If You're Not the One

CHAPTER ONE

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Dorian Hendra was quite simply an ass, and he didn't mind that fact at all. Indeed, he was inordinately proud of the fact that he treated most people unfairly. From the time of his birth, up till now, Dorian had been a self-absorbed person, with only his own interests at heart. To describe his character briefly, he was admittedly a brilliant young man, with many aspects to his character to do him credit.

Traces of Ireland were vaguely hinted in the slight poetic lilt of Dorian Hendra's voice, and in the clear, multi-faceted crystal blue of his alert eyes starred by thick, straight gold lashes. There was a slightly Italian mannerism in the way he gestured, and a French grace, or could it be called, hauteur in his overall bearing. But his mind was decidedly British, the genes handed down by an English father, born and bred in Cornwall.

Dorian was no romantic, at any rate. Analytical and mechanic to the bone, he was the epitome of frigidity , from his unchanging dark blond hair flopping over a square forehead and curling slightly at the nape of his neck, to his ratty, dingy-white Adidas. His speech was immaculate; articulate, perfect in grammar, and eloquent in vocabulary.

One could specify Dorian as one of those men that never let anyone past the thick, metal verneer of forced politeness. He wasn't one to go beyond the nonchalant, impersonal interactions of social engagements. He hated attachments, heartily despised commitment. Inadequacy in any area was a mortal sin in his critical blue gaze. Those sensuous, vulnerable lips could so often curled back into a condescending smirk.

The only thing he was passionate about was his career, and dissolving others' hopes. Frankly, Dorian was a sadistic character in that he enjoyed others' downfalls as he pushed them aside with his abnormal intelligence and unbeatable charm. He was destined to go far. Coupled with his superior mind, and his startling appearance (if not classically handsome), Dorian's family line was impeccable. His father was the CEO of the most prominent advertising company in the world, and his mother's family owned a chain of luxury hotels and malls throughout the world.

He had never known poverty, attending private schools his entire life. Although privileged, his very nature frowned upon overt extravagance, and Dorian kept his wealthy background private when meeting new people.

His new apartment was not impressive at all. It was not situated in the better parts of London to which Dorian was accustomed, but in a cramped, smoky neighborhood close to the University that he attended- Cambridge. It wasn't aesthetically pleasant, to be certain, especially to a young man who had been to the most extravagantly beautiful places in Europe and had multiple personal homes, but it was quite honestly the most he could afford when paying out of his own pocket. Dorian had refused to accept any monetary support from his willing parents after he had legally turned into a man. He still had quite a flow of cash in his bank account, numbering into the multi-millions, but Dorian rarely dipped into it, preferring to work for his own money, thus paying his own way in college.

At the moment, Dorian lay against the sapphire Egyptian-cotton sheets, the air conditioner blasting. The air smelled vaguely of sex and cheap perfume, grating on his refined olfactory nerves. The young lady he had... entertained this evening had been satisfactory. Nothing verging on excellence of course, but tolerable performance between the sheets and quite willing to do anything he pleased. It had almost been too easy to get the girl to spread her legs. No exhilaration of the chase at all.

He closed his eyes, remembering the rather annoying, tempestuous young lady who had knocked on his door. She had interrupted him during the first bout of passion, as he had been delicately removing the blond's red satin brassiere, and he'd dragged himself out in frustration. To his surprise, Dorian had found a petite girl about twenty or so, with dark ebony hair brushing her shoulders and surrounding her face in wispy strands around an oval face. Her face had been the vague, palely insipid one characterized by English girls. Making matters worse were the thick black glasses which dulled her visage and hid her eyes.

With forced patience, Dorian had questioned her, and become irritated by the girl's insistence that her brother lived in his apartment. He remembered forcing the girl into the wall, and kissing her into a stupor. He ran his fingers over his slightly swollen lips, a bit surprised at the faint smile that flickered over his face. She had tasted of innocence, and sweet. The scent of something light and sugary had coated her, pleasant to his nose.

It had been a nice kiss, he thought dispassionately. As he drifted off to dreams, his mind flashed an image of honey colored eyes. Rather nice eyes.

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"I'm sorry, Belle," her brother Dominick apologized, his dark eyes laughing at her. She glared at him. "I really am. I didn't realize I had given you the wrong apartment number."

Belle declared, "It still is not funny. That American humiliated me." Picking up her glass of ice water, Belle lifted it to her lips and drank it down viciously.

"American, eh?" he questioned, running his hand listlessly through his dark brown curls. "Speaking of which, how is your friend, Mary, or whatever her name is doing?" Dominick casually filled his mouth with crisps and looked outside the little window in the apartment.

"Margaret is fine," Belle said, her voice softening at the mention of her best friend. Margaret Browning had moved from New York years ago, when the two girls had been in the seventh grade. They had met at the small middle school, and instantly become close friends. Currently, Margaret was studying to become a psychologist and doing extremely well at Oxford University. Belle envied her at times, for Margaret, with her lovely long auburn hair and cream-and-roses complexion, as well as the interesting New York accent hinted in her naturally soft, lyrical voice attracted boys like flies to honey.

She looked pointedly at Dominick. "And how are you faring, brother dearest?" she said, only semi-sarcastic. Belle truly loved her brother, who had held the family together when their guardian, their aunt , had passed away due to cancer. Dominick and Belle's parents had died in a car accident when he had been six and she only three. Their mother's sister, Emmeline, had taken in the two orphans immediately, raising them with unconditional love, as though they were her own children. Through sheer perseverance, Dominick managed to get himself into Cambridge on full scholarship and worked multiple jobs in order to earn enough money.

Belle lived in the small but comfortable house that Aunt Emmeline had owned, and passed on to them. She also worked part-time shifts to provide for herself, but at twenty one years of age, Belle had no idea where she was going. She hadn't been smart enough to be granted a scholarship to any school, which made college an impossible dream. Bitter but resigned to her fate, Belle wouldn't admit to herself that she had once had dreams, dreams of visiting beautiful, faraway countries and studying the lovely structural designs of ancient chateaus, studying complementary colors and other things.

"It's been all right, basically. I can't believe my years at Cambridge are drawing to a close... afterwards, there is only law school to attend. I am happy, I suppose," Dominick said, bringing Belle back from reminescence.

"Are you ever planning on marrying?" she teased, smiling a little when her brother looked at her with mock-horror.

"NEVER!" Dominick exclaimed. Then his face turned serious. "I want to concentrate on my career first, and if the right woman comes along, I guess I would marry her." He had a look of hope and something else on his face which softened the angular face, making Belle wonder if he had already found the right woman.

Sighing, she found herself wondering if she would ever find the right man. The pessmistic, cynical part of her found the prospects of a Prince Charming highly doubtful. If men like that blond beast dominated the world, there was no hope for her. An embarassed flush covered her as she remembered the brush of his bristly stubble against her soft cheek, the minty acidic taste of his mouth... the shocking flash of desire that had swept in her lower regions.

She shook her head, then looked up when the door swung open merrily. A tall, laughing man walked in the doorway, light hair falling over sea green eyes attractively. Dressed in a plain white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and faded jeans, the man was devilishly handsome and aware of it.

"Hello," Dominick's roommate called out, as he flung himself into the comfortable, beat up leather couch next to her brother. He smiled, pleased, at her. "Who are you, pretty lady?" Extending a hand, the man gazed at her with friendly eyes.

Blushing, Belle took the hand, which was warm and clean. She shook it easily, and said, "Belle Rickman. Nice to meet you," she said politely.

"Daniel Redwood," he answered, brightening. "So this is the little sister we've heard so much about."

"We?" Belle asked, raising one eyebrow. Daniel nodded, gesturing towards the other person standing in the shadows. He stepped out, and Belle stifled a gasp. The young man was darkly beautiful, with midnight colored hair that fell over the nape of his neck and into eyes an almost black sapphire color. At six feet two, he was ruggedly beautiful, with vampiric pale skin and dressed in impeccable, unrelieved black.

His eyes were on hers, bemused at her reaction. It was obvious he had been acknowledged similarly numerous times, and was achingly tired of it. Belle decided the best course of actions would be to simply disregard the angelic beauty of his facade, and to simply be friendly.

"Hello," she said cheerily. "I'm Belle, Dom's little sister." Radiating friendliness, Belle extended her hand.

"I heard the first time," the wannabe vampire answered, his tone tepid.

The brightness died down, and Belle said, "Oh."

Daniel punched the dark haired one in the shoulder. "Don't strain yourself to be a bigger jackass than you already are, Jake."

Jake merely looked at her, flicking his gaze towards Belle disinterestedly. "Just stay out of my way, all right?"

Belle felt herself growing angry at the way he spoke, as if she were below his notice. "Excuse me, I don't know what crawled up your ass, but it definitely wasn't me. So why are you acting as if you are so much fucking better than me?" Dominick's eyes slid over to her, amused at the fiery temper which Belle rarely was able to control. She was pissed off, and it showed as Belle shoved off her glasses to glare at the face that had grown drastically less handsome in her eyes.

"I'm leaving, Dom. I have a feeling I'm not exactly wanted here." She grabbed her purse, and stormed out of the house, cursing every man alive to bloody hell as the door slammed behind her back, not able to note the interest had flickered to life in Jake's dark eyes.