Rule's Obsession

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An alpha-male like no other: Damian Rule is an ultra-staid businessman who likes his life just so. He wears his hair cut short; he demands his business affairs be organized, and he insists that his women be impeccably groomed and conservative in both speech and appearance. When he meets Angie Ross for the first time, he sees a hot, beautiful, gothic mess. With her fishnet stockings and spiked leather cuffs, she's wildly inappropriate for his long term needs. But for the short term? She'll do just fine. Excerpt: Angie followed Damian's secretary across what seemed like miles of plush carpet and walked into the office when indicated. She was still in a state of shock; she'd found out in the reception area that he didn't merely work in the downtown high-rise, he owned the building. She heard the door snap closed behind her, and with her heart catching, she faltered just inside the large room. Her gaze was caught and held by dark eyes as Damian leaned against a desk of solid mahogany while standing completely still, obviously awaiting her arrival. His eyes were both sharp and hooded, his body held in a pose of relaxation that seemed inconsistent with the almost tangible electricity that radiated from him in waves. Her pulse pounding, her footsteps stalled completely. Before she could get a word out, he pushed off the desk and began to track her across the office, his muscles corded and his eyes reflecting a sheen of purpose. The space between them narrowed rapidly as his eyes fell to her throat and then scanned her body quickly before lifting to her face again. Any semblance of a smile dissolved as his expression hardened imperceptibly; a raw sizzle filled the air as his brooding features reflected a harsh, atavistic hunger that almost brought Angie to her knees as he stood not six inches away in all his tall, masculine glory. He stood almost indolently for the beat of three seconds before reaching out and seizing her with a dominant force that gave her not an ounce of choice in the matter. He mumbled two words, "Thank fuck," in a guttural rasp that, had she realized it, contained an evocative foreshadowing of his future intent where she was concerned.