Under His Ruthless Protection

Prologue

"You hurt me" I said softly while Declan looked on, pain consuming his beautiful features.

"I know and I'm sorry" he said quietly. I continued to stare at him from the sofa and before I could realize what was happening, I walked across the room to where he stood.

I timidly reached my hand out, making contact with his forearm, the heat from his body bleeding through into my palm.

"I'm not sure why, but I forgive you. But Declan, do not ever take me for granted again. I'm not in the habit of being used." I'd never heard that kind of calmness to my voice before.

He reached up to caress my face, my eyes closed as soon as he made contact with my skin.

"So beautiful" he murmured, his hot breath in close proximity to my needy lips.

I could feel the unwilling tears starting to course down my cheeks as the words spilled from his lips.

I slowly unbuttoned the cuffs on his dress shirt, then just as slowly, unbuttoned the shirt and slipping it from his shoulders, I watched it flutter to the ground.

His olive complexion gave such an exotic look to his bare, muscled chest as I ran my hands over his upper body, my heart rate accelerated to dangerous speeds.

"Make love to me, Declan. Make me forget."

___

I studied my features in the scrolled mirror of my loft apartment bathroom, sucking in my cheeks, making them hollow, then letting them out normally again.

I had smooth, creamy skin, not a wrinkle in sight, pretty great for someone who had just turned thirty and the best part was, I didn't feel my age.

I was getting ready to head into my office, in the heart of downtown Boston, 49th floor of the Arcady building; a huge office and the entire floor belonged to me.

I employed my agent, a receptionist, my accountant, my personal assistant and her personal assistant, we all worked out of that building and they had been with me since the beginning.

I was a romance novelist and despite my book making the New York Times Best Sellers list and a lucrative book signing deal, my love life was nonexistent, actually it sucked.

I could write about it all day long, the lovey dovey characters, the sex scenes and how much the main actors loved each other.

But having this for myself was laughable. Firstly, I didn't know if I could trust anyone like that and secondly, I was petrified of being with a man, any man.

I knew why but I was never willing to discuss it, only with my therapist and those chosen few that were closest to me , because it was just too painful and dredged up too many bad memories.

I was pretty, I guess, as far as the outside went but on the inside? I was a screwed up individual; between my heart and mental health, yeah screwed up was putting it mildly.

I stood six feet tall, had long, silky black hair and blue eyes. My body was pretty athletic while maintaining the feminine curves that drove most men crazy.

I proudly sported a full C cup and had a nice round ass, just the right size, a perfect handful. My lips were pretty and full, my most attractive feature I was told.

I had the tattoo of a butterfly on my left shoulder and a tattoo of the sun on the inside of my right ankle, plus my belly button is pierced.

I dressed in a fitted black and houndstooth dress. The bodice was the houndstooth and the skirt was solid black and just below the knee and I paired it with five inch black heels.

I left my hair with a slight wave in it, classic foundation, powder, blush, eye shadow, eyeliner and nude gloss. I liked sweet but light smelling fragrances so one of my favorites was Pink Beach Weekend by Victoria's Secret.

Picking up my shoulder bag and laptop case, I grabbed my keys and headed out. Locking the door, I took my phone and called my car service letting them know I was ready.

The ride in seemed longer than usual but we eventually made it to the Arcady building, sixty stories encased in black smokey glass, blocking out a good portion of the skyline depending on where you were at on the ground.

As soon as I landed on the 49th floor, I could smell my hazelnut latte and fresh scone and silently I thanked God for Constance, my assistant.

"Constance dear, remind me at the end of this quarter to give you a raise" I sing-songed, walking into my office with her on my heels. "Yes oh great one, you say that every time I do something wonderful" we both snickered at her statement.

Taking my laptop bag and purse, like she did every morning, she hung up the purse and got my laptop out and set it up for me.

"Okay Am, you've got your meeting with Reese (my agent) at ten thirty, then your lunch date with Nigella Ambrose at one. At two fifteen you have a Skype with Buckingham Publishing and then at four you have a phone call with Dr. Webster."

I scowled at her on the last appointment. That was a necessary evil, the meetings, the appointments, the phone calls. Dr. Webster, my therapist, who deals with PTSD sufferers.

All apart of my therapy and healing. Pfft, yeah right. After you've gone through what I've gone through, talk to me about healing.

"Fine" I pouted. Constance turned, looking at me, her face a placard of seriousness.

"Amethyst, you know better than anyone that your sessions with Dr. Webster are helping you. I mean when was the last time you had a night terror?"

Damn it, she was right and as much as I hated to admit it, I hadn't endured one in three weeks.

I couldn't help but notice the sympathetic look in her eyes but I smiled at her, trying to get the good, carefree mood back from earlier.

"You're right Constance. Can you please get Nigella on the phone and make sure our reservations for Yvonne's is still set?"

She nodded at me and returned to her office while I plopped into my cushy leather chair, logging onto my laptop and checking the day's emails.

Spam, spam, spam, answered, deleted...good God these sh*tty emails were driving me crazy but I had managed to weed out all of the ones that were important.

"Amethyst, Ms. Ambrose is on line three" Constance called in on the intercom. "Thanks C" I replied back, picking up the phone. (Picture below is Nigella Ambrose, Amethyst's best friend)

"Nigella, good morning" I sang. "Am, darling. Yvonne's at one? Pricey. I love it" she cooed, her English accent sexy.

I chuckled at her, knowing very good and well that she was yanking my chain. She was CFO at DSJ Technologies and made big bucks, plus I understood her boss to be hotter than hell but an as*hole.

"Well I've missed my best friend and I really need a friendly ear right now" I told her. I heard her sigh. "Writer's block?" She knew me too well.

"Yeah, that and other things. I'm just feeling lonely and I hate it. I'm surrounded by some of the best people, but I feel lonely as hell and it's driving me crazy."

Even though I could be honest with Constance, there was a level of honesty that I could only achieve with Nigella and I loved her so much for it.

"Darling, you need to go out and I don't mean with me to a club, you need to go on a date." Sh*t! She always brings that up.

"Nig, you know how I feel about that" I lightly scolded her. But all she did was tsk me.

"What if I personally knew the guy and could vouch that he wouldn't hurt you and you'd be safe with him?" She wasn't going to give up, was she?

"Look, I've got an appointment with Reese. Can we talk about this over lunch?" She acquiesced, telling me she would see me later.

Hanging up, all I could think was I would end up giving in and I would get hurt.

Declan St. James, CEO of DSJ Technologies and thirty-five year old billionaire. Cold, only by choice, because so many of the people he came in contact with only wanted him for his money and power.

Standing at six foot, six inches, his body an amazing testament to godlike genes, sported a broad, muscled chest, biceps that could make women weak, narrow waist, and the V that led to his amazing c*ck.

He wouldn't deny that he was extremely endowed in that department and if he'd been a bragging man, he could tell you all the women he'd pleasured, had no complaints.

He knew how to satisfy.

With black hair, shadow of stubble and the bluest eyes you'd ever seen, women stopped and stared everywhere he went and men were always trying to get his business acumen.

(Murray Rothchild, head of DSJ Technologies security and best friend to Declan St. James)

"Speak to me, Murray" Declan said into his phone. He was speaking with Murray Rothchild, his head of security.

"Your meeting with the Japanese conglomerate has been set for three o'clock our time. Plus we tracked down the terminal that was used for the file transfer.

We were able to insert a Trojan program that will download along with the stolen file, so the minute they put the flash drive into their computer, it's gonna crash."

That's why Declan loved Murray. He was a retired Navy Seal and came highly recommended. That was twelve years ago and next to his CFO, Nigella Ambrose, Murray was his closest friend.

"Great. As*holes screwed with the wrong person and company" Declan told his friend. Murray agreed and said he would keep him posted.

After hanging up with Murray, he needed to speak with Nigella.

"Jan, can you call Nigella and ask her to meet me in my office, please? Thank you" he told his assistant.

Swirling around in his office chair, he gazed out the window, atop the 50th floor of his immense office building, taking in the enormity of his city, Boston.

"Hey Dec" Nigella's voice called out, breaking his daydreaming. Turning around, he smiled at his friend, indicating for her to sit down.

"What's the matter, St. James?" He didn't know how she did it, but she always picked up on his moods, anything that was troubling him, she could tell.

"Murray tracked down the terminal that was used for the file download. He implemented his protocol and it's going to be downloaded on the computer used. They won't get anything except a fried computer."

Nigella chuckled and shook her head. "Murray is such a can of badassness." Declan loved her colorful descriptions and would never tire of her British humor and euphemisms.

She studied him a little closer, then said "Okay that is work. Now tell me, what's really going on?"

He smirked. How in the hell did she always manage that? Sometimes she really freaked him out when she did that.

"You need to go out, Declan. Not to a club, but a date, in a nice restaurant and meet a nice woman."

That was her answer to everything, go out on a date. So far, he hadn't listened to her, but maybe he should.

"Nig, I'm so busy I don't have time to meet anyone and I'm not using a dating service. The last time I did that, she ended up being a real b*tch."

"I have the perfect person in mind for you" Nigella, said grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Declan just laughed and shook his head. "I don't know, Nig. Can I think about it?" He asked.

She nodded and got up to leave, when she turned and reminded him of their meeting with the Finance department.

"You bring the numbers, I'll bring the coffee" Declan laughed. Giving him the thumbs up, Nigella left and headed back to her office.

The rest of Declan's day was filled with meetings and phone calls, he barely had enough time to breath and now his muscles screamed and ached from the tension that had built up in his shoulders.

Finally six o'clock rolled around and he knew the perfect cure for relieving the stress.

"Nate, Mickey's please" he said to his driver. "Right away, Mr. St. James."

Mickey's was the best gym in all of Boston as far as Declan was concerned.

They trained local fighters, so they had a boxing ring, bags, mats, you name it, they had it.

He needed to punch something, so a bag it would be, then a shower and bed.

Any other time he would have sought out solace in a female companion but tonight, no. He just wasn't in the mood, plus what little sexual angst he had, he could just as easily take care of it himself in the shower.

Arriving at the gym, he was pleased to see that it wasn't packed and maybe he could spend his time in peace, not having to fend off females that wanted in his pants.

"Mick!" Declan greeted the owner. "Hey Dec" the older man replied. "Spot?" Mickey asked.

"Yep, if you don't mind" Declan answered, heading to the locker room to change.

"Meet ya at the bag" Declan said, disappearing into the men's locker room.

Declan got in a good workout and was a sweating, heaving mess by the time his two hour workout was over.

Staying in his workout clothes, he would shower and change when he got home.

Being glad tomorrow was Friday, he always let his employees off at two on Friday's, it helped with moral and productivity.

Declan had been giving more thought to what Nigella had said about going on a date and was seriously considering it.

What's the worst that could happen? He would have a good meal, hopefully with great company and that would be that.

What could possibly go wrong?

He decided to ask her in the morning to set him up with her friend, for a week's time and hopefully that would give the woman enough time to decide if she wanted to go out with him.

Falling into bed, his mind quickly ran over his agenda for the following day and sighing, he shut his mind off and allowed his eyes to close, welcoming sleep as an old friend.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror as I readied for my date. Nigella had worn me down, just as I knew she would but eventually I relinquished my thoughts of negativity and determined that I was going to have a good time.

Just as a precaution, I Googled Declan St. James, for my own edification, and I audibly gasped at the sight of him. He was as close to immortal perfection that I'd ever seen.

Even while I was staring into his icy blue eyes, I felt him calling to me. I shook my head, dispelling those crazy feelings and chalking them up to the fact that I hadn't been anywhere near a man, romantically, in over a year and it was simply my womb calling out to me through the cobwebs.

Nigella completely assured me that he would never hurt me, having been hurt himself, he knew where I was coming from as far as the trepidation that was felt by accepting a blind date.

"God, what am I, sixteen? Christ, I feel like I'm back in high school" I scolded myself as I finished up my appearance. Totally satisfied and convinced that I did in fact look hot, I left my loft and jumped into my only indulgence since becoming a famous author, a 1976 Pontiac Trans Am, complete with the gold bird on the hood. She was my pride and joy.

Through our emails, Declan had left the restaurant choice up to me and having a certain comfort level with Yvonne's, I gave him my selection. He never gave any indication that he was okay with my choice, other than he would make the reservations.

He kind of struck me as cold and aloof, but I was willing, because of Nigella, to give him a chance, but if he f*cked it up, I was out of there, I didn't care who saw or heard what. I wasn't going to be beneath a man ever again.

I arrived with six minutes to spare, valeting my car, and getting many looks from the young men who did car parking as a way to make extra money while working their way through college.

Brad, a young man that I had become friendly with, greeted me first because he wasn't intimidated by me and I tossed him the keys and threw out the standard "Don't scratch her, Brad." Knowing he loved her almost as much as I did and wouldn't mistreat her.

I was greeted by the hostess, Samantha, Susan, sh*it I was horrible at names but hid it well under a hug and kiss to her cheek as she let me know my party had already arrived and was waiting for me at a reserved table.

I followed her to the table when my eyes caught sight of the man himself, Declan St. James, in the flesh and looking very...oh my God.

It's true that I wasn't prepared for just how good he looked in the flesh, I mean it's true what they say. A picture often does not do people justice and in his case, this was the truth.

As soon as we arrived at the table, I frowned immediately because not only did he not look up and even acknowledge my presence, he didn't even stand.

To say I was thoroughly embarrassed would have been the understatement of the year, but I smiled threw gritted teeth and sat down in the chair that had been pulled out for me.

"Hi, I'm..." was all I got out before he threw up his pointer finger, telling me silently not to say anything while he busied himself with his I Phone.

Furtively I looked around, hoping that no one saw what was going on and much to my relief, people were going about stuffing their faces with over priced and very rich foods, talking about how their shopping day didn't pan out and the local nail salon gossip.

I immediately hated being there and sat for a total of six minutes and thirty seconds before my pissy b*tch took over and I muttered "F*ck this sh*t", got up and started to walk out.

On my way out, I was recognized by several tables and asked for my autograph, as I graciously smiled all the while inside I was crushed and dying from humiliation and being hurt more than I could voice from how I'd been treated.

When I finally reached outside, I gulped in a lung full of fresh air, holding the tears at bay while waiting on Brad to bring my car around.

I took a folded up hundred and placed it in Brad's palm, giving him a small kiss on the cheek. "Ms. Langston, are you okay?" He was truly concerned and that is one of the many reasons that had Brad been a little older, I would have gone out with him instead of that self-serving, narcissistic as*shole sitting inside.

I smiled at him through the tears that I couldn't stop now and said "Thanks Brad. I will be. I'll see you next time."

Throwing my purse into the passengers seat, I fired up Rammstein Du Hast and peeled from the parking lot, counting the minutes until I would be home, in my tee shirt and sitting on my balcony vaping; a vaporizer full of cannabis oil. Thank you, Dr. Webster for actually doing something helpful for me.

Thankful I had finally made it inside my loft, I broke down, sobbing like a teenage girl whose boyfriend broke up with her at prom.

I just left my clothes where they fell and grabbed my sleep shirt, throwing it on, I went straight for my desk and dug out my Box o' Dreams, that's what I called my medicinal cannabis oil container.

Almost as soon as I stepped out onto my balcony and lifted the vaporizer to my lips and inhaled, my phone starting going off like the Bat phone. I knew it was Nigella but I wasn't sure if I wanted to even talk to her.

But then I realized, it wasn't her fault that the as*shat had just crushed my will to live was probably a totally different jerk at work.

"Nigella" I sobbed. "I'll be right over, darling and I'll let myself in. Just hang on" Nigella said softly.

I nodded like she could see or hear that and hanging up, I tossed the phone onto the coffee table and watched it bounce onto the outdoor sofa.

Luckily by the time she got there, I was well on my way to tripping the lights fantastic and all I did was lay in her arms and sob, wearing myself out and falling asleep.

I wouldn't find out until the morning that she had her driver come up and help her get me into bed. She stayed for a while, left me a note to call her when I woke up and then she left.

I knew I was going to feel like sh*t in the morning and just this once, I was calling in.