Dirty Beautiful Rich: Part Two (3 page)

Then, in one ridiculous moment, she realized that the feeling in her chest wasn’t anger. It was pity. Derrick Grant was a sad little man who didn’t love himself at all. Not a bit. Which was why he was always going from woman to woman, desperate for praise.

“Mr. Grant,” Damian said. “I can’t say it’s a pleasure, but it is an experience.”

“What does that mean?” Derrick bit out. “What are you doing with my girl?”

“I understand you recently broke up with, my darling Julie.”

My darling Julie
. Her heart slammed against her ribs. He didn’t really mean that. He was just winding Derrick up. But, oh god. Those words were so delicious.

“Yeah, well. We didn’t really break up,” Derrick hedged.

“Yes, we did,” she said firmly, inching closer in to Damian as if to proclaim she was totally off the market.

Derrick pinned her with a pathetically wounded look. “I thought we were on a break.”

“No, you didn’t.” Her hands started to curl into angry fists and her breath was coming short. She might pity him, but he was still so infuriating. Even now, he thought she’d crawl back to him. She couldn’t blame him. If Damian hadn’t suddenly burst into her life, demanding she change her view of herself. . . Maybe she would have let Derrick back into her apartment, opened that bottle of vodka, put the cheap flowers in a vase, and lied to herself that really deep down Derrick cared about her.

“Yeah, well, Julie. I can see you couldn’t wait to jump into some else’s bed,” he sneered. “I should have known you were a slut. Fat girls are all sluts.”

She winced. How had she ever thought there was anything attractive about this vindictive asshole? Oh right. She swallowed. She’d been lonely. So lonely. It took her a moment to realize, but Damian had grown almost impossibly still.

In fact, the sudden silence overtaking Derrick’s horrible horrible words was frightening.

She could feel the danger in Damian. His muscles had gone tense, his breath had slowed, and he was holding her like he was going to slide her behind him and beat Derrick to a pulp. But Derrick was a beast. Among other things, he liked to train in the ring. He might be pathetic but he knew how to fight and she didn’t want Damian getting involved like that. “Don’t,” she whispered. “He’s nothing.”

“I’m nothing?” Derrick mocked. “You’re nothing.”

Something had got a hold of her ex. Making him act like he was the wronged party. Maybe he needed to believe he was.

“You were fucking him, weren’t you?” Derrick spat. “That’s why you said I was screwing around. Cheaters always think their partner is cheating.”

“Mr. Grant,” Damian said softly. “I suggest you go.”

“Excuse me?” Derrick laughed. “What are you, some sort of—”

Before he could say whatever gross expletive he was about to say, Damian stepped forward, reached out, and grabbed Derrick’s wrist. He gave a sharp twist.

Derrick screamed, dropped the vodka and flowers and went down on one knee.

“Apologize,” Damian said with the same quiet authority as before.

Derrick panted, his hand turned back at the most freakish angle form his thick wrist.

“I—I— Let go man!”

Damian turned his own hand a bit further and Derrick bit down on his lower lip, his face going white. “What did you wish to say?”

“I—I’m sorry, Julie.”

“Good,” Damian replied. Still holding Derrick’s wrist, Damian turned to her. “Are you quite ready to leave?”

She nodded, speechless. She knew the PC part of her was supposed to be horrified. But apparently all PC parts of her had completely vanished. She felt like a lady fair, her knight vanquishing her enemy. She felt powerful. Damian had done this for
her
. He’d put Derrick firmly in his place because of
her
. “I’m ready.”

“Marvelous,” Damian said. He threw Derrick to the ground with one flick of his hand.

Derrick curled into a ball, clutching his wrist.

One arm now free, Damian, took her small rolling suitcase. “Is this all?”

Still mostly speechless, she nodded.

“Right then,” Damian smiled at her, his eyes a terrifying amber, holding some emotion she’d never seen before. Anger. Fury even. It was there, controlled. Tightly on a leash. But there, under all that calm fury, she saw Damian Fitzgerald as she’d never seen another human before. And in that moment, she knew Derrick was very, very lucky that Damian could keep his violence under such tight lock and key.

It wasn’t fear that she felt seeing that danger in Damian. Oh no. It was something else. Something shocking. She felt desire. Absolute primal desire. The most dangerous man in the pack, the most powerful, the most beautiful. . . He’d laid claim to
her
.

With that, Damian shut the door to her apartment. They left Derrick on the floor, along with all the rest of her past.

Chapter 4

As the Leer jet taxied out onto the runway in the dark, icy Denver night, Damian sat with an arm wrapped around Julie’s shoulders, holding her close to his chest. He’s spoken little since they’d gotten into the Bentley. They’d ridden in all but silence to the airport.

Except. . . She’d put her hand on his knee. A clear sign of possession.

It had sunk into his heart just then. She hadn’t been afraid. When he’d put Derrick Grant, that sniveling piece of shite, onto the ground, he’d felt a moment’s panic that when he turned to her she was going to be disgusted.

It had happened before. When he let that part of himself free, people recoiled. It was the main reason he almost never resorted to any sort of physical altercations. He used others to handle it. But there in the dingy hallway, that man with those wilting daisies, cheap vodka in hand, and words so foul they polluted the air, had crossed Damian’s line. He’d been unable to let it pass.

And all he could think over and over again was
thank god
he’d not stayed in Ireland. Christ. What if he’d been in Galway? What if he’d actually gotten off his jet, climbed out into the lightly misting morning and waited for Julie to arrive at his family estate as had been his original plan?

He had no idea if he should thank god or fate, but he had to thank something that he’d been compelled to turn right back around, sit down, order the jet to be refueled and command a return flight.

But whatever the case, he couldn’t mistake the blazing emotion in his chest. Julie had been in danger and only by chance had he been there to protect her. Without question, she was his to protect.

Mine
.

The word was visceral. It had come from deep within him and had growled over and over again as he’d maintained his cool facade. It had been all he could do not to grab Derrick Grant by the neck and smash his face into the wall for saying the things he did about Julie.

He rubbed his cheek against her soft, long hair and closed his eyes. Allowing himself a moment of intimacy.

Mine
.

No one was going to hurt her again. No one was going to touch her. No one was going to break her heart. If anyone even tried, they were going to end up in a bloody heap, their lives destroyed. Julie Doyle had suffered enough.

***

J
ulie snuggled into Damian’s hard chest, loving the feel of his arm wrapped around her. Ever since they’d left her apartment, he’d had his hands on her. Whether it was simply an arm tucked about her waist, or her hand in his, something had happened and he didn’t seem to want to let her go.

She was perfectly okay with that. She loved it, in fact.

All her life, she’d been a cuddly sort of person. But pretty much the moment her mom had died, her cuddling days had been over. Few people loved to just lay together, enjoying the silence, feeling each other, listening to each other’s breath and heartbeat.

She’d essentially and painfully resigned herself to the fact that she’d never know total physical ease with anyone again. Derrick had always made her feel tense, as if she had to hold her tummy in when she was in his arms.

Damian held her like she’d been made to fit in his embrace.

The lights had gone down on the jet but the seemingly never ending excitement was still humming through her veins. She was in a jet, in
his
arms, heading to a country she’d dreamed about visiting since she was little.

“Are you happy?” he asked as the jet suddenly began a loud whine, picking up speed as it sped down the runway.

She tilted her head back and looked at him. “Yes.”

He didn’t respond, just brushed his fingertips over her cheek then cupped her jaw.

Her skin tingled. He was going to kiss her. Oh, god she wanted him. She wanted him with a power she’d never really understood before.

And here, in the dark cabin, the flight attendants in their cordoned off area, Julie was alone with him.

She could feel his hard. . .cock. Yes, cock. It seemed the only appropriate word for a man like him. Penis was way too clinical. His hard cock was pressing through his expensive denim jeans. The feel of it against her hip was shockingly enticing. She’d never been that interested in men’s anatomies, beyond a scientific sort of curiosity. Ultimately though, she’d always found them disappointing.

But his? For some reason, she was proud of the fact that he was so hard for
her
. That hard cock pressing against his jeans was clearly meant for just
her
. She couldn’t touch him. She didn’t quite have the courage and she was nervous. God, she hated to admit being nervous. But what if there was something wrong with her? What if. . . What if even with him she was frigid? Despite the wild hunger she was feeling, the epic need for him to take her?

She blinked. Was that it? She wanted to be taken? Maybe. She didn’t know but she loved the way he looked at her. As if he was going to ravage her, consume her, lay claim to her in such a way that she could never look at another man again.

“Julie?” he said gently, his fingertips cupping her chin.

“Yes?” she breathed.

“I can feel your thoughts and they are working far, far too hard.”

She smiled, a tight apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. But. . . Just let all that go. Be here with me.”

“I. . . I’ll try.”

He stroked the side of her face, brushing back her hair. “If your thoughts are so important, tell me.”

She clamped her mouth shut and looked away.

He stilled. “Has someone ever. . . hurt you?”

She gasped. “No!” She didn’t want him thinking that was why. It was kind and thoughtful of him, but that wasn’t the case. “It’s just. . . It’s embarrassing.”

“Our bodies often embarrass us,” he said with a surprising amount of amusement, “but that’s because we feel we have no control over them. Don’t be embarrassed. There is nothing about you that should give you shame.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. She held onto him tight as if what she was about to say would cause him to suddenly disappear. “I— I’ve never had an orgasm.”

He was quiet, but at least he didn’t disappear.

“Never?” he asked simply, “Or just never with a partner?”

She opened her eyes, amazed at how he was reacting. As if she hadn’t just told him she was a freak. “What?”

He smiled, not in a condescending way, but in a gentle sort of reassuring manner. “Have you ever had an orgasm from touching yourself?”

She stared up at him, feeling her cheeks flame. “Yes.”

“Then I’d guess you’ve had a run of bad partners. Or partners who just don’t give you enough time.”

But surely it had to be her
, she wanted to protest. She hadn’t had many partners. Just a few. And she’d always waited until she cared about them. One night stands just weren’t her thing, not when she hoped beyond hope that she would find
the one
.

“Have you ever just let yourself enjoy it or do you always make sure your partner comes?”

“What?” she asked, her voice strangled.

“Men are notoriously selfish,” he said simply. “Has a man ever gone down on you without expecting something in return?”

She nearly choked. Okay, she realized she was an adult and that he was an adult and that the ability to talk about sex was a sign of maturity but she suddenly wanted to disappear into the floor because he clearly knew what he was talking about and she clearly was just a beginner.

“Julie?” he prompted softly.

“No,” she mumbled.

“Have you ever faked an orgasm?” he asked like he was asking if she’d ever had a cappuccino.

She pulled away from him, her whole body burning with embarrassment.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said as he pulled her back to him, plastering her over his chest. He slid his hands over her hips and gently cupped her bottom, leaving the apex of her thighs straddling his groin. “Men are fools, sweetheart. Such fools.”

Just the feel of his cock though their clothes, pressed against her core, was intense. Her eyes widened. She had the sudden and incredible urge to rock herself against him.

His eyes grew liquid with desire. “Promise me something.”

Her hands pressed into his shirt, warmed by the heat of his covered skin. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can and I insist or we stop this now.”

“What?”

“You will never, ever be fake with me, beautiful.” He massaged his hands over her hips and thighs, working the muscles with a delicious and provocative slowness. “In
any
way. Do you understand?”

She dropped her head back, feeling so many things. Under his touch, she felt like her body was made of lava. Hot, liquid, ready to burst into flame. And she felt safe. He cared. He cared how she felt and if she enjoyed this.

“Julie, do you understand?”

She drew in a deep breath then looked down at him, meeting his gaze. Awed that this was actually happening. “I understand.”

“Good then.” And suddenly his hands were at her waistband, unbuttoning her jeans.

She gasped. “What are you doing?”

He arched a single black brow at her. “I want you to trust me. Can you do that?”

She hesitated, biting her lower lip. This was the moment. This was the moment she had to choose. She could either give her body over to him, or she could keep it to herself. She could keep lying and pretending that she didn’t want this. She could not let go. She could keep herself boxed up and untrusting.