8.
DANIEL
Goddamn. Watching Elizabeth Lyons’s ass walk away from me was one of the hottest things I’d witnessed all year, and I’d seen a lot of hot shit.
I knew what she was trying to do by avoiding me. She assumed I was bad news. It was the normal first impression of me, no matter what I would do or say. When it came to women, I was often told that I reeked of trouble—whatever the hell that meant. Although, to be honest, it usually only fueled their desire for me. What could I say? It seemed that women not only liked trouble, they fucking loved it. And they loved fucking it.
But not her.
Elizabeth was focused. She had probably dealt with more come-ons in her industry than I cared to imagine. This wasn’t a game to her.
After spending more time with her tonight, I sensed that her actions were pure, her reactions to me sincere. She wasn’t the type of girl who fucked around. Actually, she didn’t seem like the type of girl who fucked at all. She had come off as sort of repressed, but she’d tried to hide all that behind a sassy mouth. God, what a mouth it was.
Kissing her had challenged my willpower. Hell, being in the same room with her had challenged my fucking willpower. I wanted to unrepress her, undress her, and whatever else she’d let me do. I knew that wouldn’t be much of anything, so I’d restrained myself the best I could. A man could only be so strong when faced with temptation and desire.
That kiss had to happen. I refused to let her leave tonight without giving her something to miss. I was attracted to her on a primal level. Her body was like an instrument made purely for my hands, and I found myself unable to stay away, no matter how hard I tried.
But there was more to her than that, depth and substance to a degree that I wasn’t accustomed to in my lifestyle, even though I constantly looked for it. Female attention was always easy for me to come by, so that wasn’t the problem. Not to mention, having the reputation I did in the Bay Area had landed me on more than one of the hottest Bay Area bachelor lists.
As much as I hated those fucking things because of the unwanted attention they’d bring me, they would also introduce me to some new business ventures I wouldn’t have had otherwise, so I couldn’t write them off completely. But I could do without the trashy, classless, and money-hungry women who always appeared right after those articles.
You shouldn’t get me wrong. I was not a fucking angel by any means, but I was trying. I used to love dipping my dick into any pussy that would let me. It was certainly crude, but it had once been the truth.
In the earlier days of my success, I had absolutely been the kind of guy who tripped face-first into any and every hot piece of ass that passed by. She couldn’t hold a conversation about anything other than clothes and makeup? I couldn’t care less. All she had going for her were her model good looks and legs that refused to quit? Perfect. Wrap those babies around my shoulders. She never graduated from college or had any vital life experience? Hot, sweaty sex didn’t need a degree the last time I’d checked.
I had been, by all means, a typical red-blooded American male. A wealthy, ambitious, attractive, and young guy, I’d worked my ass off by day and screwed my dick off by night—not literally, thank God.
My record-setting pace hadn’t taken long to catch up with me, and I’d eventually had the scare of my up-to-that-point life.
A one-night stand had waltzed into my place of employment—luckily, I owned it—and demanded to see me. She had all but thrown a hissy fit in the lobby of my busy building. The moment she had seen me, she’d broken down into tears, sobbing, while I’d scoured the recesses of my mind, trying to remember her name or where exactly I’d met her.
She’d started screaming about sleeping with me and being late, and before my brain could catch up with whatever the hell she had been trying to tell me, she’d blurted out that she was pregnant. My world had spun, and I’d lost all focus as I grasped on to the receptionist’s desk to keep my knees from buckling.
Ladies, if you ever wanted to scare the ever-loving shit out of a man you’d just met, you should tell him you were pregnant with his kid. I didn’t say that to be cruel. It was just honest. The scariest moment I’d had in my life was when I’d thought that I had gotten someone I didn’t know at all pregnant.
Sparing the gory details, the girl—whose name was Lori by the way—had admitted she lied about the pregnancy. She had concocted the scheme to either extort an exuberant amount of money from me or to get me to marry her, either resulting in the same ending, money after the inevitable divorce. Neither had worked, considering the size of the legal team I had at my disposal. They had quickly determined that she was a filthy liar, so I’d filed a restraining order.
The day of the scare, I’d stopped sleeping around with strangers. That little nightmare down Almost Daddy Lane had been enough to pretty much kill my libido, and I could swear that my dick had experienced a mental breakdown in the lobby of that old building because he hadn’t been quite the same ever since. He still worked and got his rocks off, but it wasn’t without a lot of help on my end.
That was, until tonight.
Tonight, he’d woken up all on his own, and I’d never been so happy to see him. I had been half-tempted to throw him a welcome-home party, but I digressed.
Elizabeth Lyons had woken up the sleeping dragon, and now, she’d have to deal with it.