After Victoria marched off into the darkness in high dungeon the previous night, he’d polished off most of a bottle of really expensive whiskey trying to erase their ugly confrontation from his mind. It hadn’t worked, of course. Whether the memory of her indignation at his clumsy attempt to cool things down or the vivid scene etched forever in his brain of her licking and stroking his dick, both had the power to reduce him to a tangled mess of conflicting emotions. She’d landed quite a few direct hits to his ego and his sense of self. She was right on one thing. He hadn’t really considered anyone but himself. It didn’t require a map to figure out that had been the fatal flaw in how he’d handled everything. Victoria was a power unto herself. Unique and without guile, she wasn’t anything like the hoards of women he’d been consorting with his whole life. Women like his cold, calculating mother. By limiting his involvement to an endless parade of experienced females, all possessing a keen eye for the prize, he’d been able to cling to his belief that relationships were a sham and something best left to others.
