Her Defiant Heart - Monica Murphy

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  About Her Defiant Heart

  Books by Monica Murphy

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  About the Author

  Copyright Notice

  Life can feel like a cruel joke. I grew up poor and motherless, with a father who never got over his wife’s abandonment. But now he's gone too, and I'm dead set on finding the woman who so carelessly tossed me aside when I was a baby.

  I want revenge. And I'm going to get back at my mother any way that I can.

  I change my name. Start my new life in college, and just happen to cross paths with the gorgeous, ultra-rich Rhett Montgomery. He's immediately interested in me, not that I'm surprised.

  You see, I planned it that way. I meant for him to find me. He's the one connection to my mother, and I'm using him, so I can destroy her. But I didn't plan on Rhett being so charming. Sweet. Sexy.

  And I definitely didn't plan on falling for him either…

  Damaged Hearts Series

  Her Defiant Heart

  His Wasted Heart

  Damaged Hearts

  Friends Series

  One Night

  Just Friends

  More Than Friends

  Forever: A Friends Novel

  The Rules Series

  Fair Game

  In The Dark

  Slow Play

  Safe Bet

  Reverie Series

  His Reverie (Book #1)

  Her Destiny (Book #2)

  One Week Girlfriend Quartet

  One Week Girlfriend (Book #1)

  Second Chance Boyfriend (Book #2)

  Three Broken Promises (Book #3)

  Drew+Fable Forever (Book #3.5)

  Four Years Later (Book #4)

  Five Days Until You (Book #4.5)

  Billionaire Bachelors Club

  Crave (Book #1)

  Torn (Book #2)

  Savor (Book #3)

  Intoxicated (Book #3.5)

  The Fowler Sisters

  Owning Violet

  Stealing Rose

  Taming Lily

  The Never Series

  Never Tear Us Apart

  Never Let You Go

  Connect with Monica

  Website

  Newsletter

  Facebook

  Twitter

  Email

  Summer

  They say the taste of revenge is sweet.

  I don’t know who they are, but I’ve heard that saying—or something close to it—my entire life. Revenge is sweet.

  Sweet.

  Let me tell you something.

  Revenge isn’t sweet. Not even close.

  It’s bitter and nasty and dark and vile. It chokes you, literally chokes you until you’re filled with nothing but anger and sadness and despair and you can’t even breathe, you’re so overcome with emotion.

  And the rage.

  The rage is what drives you, despite the awful taste. And if you have enough rage inside you, then you will do your damnedest to get back at the one who hurt you the most.

  You see, I know what revenge tastes like, because I am hell-bent on revenge against the one who did me—us—wrong. I’m going to destroy her, just like she destroyed my father. My poor, heartbroken father, who lost his will to live long before he actually died.

  She tried to destroy me too, but I wouldn’t let her. I couldn’t. Someone had to be strong. Someone had to be able to withstand this and survive.

  My father? He’s gone.

  Dead.

  And now?

  She’s going to pay.

  And she won’t even know what—or who—hit her.

  Fall

  I watch him, the way he laughs just before he takes another drink from his glass, his hand braced, long fingers spread wide on the gleaming oak bar counter. Blue-and-black plaid sleeves rolled up to reveal glorious, carved-from-marble-but-not-really forearms that can’t be real, yet are.

  The black and blue on his shirt reminds me of bruises. I should want to see him bruised and battered, just like my heart, my freaking soul. But he’s not bruised. Not even close. He seems happy and carefree, like he doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything.

  Life is just that good for him.

  I can’t tear my gaze away from him, not that he notices me. Why should he? He’s surrounded by so many girls, all of them focused only on him. His dark brown eyes light up when he smiles, bright and open and flirtatious, and he doesn’t have to say a damn thing. They’re all quivering with anticipation, hoping and praying he’s flirting with them.

  So. Pitiful.

  The way the girls swarm him makes me think of flies, and he’s the giant, steaming pile of crap freshly deposited on the ground. They buzz, buzz, buzz around him, loud with their laughter and their gestures and their ever-ready smiles, calling his name over and over again like that’s going to magically make him respond.

  He’s not interested in any of them. When one of the girls touches him—the lightest press of fingers against his arm, his shoulder, even his chest—those glowing eyes of his dim. For the briefest, bleakest moment, I feel almost…akin with him. Like he and I, we could be the same.

  No way is that even close to possible.

  Tucking a wayward strand of hair behind my ear, I slump my shoulders forward, my posture closed off, though my gaze sharp, aimed directly at him. Rhett Montgomery. He’s with a group of friends, his frat buddies with snotty names like Chip and Spencer, assholes who rule the campus and keep tallies of the girls they’ve fucked by carving dashes into their headboards with extra-sharp knives. They keep score sheets and compare notes like it’s a great big laugh, how awful they are. How they use girls and toss them aside like a tissue they just blew their nose into.

  Even though I’ve been on campus for only two months, I’ve heard rumors. These guys are not my kind.

  Especially Rhett Montgomery.

  One of the girls laughs extra loud, an almost guffawing sound that reminds me of a horse. I lift my head, wincing at the offensive noise, and my gaze meets Rhett’s. Locks with his.

  Look away.

  The voice is a harsh whisper rattling in my brain, and I usually obey it.

  But it’s like I can’t look away.

  He doesn’t either. That glow in his gaze, I swear it intensifies the longer he stares at me. Like his eyes are lit from within, flickering candlelight that hypnotizes and draws me in, and when his lush mouth curves into a slow yet knowing smile, I finally do tear my gaze away from his, breaking the spell.

  My heart is pounding furiously and I reach for my glass of water with shaky hands, the ice rattling against the sides as I sip. Once I swallow, I take a deep, cleansing breath, glancing out of the corner of my eye to find he’s already distracted by someone else. Another one of his asshole buddies who’s giving him a high five, God knows why. The slap of their palms is loud despite the multiple TVs hanging on the walls, the girls’ laughter, the clink of glasses, the low hum of constant talking.

  He looked at me. He seemed to look right through me, and I feel completely�
�

  Unsettled.

  That happened too soon. He wasn’t supposed to notice me yet.

  The thought flashes in my brain, like too-bright headlights in the darkest night, and I remember why I’m here. What I’m doing. Why Rhett Montgomery is involved. I’ve studied him for days. Months. He’s never noticed me before until tonight. And I’ve been around. Lurking close by, on the sidelines like some sort of twisted stalker, which I suppose I am.

  Really, I should’ve known he doesn’t like obvious girls. And every single one of those girls surrounding him right now is obvious. Desperate.

  I keep my distance on purpose, because I’m not ready. Eventually, I’m going to approach him. And when I finally do talk to him, when I finally become a part of his life, I want him to believe I’m a mystery, a code he can’t crack.

  “Hey.”

  I go completely still at the sound of his deep voice. Panic rises, making my throat clog with unspoken words, and I lift my head, our gazes meeting once again, his expression open. Friendly. A flood of helplessness fills me and I part my lips, but no sound comes out.

  This isn’t going as planned. At all.

  “You’re alone.” His statement is obvious, and he does this soft laugh thing that could only be described as a “duh” sound.

  I nod, still unable to speak.

  “And you’re in a bar, but you’re drinking water.” He tilts his head in the direction of my water glass, which I’m suddenly gripping with all my might. “That’s downright sacrilegious.”

  How does he know it’s water? “It could be something else.”

  “Like what?” Is he actually challenging me?

  “Um…” My voice drifts. My father wasn’t a big drinker, which, when you think about it is really surprising. So I don’t really know much beyond beer is beer and wine is wine.

  “Maybe vodka?” His rumbly voice knocks me from my thoughts. I need to focus.

  “Not vodka.” I shake my head. May as well confess my truth. “Actually, I don’t like to drink.” Correction: I don’t like to lose control, and that was one thing my father told me time and again. Liquor makes you lose control.

  It makes you do things you’ll regret.

  “Ah, so you do make conversation.” His smile is full of relief. Sweet and intimate, nothing like that flash of teeth he was offering up to his overbearing harem earlier. “So why are you in a bar if you don’t like to drink?”

  Right. Why am I in a bar? Not like I can tell him the truth.

  “I’m—meeting someone.”

  He lifts his brows. “Are they late?” I must send him a questioning look because he immediately says, “You’ve been here for a while. I couldn’t help but notice. Beautiful girl sitting alone in a bar, giving off that ‘I’m too cool for this scene’ vibe…”

  Wait a minute. Is he—flirting with me? Or insulting me? I slam back the rest of my water and rise to my feet, a trembling breath leaving me when I realize how close Rhett is standing. So close, I can feel his body heat radiating toward me, and I can smell his appealing—delectable—scent. God.

  “I was just leaving,” I say icily, my shoulder brushing against his broad chest when I walk past him. A scatter of tingles washes over me at first contact, electrifying my skin, and I try my best to shake it off.

  That certainly wasn’t supposed to happen either.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean to make you mad.” He chases after me, pushing his way through the crowd as I head toward the door. I don’t turn back, I don’t acknowledge him or make a sound because I want him to think he made me angry.

  And he did. He definitely made me angry.

  So why does it feel like I’m trying to convince myself?

  With an irritated huff, I push open the door and exit the bar, the sudden silence calming my racing heart as the cool fall air washes over my heated skin. I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize he didn’t follow me outside. He must not be interested after all.

  At least, for now.

  A satisfied smile curls my lips, and I duck my head against the wind as I start to make my way home, my mind full of endless possibilities.

  Maybe us meeting like that for the first time will work out for the best after all.

  “Hey. You’re the girl from the other night. The one who ran out on me.”

  Slowly I look up to find Rhett Montgomery standing in front of the table I’m sitting at, my eyes going wide with surprise when they land on his too-handsome face. Though I’m not really shocked to find him here. I’ve followed him long enough to know he’d be at the library. He meets with his study group every Thursday night at seven, and they’re usually here for an hour or so. I deliberately planted myself at the table closest to the front door of the library and patiently waited for him to pass by.

  I tilt my head to the side and narrow my eyes, contemplating him. Like I don’t quite remember him. He takes a step back, seemingly affronted that I could possibly forget him—hard eye roll—and before he takes off, I snap my fingers like I just had a revelation.

  “The guy who insulted me for being too cool at the bar,” I tell him as I slowly close my Intro to Communications textbook.

  His mouth pops open like I just punched him in the stomach. “I didn’t insult you.”

  “From what I vaguely remember, it sounded like you did.” I flash him a sweet smile to counterbalance the venom in my words.

  “If you thought I was being rude, I apologize.” He actually sounds sincere, which surprises me. But he’s constantly surprising me so…

  “You’re forgiven,” I murmur. I need to remember myself and stop being so rude to him.

  He gestures toward the empty chair across from me. “Can I sit down?”

  “Um, sure?” Oh God. I do not want him to sit down. I don’t want to make small talk with Rhett Montgomery, not yet. I just wanted him to see me, catch a fleeting glimpse or maybe say something quick and then go about his night. Doesn’t he have a party to go to or a girl to bang?

  “You said it like a question.” His brows are lowered, and he’s frowning at me. “If you want me to leave you alone, I will.”

  Again with the serious tone. I believed him just now when he said that, even though I know I shouldn’t.

  “No, you can stay.” I watch as he pulls the chair out and settles in, dropping his backpack at his feet.

  “Why’d you leave the other night?” Rhett asks.

  My gaze meets his once more, noting the sincerity in his gaze. He appears genuinely confused. I’m tempted to confess everything to him, but I keep my mouth shut.

  “I didn’t want to stay there anymore,” I say with a little shrug.

  “You got ditched, huh?” He lifts his brows, his handsome face now full of sympathy.

  The very last thing I want is for him to feel sorry for me. “No, I didn’t get ditched,” I snap. I immediately regret how mean I sound.

  “But the person you were supposed to meet that night never showed up. Right?” He’s almost scowling at me, he’s frowning so hard. I suddenly remember what I said to him that night. “Hot date that didn’t pan out, huh?”

  “No,” I say quickly. Too quickly. God, just talking to him makes me feel defensive, and that’s not a good thing. Not at all. “I met him somewhere else.”

  “Oh, really?”

  His questions are making me uncomfortable. So are his good looks. His thick, dark brown hair, his brown eyes, his perfect face and perfect body and sexy voice and the way he’s watching me, leaning toward me like he might actually be interested.

  I remind myself this is what I want. This is how I’m going to worm my way inside, by using Rhett. I should be okay with his attention, should be thrilled that it’s all happening so quickly.

  But I’m not. I don’t know why. Maybe because this scares me. He scares me. You can plot and plan and think your way through all the scenarios, but when reality hits and you’re actually dealing with the person you’re going to use, it’s terrifying.

&nbs
p; What if I screw up? What if he finds out my secret? What if he exposes me and ruins me forever?

  I push those negative thoughts out of my mind and focus on the lie I’m about to tell him instead.

  “I left the bar because I got tired of dealing with douchey frat guys,” I finally tell him, with as much disdain as I can muster. Which is a lot, by the offended expression on his face.

  “So now I’m a douchey frat guy.”

  I say nothing for a moment, and the wounded look on his face breaks me. “I’m not meaning you.”

  “Good to know,” he says with a slight nod. He looks pleased with himself. “What’s your name?”

  I’ve been waiting for this moment for months. I’ve even rehearsed saying it out loud to him, just to get used to hearing me say it. Though I’ve become desensitized, since I legally changed my name just before enrolling here and all my professors call me by my new name.

  Yet I’m still not used to it. Besides, I chose this name for Rhett. Figured he might like it, that it sounds rich girl enough to appeal to him.

  “Jensen.” My voice is small, smaller than I meant it to be. Just being in his presence makes me nervous.

  The faint smile curving his full lips is irritatingly appealing. “Jensen,” he repeats, like he’s testing it out. “I knew a Jensen once.”

  “You did?” Great. Some girl who probably blew his mind and blew his dick. I should’ve come up with a better name. But it was the closest to my actual name, and no way could I use that when I met him.

  “Yeah, he was on the football team with me in high school. Jensen Graham. Big ol’ lineman, probably weighed close to two-twenty-five, maybe even two-fifty.” Rhett laughs, shakes his head. “We always called him Jenny just to piss him off.”

  Relief floods me. It was a guy named Jensen, not some hot girl with glossy pink lips from his past.

  “Did it?” When Rhett sends me a questioning look, I continue, “Piss him off?”

  “Oh, yeah. He seriously hated it when we called him that.” The faraway look on Rhett’s face tells me he’s shifted into nostalgic mode.