ex hadn’t exactly been the romantic type, and had been amused to find out she was.
She tried to shove Dale out of her mind. Not easy since his damn campaign signs were all over the place. Whenever she saw one, a chant of, “Lose, lose, lose,” roared through her mind, but she had a sense that he was going to win his coveted-above-all-else Virginia delegate seat this fall. The bastard.