Black Hearted - An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Complete)

Black Hearted: Chapter 1

Jack was on the hunt.

This wasn't his typical hunting grounds, but that didn't matter, he could find something to tempt him. It didn't take much. All he really needed was an impressive pair of tits to hold on to while he took her from behind.

But he was picky. The woman had to meet certain standards. After all, Jack Blackhorne was worth it.

Draven sat beside him, eyes glassy from the booze and drugs, a blonde in his lap. The groom-to-be was making the most of his bachelor weekend in Vegas. Jack tried to move this boys' weekend to Miami, the options a little classier, the clubs a lot hotter, but Draven had no imagination. Vegas was where Draven always went when the girls in LA bored him, probably because the town was a quick trip in his jet. So Vegas Baby it was.

The blonde drew her tongue along Draven's exposed chest and Jack left them to their dalliance, preferring to start his own show. Which lucky girl would get to lick his popsicle stick tonight? Tight bodies crammed into tighter dresses littered the club, some in groups of two or three, others peeled away from the herd, tempting hunters like him. He caught a glimpse of long black hair swaying to the thump, thump, thump of the music. This looked promising.

He could grab hold of that hair and give it a good tug.

The dress was deep red and hugged the goods in all the right places. Namely her ass. He approved, sure the plump flesh would look good bouncing off his lap. He appreciated a little junk in the trunk, liked the feel when he squeezed. She was shorter than he liked. His ex-wife had been the perfect height. But Ali wasn't here. Besides, he doubted he would get to tap that again.

But never say never was always Jack's motto.

Well, one of them. Go for it was another. And this petite, black-haired beauty was about to get a night she would never forget.

The only question was, was she worth taking back to his hotel room for a marathon session or would this be a quickie in the bathroom? Tonight was the first of two evenings in Vegas and Jack had to play his cards right, so to speak. Three days meant lots of opportunity for ass, and he didn't want to pollute his hunting grounds or gain a groupie if she wasn't any good.

Because once women had a taste of Jack Blackhorne, they always wanted more.

He couldn't help it if he was every woman's wet dream. Tall, dark and handsome with a broody attitude drew women in like flies. Thank you E. L. James and the dangerous bad boy romance craze. Those books made his life so much easier. He barely had to hook any bait on the line. They were jumping at the chance to be with him.

And on the rare occasions when he did have to put a little effort into the play, his baby blue eyes did most of the work for him. He hadn't met a woman yet who could resist them.

Time to get the show on the road. Like the lion he was, he took his time rising to his feet, strolling across the club, eye on the prize, preparing for contact.

He got contact alright. Slammed into a tray full of drinks in the hand of a petite waiter. Well now they were more strewn about the tray and pink liquid seeped through the thin white cotton of his... breasts. With the pixie cut Jack had assumed the offending staff was a man, but those perky tits longing to be in his hand were definitely a woman's. A real woman.

Despite the pretty package, if she was doing her job right, she should have been watching out. The customer is always right, and some of that cheap wine could have landed on him. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but the words on his lips died when he looked down at her.

The strobe lights of the club glided across her face, revealing hazel eyes streaked with a blazing fire. Red sparks seared in the green-brown irises, daring him. And Jack loved a good dare.

Then the light-shifted and the fire blinked away.

The backbeat vibrated along the floor as Jack waited for the woman to apologize. Instead, she muttered 'asshole' as she shook off her dripping sleeve. He followed her with his eyes as she walked away. Perhaps he should complain to the manager about her, teach her some respect. Then the dancer with the long black hair recaptured his attention. She'd turned around, revealing a low plunging neckline where the cheap fabric could barely contain her large milky white breasts.

Yes, they would do nicely.

It wasn't until they were in the elevator up to his room Jack noticed the one flaw with the woman. Standing in the harsh light of the enclosed space, he squeezed her ass, enjoying the feel of her flesh and getting her revved up for the upcoming event. She raised her gaze towards him, expressing with her dark eyes her level of desire.

Eyes the wrong colour.

Ali had blue eyes.

They shined like sapphires when she was aroused. In the beginning, Jack felt like a god when she focused those irises on him. He missed the sensation. In fact, there were a lot of things he missed about Ali.

Their marriage was essentially a business deal for him. A damned fine deal that took him years to negotiate. In exchange for a cash infusion and some elevated status, Ali's parents had been only too happy to hand over their daughter to his care. He got sultry arm candy that complimented his style, entry into the blue-blooded world that was one of the few things the Blackhorne family's new money couldn't buy, and 24/7 access to a body that was willing to satisfy his every want.

Ali was easy, comfortable, dependable.

If he came home from a bad day at the office, or a good day for that matter, she would be waiting for him. Jack could take Ali right there, bending her over the kitchen counter and pounding into her until his sweet release. Ali rarely disappointed.

At first, she had been fire and spice. Those cobalt eyes flaring in desire. Jack looked forward to every opportunity to dress her up, take her out on the town, show her off, make other men jealous that he had struck it rich yet again. The ritual kept him interested.

He even put aside his side dishes once he married her. Tried to meet the standards of what the world and Ali thought a good husband should be. It just wasn't sustainable. When the flames of Ali's passion waned, he had to look elsewhere for a challenge. A man prefers filet mignon but he can't survive off of it. Eventually he craves a change. Sometimes lobster offered itself up when out of town and Jack just had to take a bite. Then there was mac and cheese at the gentleman's club he frequented when he had to get away from Ali's whining. Jack supped on all of it, taking his fill.

Then she caught him. Bound to happen. He'd been ignoring her too much and the buffet at the office too enticing. Maybe he wanted to be caught. Either way, Ali walked in on him screwing his secretary like a scene out of a low budget porno movie. And that was it. His marriage was over.

The thing was, aside from the inconvenience of having to put in a little more effort in getting laid, the divorce was a non-event for him.

Perhaps it was because he didn't love Ali. Jack knew the feeling was not something he was capable of–this emotional connection that tied you to another human being. Made you a romantic fool. Some things in his life would be easier if romantic attachment hit him and made him capable of committing to one woman. But he knew the concept wasn't possible. At least not for him.

He wasn't so jaded to think love didn't exist. He saw the way Ali's new husband, Sam Harrington, looked at her and it was evident to anyone with a brain the arrogant, goodie two shoes adored his wife. And she him.

It just wasn't something that was ever going to be in the cards for him. For which he was grateful. Love made you weak. People in love did stupid things, made emotional decisions. They were exploitable. And he enjoyed capitalizing on the vulnerable, manipulating and domineering them to his will.

Second only to sex, Jack Blackhorne adored power.