Damian

By Jessica Wood

**From New York Times Bestselling author Jessica Wood comes Damian, book one in the three-book series, The Heartbreaker**

Meet Damian Castillo. The man, the legend, the heartbreaker.

As a self-proclaimed man-whore, Damian doesn't believe in love or commitment. In fact, he can't remember the last time he's had feeling for a woman that went beyond hot, no-strings-attached sex. The only things he cares about are his bar, his appearance, and his needs.

But then he meets Alexis.

Meet Alexis Blythe. A small town girl that has lost a lot of love in her life. Wanting to leave her past behind her, she moves to San Francisco looking for a big change. Yet, despite everything she's gone through, she still believes in true love.

But then she meets Damian. 

When Alexis shows up into his life, Damian's caught by surprise. She's different. She's sweet, innocent, and feisty. But above all, this woman didn't respond to his charm and piercing-blue eyes the way every other woman did. To Damian, she's his ultimate challenge.

Could Alexis be the girl that will break through Damian's wall of perpetual bachelorhood without getting hurt? Or will Damian remain true his ways and break Alexis's heart and her hopes of true love?

New Adult Contemporary Romance witih **Mature Content** Recommended for 17+ due to mature language and adult situations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ERH Press
• Release date: Mar 1, 1994
• ISBN: 9781940285023

Jessica Wood

Jessica Wood writes contemporary romance. While she has lived in countless cities throughout the U.S., her heart belongs to San Francisco. To her, there’s something seductively romantic about the Golden Gate Bridge, the steep rolling hills of the city streets, the cable cars, and the Victorian-style architecture. She loves a strong, masculine man with a witty personality. While she is headstrong and extremely independent, she can’t resist a man who takes control of the relationship, both outside and inside of the bedroom. ;) She loves to travel internationally, and tries to plan a yearly trip abroad. She also loves to cook and bake, and—to the benefit of her friends—she loves to share. She also enjoys ceramics and being creative with her hands. She has a weakness for good (maybe bad) TV shows; she’s up-to-date on over 25 current shows, and no, that wasn’t a joke. And it goes without saying, she loves books—they’re like old and dear friends who have always been there to make her laugh and make her cry. The one thing she wishes she had more of, is time.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The sweetest of all sounds is that of the voice of the woman we love.

Jean de la Bruyere

Damian

I WAS WIPING DOWN THE bar when a group of girls walked in.

5.5, 7, 6, I thought to myself as I automatically rated each of them in my head and surveyed them from head to toe.

It was a force of habit for me, like second nature. And in all honesty, this was true for most guys. If any guy said that he didn’t mentally rate a girl when he first saw her, he’d be a fucking liar.

Or gay.

It was a male reflex, something instinctively done without much thought—much like breathing.

The three girls headed over to the bar and sat down right in front of me.

Hey, girls. What can I get you? I gave them a dazzling, wicked smile. I usually received the most tips from groups of girls, so I always made it a point to throw on the charm with them.

They all gave me—what they believed to be—their most seductive smiles. 5.5 and 7 proceeded to play with their hair while 6 bit her lip. I knew they were each hoping to stand out a little more so than their friends. I saw the way their eyes slowly moved from my eyes to my face to my body, as if their eyes were their fingers and lips, taking their sweet time as they took me all in, inch by inch.

And truth be told, I enjoyed the attention. I mean, what was not to enjoy?

Hi there, said 7 as her lips curled into a fuck-me-now smile. Let me guess, you’re Damian, right? 5.5 and 6 giggled.

I could smell the sweet, floral scent of 7’s perfume as she leaned up against the bar, letting her loose, blond waves fall forward toward me as she positioned herself so that her cleavage was spilling out over the bar table.

My eyes lingered over the delicate flesh of her full breasts, and for a second, I wondered how they’d taste in my mouth.

I gave her my signature smile, knowing the type of things she must have heard about me. I see my reputation precedes me.

7 seductively licked her lower lip with her tongue and bit it purposefully. We heard you make some amazing drinks. She drew out the word amazing, and it was clear from the way her eyes seemed to devour me that she wasn’t talking about drinks.

I flexed my arms against the edge of the bar counter, displaying my arm-length tattoo that ran down my left arm, and leaned toward them.

Anything for a pretty face, I flirted back with a wink.

I surveyed the three girls again. They were all attractive enough, but 7 was hotter than the others, and normally, if a hot girl played her cards right, she’d walk away with my number by the end of the night—the winning lottery ticket where a fucktastic night of no-strings-attached sex and fun were just a phone call away.

Okay, so I was cocky. But in my defense, I had good reason to be.

I was Damian Castillo, the self-proclaimed man-whore who made women wet with just a look and a smile.

I knew the effect I had on women. I saw the way they looked at me, the way they bit their lips as they eyed me, the way they seductively sipped the drinks I made for them, the way they grinned at me in a come-hither way, inviting me to notice them, inviting me to have my way with them in some dark corner of my bar. It was hard not to be cocky when you received this much attention every single day.

Don’t get me wrong: I wasn’t some asshole that took advantage of women and broke their hearts. Well, at least not intentionally. The girls I’d fucked knew very well what they were getting themselves into: a night of fuck-your-brains-out sex where sleep was the last thing on our minds and the last thing we would be getting. That, and nothing else.

And all I asked for in return: never mention the big C.

Commitment. The minute I heard that word from a girl, she was automatically blacklisted from my little—okay, big—black book. From where I stood, when a guy opened the door on commitment, in also came jealousy, emotions, and intimacy—all of which were not in my vocabulary. I wouldn’t commit for any girl, and I wouldn’t say any I-love-yous. That was my motto.

Well, that was until recently, before everything changed.

That was until a few months ago on a slow Friday afternoon when this girl literally stumbled into my life.

I looked over at her—a 10, if you were curious—sitting at the far end of the bar, watching me flirt with these three girls as she nursed her Sex on the Beach. She gave me a wide grin, and I felt my stomach flip in a way I’d never felt before with any other girl.

I smiled back at her—not my signature smile I usually gave, but a warm smile that meant something more. I knew she was here to spend time with me, and as much as I hated to admit it, I enjoyed her company. A lot. More so than any other woman I knew or had ever known.

So how could I have let this happen to me? How could I have turned into a guy who actually thought about a future—a future with someone else in it? How could I have turned into someone who, for the first time in his life, wasn’t cringing at the idea of commitment? How could I have gotten to this point—this point of no return?

Her name was Alexis.

CHAPTER ONE

Alexis

HERE YOU ARE, SAID THE airport shuttle driver as he pulled up in front of my new apartment building.

I grinned widely and felt a thrill of anticipation run through me as I looked up at the building that would be my new home.

I’m here, I whispered softly to myself as my eyes took in the beautifully aged, cream-colored Victorian-style building. The first floor of the building was a bar called Damian’s, and above the bar were six stories, each with three bay windows jetting out at the front.

I smiled when my eyes landed on the windows. That was the one requirement I’d had for my new studio: bay windows. It would remind me of my mom. I remembered her telling me once that her studio apartment when she lived in San Francisco years ago had bay windows.

I sighed and felt a jolt of emotion wash over me. It had been ten years since I lost my mom, and yet every time I thought of her, it was just as painful as it had been ten years ago.

Just these two suitcases? asked the driver, interrupting my thoughts as he pointed to two large suitcases in the back of the van.

Yes, just those two.

Damn, these are heavy, he exclaimed as he pulled the two suitcases out of the trunk. Are you sure you don’t need any help with these? He looked at me doubtfully and eyed the packed tote that was already weighing down my shoulder.

Yeah, I think I can manage, I reassured him.

Truth be told, I wasn’t sure I could manage, but for some reason, I didn’t want the driver to linger around. I wanted this moment to be mine. I wanted my first day in front of my new apartment in this completely new city to be all my own. I wanted to take in the first few moments of my brand new life alone.

Okay, hun. Welcome to San Francisco, the driver said as he closed the door to the trunk.

Thanks. I smiled and gave him a tip for his help.

As I watched the van drive down the street and disappear around the corner, I was consumed with a new sense of fear and excitement.

I turned my attention back to my new building and a cool breeze blew past. I shivered. It was a late summer afternoon and I was shivering. You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy, I thought sarcastically.

I wasn’t.

I was in a new city. I was starting a new life. And for the first time in as long as I could remember, I was going to have a life without my past weighing me down. And at that moment, I felt so much hope in front of me. I felt like anything could happen and everything was a possibility for me. In that moment, I felt like maybe this could be the place where I would find my happiness—where I would find the happiness that would fill the deep holes of sorrow in my heart.

I thought back to how quickly things had changed for me and how I was now standing in front of this building in the Mission District of San Francisco. It was only two months ago that I had ended a relationship with a man who didn’t deserve my love. It was only two months ago that I decided to move away from the only place I’d known for my entire life—the small city of Cedar Rapids, Iowa. It was only two weeks ago that San Francisco became my destination, the city in which I was determined to find a new life for myself—a life where I wouldn’t be known as that girl who became an orphan overnight at the age of thirteen. I would be in a city where I wouldn’t get those looks of pity or sympathy I had been all too familiar with during the last ten years.

I walked through the lobby area of my building. Straight ahead of me was the staircase leading up to the apartment units. A couple of rows of small mailboxes lined the wall to the right of the stairs, and on the other end, to my far right, was a door leading to the bar, Damian’s.

I looked up at the steep staircase and groaned. I may need a few drinks after moving these suitcases up these steps, I thought.

I readjusted my large tote over my shoulder and started to lug the two large suitcases up the steps to my studio. Unit 204. I’m on the second floor. I can totally do this, I said out loud, trying to encourage myself as I felt the strain against my fingertips as I heaved my suitcases up the steps, one in each hand, one step at a time.

Halfway up the first flight of stairs, I heard two people coming up the stairs from behind me.

Shit, I’m blocking their way, I thought as I realized how unbelievably awkward and stupid I must look with two large suitcases and an overfilled tote balanced between my two hands.

Oh. Emm. Gee. She’s, like, going to take forever, I heard a girl whisper to the person she was with, deliberately loud enough for me to hear.

Fucking bitch, I thought. I knew instantly that I would hate her.

I stopped and tried to turn towards them as best as I could as my suitcases and tote weighed down on my hands and arm.

Oh. Emm. Gee. Like, thanks so much for your patience, I said sarcastically, mimicking her Valley Girl accent.

To my surprise, I heard the other person—a guy—snicker.

Hey! the girl scorned at the guy. Then I heard a slap, which I assumed was her hitting him against the chest.

What? That was funny, the guy said with a chuckle. He seemed completely undisturbed that the girl was upset.

I smiled to myself. There was something in the smoothness of his rich, deep voice that drew me in. I tried to move the suitcase that blocked my view of him so that I could see his face. But the only thing I could see was an intricate arm-length tattoo down the guy’s left arm.

He’s one of those guys, I thought to myself somewhat judgmentally as I automatically painted a picture in my head of what kind of guy he would be: a cocky guy who was nothing but trouble.

Now my curiosity had gotten the best of me. What did he look like? I wondered.

I cranked my head further downward toward where he stood on the staircase, trying my best to be subtle.

Suddenly, I knew it was about to happen before it did. The strap to my tote began to give way to the amount of items I had stuffed in it. I watched in horror as several items from my tote, including a large, green Nalgene water bottle, fell out of my tote and down toward them.

Ouch! What the fuck? exclaimed the girl as the half-full Nalgene bottle hit her shin.

Oops, sorry about that, I said, trying to sound sincere. I felt bad for her, but a part of me instantly thought, That’s karma.

Yeah right, the girl huffed. Clearly, we were on the same page about how we felt towards one another.

Here, let me help you, offered the guy. I heard the girl give an exasperated sigh as the guy moved up the staircase.

Oh, you don’t have to, I insisted, a part of me still determined to keep this move-in experience all to myself.

But then, as one of my suitcases lifted out of my sore hand, I immediately felt relieved for the help.

As he lowered the suitcase down to where he stood on the stairs, I drew in a sharp intake of breath as I saw him for the first time.

He’s fucking gorgeous.

He was an image of perfection, the most attractive man I’d ever seen in my life—in real life or on any glossy magazine. Everything about this man oozed sex. Not the missionary crap, but the dirty, earth-shattering type of sex that left you a completely different person afterwards. In fact, I was pretty sure that if I were to look up sex in the dictionary, a picture of him would be there—his hard, chiseled body, that arm-length tattoo that ran down his arm, those piercing blue eyes that had sent my heart to my throat when our eyes met.

My heart skipped a beat and I forced myself to blink, unable to hold his gaze any longer. I immediately felt self-conscious. Ugh. I look like shit, I thought. I knew I probably still had some sweat on my face from heaving the suitcases up these steps.

I should have listened to my best friend, Deb. She said to always look your best when traveling because you never knew who you’d bump into—at the airport or once you’ve reached your destination. I had brushed off Deb’s advice. This was my first time traveling on a plane—I hadn’t been lying when I said I’d lived in Cedar Rapids all my life—and six hours of flying, with a layover in O’Hare International Airport in Chicago, made me extremely nervous.

So comfort was the only thing I had in mind today—well, comfort and not dying, that was. So naturally, the one time I’d decided to not listen to Deb’s advice I happened to bump into the most gorgeous man alive. Typical. Here I was, a Midwest girl with mousy brown hair in a University of Iowa sweatshirt and baggy jeans, lugging two suitcases that were each larger than my body up these stairs. What made matters worse was that there was a large, faded yellow mustard stain on the sweatshirt, smacked right in the middle of my chest. I knew I should have gotten rid of the sweatshirt after failing to clean out the stain, but I just couldn’t seem to part with it. As odd as it might have been, I found comfort in that sweatshirt. It was worn down and loose at just the right spots. And a lot of great college memories involved that sweatshirt. So for me, it was like a grown-up version of a security blanket. It was comforting, and I loved wearing it.

But at that very moment, I wished I had worn anything else but that sweatshirt. I winced in embarrassment as I caught the guy’s piercing blue eyes dart to my right breast, where the large mustard stain resided, and I felt my face grow hot.

The guy gave me a smile, and for that brief moment, I was paralyzed by that smile. For that brief moment, I was unable to move, think, or even tell you what my name was.

You should be more careful, he said as he eyed me with amusement.

Sorry. I gave him an apologetic smile and hoped he didn’t think I was some idiot. My bag just broke.

Perfect timing, he said, and for some reason, I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. Oh, and you dropped a few things, he said with a devious smirk on his face.

I pulled my gaze from his deep blue, mesmerizing eyes and looked down toward his hands. I cringed in horror at what I saw.

Along with the Nalgene bottle that hit the girl’s shin, a strip of Trojan Magnum Ecstasy condoms and a pair of pink fuzzy handcuffs must have also fallen out of my tote because there they were, in the hands of this gorgeous man. My face grew hotter as he handed them to me. I thought I saw a twinkle in his eyes as he looked up at me.

Oh— I began, unable to think, let alone speak.

I grabbed the condoms and handcuffs and stuffed them back into my tote.

Umm ... I tried to think through the haze of mortification that was clouding my thoughts. Those aren’t mine.

Right, the

Reviews for Damian

[gloria.herrera · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Cocky, self-assured, handsome and unbearably charming... that is Damian. At least, that is the illusion Damian is a pro at presenting when you meet him. He keeps all emotions well hidden behind this impenetrable facade.

A chance encounter with his new neighbor Alexis sends him for a spin and then some. The instant chemistry cannot be denied. Damian being the way he is, makes it known that he is a fun guy, no commitments, entanglements, love them and leave them kind of guy.

Our two main characters cannot be more opposite. Alexis is looking to start a new life away from her ex-boyfriend, her small town life, and the loneliness of having lost her parents at a young age. She is trying to reach out for a new life where adventure is welcomed hand in hand with self-respect and pity is no longer the emotion people feel when they meet her.

Of course they are fated to be together. We are taken through the ups and downs of this blooming relationship and the learning curve of the "no commitment" Damian in his quest to discover how to love.

This is book 1 of our story. Book 2 - Taming Damian - is due out early in 2014. Lucky for us, as the end of book 1 leaves us with a surprise and a WTF!!! expletive in our mouths.