A Dominant Man (2 page)

When the song ends, we stand there holding and gazing at one another silently. His electricity sends a charge down my body, arousing something dark and primal in me.

“I don’t mean to be discourteous, but when I saw you moving on the dance floor
, I felt compelled to meet you.”

He has a rich, smooth voice that makes me want him, badly. I don’t know what to say. He is far too perfect, and it’s dumbfounding. I feel my face
, hell my whole body turn crimson. I am unsure if it’s his boldness or touch, but all I can do is stare.

Finally, after what seems like eons of tense, awkward silence. “Tel
l me your name.” It’s a command rather than a request.

“Gabrielle.” My voice is lower than I intended it to be. “Yours?”

I stare up at him from under my lashes.

“Damian,” he purrs.

Damian.
It’s fitting for a man seemingly dangerous and sexual. I see it in his beguiling eyes. They speak to my soul. He drips sex from every pore in his body. I want him inside me, but I know I should stay away. He’ll probably drive me mad. I would need him as I need air, food, or water. He’s too much for me to handle.

He scans me up and down, in that way that makes me feel exposed, vulnerable.

“Let me buy you a drink,” Damian offers.

“No. Thank you. I should have a drink waiting for me at my table.”

I don’t know how I achieved more than two words, but I must flee before I am sucked even further into his magnetic attraction. I try to turn, but the arm on my back doesn’t let me.

“Do you mind?” I ask, glimpsing down at his well-placed arm and then back to his face. There’s a deliciously devilish grin upon those sumptuous lips.

Who does he think he is?

I yank and he
releases, allowing me to escape and weave through the dancing patrons. I finally make it back to our booth, flopping in, easing into the cool, white leather with a sigh.

Julie
is gawking at me, puzzled. “What the hell was that about? Why did you walk away from him?” she inquires, baffled.

“Are you crazy? Ellie, he’s a total knock out,”
Sloan adds.

“Yes, he’s gorgeous. That doesn’t give him the right to put his hands on me like that. You know how I feel about personal space.”

“For him, I would make an exception,” Julie comments, peeking back at Damian sitting across the club with a group of people surrounding him. One of his guests, a tall, luscious, brunette stunner eyes him, enchanted by his sheer presence, but he doesn’t seem to notice her.

Good
, I think to myself.
Why do I care?

I know why though, it’s blatantly clear I want him, but I couldn’t be with someone that dominating, that consuming. I would be lost in him. Even though I shouldn’t, I sneak glimpses in his direction. Each time they’re met with his shameless stare, an agonizing hunger exuding from those eyes.

A
fter we finish our drinks, we gather our belongings, ready to call it a night, when I hear his voice above the table.

“
My approach was aggressive, but when I find something I want, I get it. That said, I want to make it up to you…I know a few ways I could try.”

My eyes snap to his, as he stands over me, watching me attentively. I scan his jaw-dropping face, studying every line carefully
. I’m not sure if he’s arrogant or exceedingly confident.

“I don’t see how,” I reply flirtatiously, showing my amusement with his dirty promises. He would screw me into submission.

“Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll show you at a time to be determined later.”

He seems amused by my lack of need for him.

“As tempting as that sounds,”
Which it totally does
, “I don’t think it would be wise.”

I take pleasure in toying with him, making him sweat. He doesn’t work this hard for other women. He is every woman’s fantasy, desire, and they fall at his feet. The sultry brunette from his table and every other girl here are proving that right now. Some stare, while others make gestures with their hands, pretending to fondle his ass.

Yep, he’s going to be trouble. Who am I to deny him of what he wants, needs.

He lets out a quick,
“HA!” and snatches my phone off the table, punching in his number. The waitress walks up, setting our tab on the table. I reach for it, but Damian grabs it first, signs the bill, and hands it back to the gawking server.

“I guess I bought you that drink after all…Call me,
Gabrielle.
”

His tongue caresses my name as it rolls out o
f his sultry mouth. He hands back my phone, smiling a wicked grin, and saunters away.

Julie
and Sloan stare at me while I watch him gracefully move through the crowd toward his party.

The view is just as yummy leaving as it is coming.

I fall back to earth, turning my attention to my present company. After a moment of staring at one another in shock, Julie finally asks, “So?”

“What?” I scoff, licking my dry bottom lip.

“Don’t what me, Hyde. Are you going to call him? I know you want to. You two have serious sizzle. You’ve got me all hot and bothered.”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but at the same time
, all I want to do is satisfy him.” We bust out into laughter. “I’m not sure what he’s doing to me, but I want him. If I call him, it won’t be for a while. I don’t want him to think I’m desperate or pathetic.”

“Aren’t you at least going to look at it?”
Sloan asks quizzically.

“No, because the second I peek at it, I’ll use it. Instead, I’ll look when
or if I’m ready to give him a ring.”

Julie
rolls her eyes dramatically at me.

“You know you’re going to call. You would be crazy not to. There is heat between you two. Trust.”

I stick my tongue out at her.

“We’ll see,” I reply unconvincingly, shrugging my shoulders noncommittally.

S
unday’s a rainy day, which is perfect since I plan to stay inside and veg out in front of the TV. I’m curled up on my black leather couch, cocooned in my faux fur, off-white throw, watching Gone with the Wind, one of my favorite classic movies, and chowing down on ridiculously delicious Chinese from a place around the corner.

I love hanging out in my pad. It’s cozy and inviting. My condo resides in a twenty story, intricate Art Deco building called The Bellaire Tower, atop one of the original seven hills, giving it the best full-circle view of the city and bay.

It has beige walls, worn wood floors, and high ceilings with elaborate white crown molding. It’s tres chic. The main color scheme is black and white, with splashes of color from the paintings on my walls, composed by my ex, Walker. The kitchen is a dream, with stainless steel appliances, glass cabinets framed in black wood, and white marble counter tops. What truly makes this space special is the floor to ceiling arched window, framing a breathtaking view of the downtown San Fran skyline in the near distance. The view is incredible at night, ablaze like lights on a Christmas tree.

It’s home.

My mom calls me for our weekly check-in. She tells me about my father’s plans of taking her to Hawaii for their anniversary and their work with the charities they’re involved in. She informs me of a benefit for an abused women and children shelter.

“Will you attend, darling? I was hoping you would bring a date, or there are a few young men I would like to introduce you to.”

“Mom, please. Don’t start this again. I’m not in the mood to play the mating game. However, I will attend the charity gala. Email me the info.”

“Oh, wonderful. The event is being held at the estate two weeks from yesterday at seven.”

“Have you heard from Maya?” I ask about my little sister, currently touring Europe.

“Yes. She’s having a fabulous time. I miss my baby girl,” she sobbingly whispers.

I roll my eyes.

Maya
being the youngest, Mom always treats her as if she were a child. On the other hand, I’m the one my parents have auspicious expectations for one day.

Since I was a kid, my mother has been training me to be her, but I’m not. I’m my dad. Even though he’s wealthy, it doesn’t actually matter to him. Yes, he is a tremendously hard worker, and that meant sacrificing time with his family, but he did it for us
, to ensure our futures. He is the gentlest man with the biggest heart. He is a give-you-the-shirt-off-his-back kind of guy. My hero.

“I know, Mom. I miss her, too, but she’ll be back soon,” I reassure her.

We tell each other we love one another and make plans to go shopping for a dress next week.

“Bye, Mom.”

“Bye, sweet girl.”

I spend the rest of the day reading and surfing the channels.

M
onday morning came too soon. I wake before my alarm, to a clear, sunny day. I couldn’t get into a deep sleep, and I feel it in my heavy lids. A feeling comes over me lying in bed. Today is a monumental day for the magazine, a woman’s magazine called View, and a changing day for me, as well.

I’ve been working especially hard the last six months to ensure everything went smoothly for my boss,
Olivia Montgomery, Editor-in-Chief of the magazine. She is an exceptional boss, and working for her is a giant stepping-stone to any position in the company. I’ve worked for her for two years, and I’m hoping for a promotion to Assistant Editor. She took me under her wing and taught me everything I need to know for the position. I have a feeling a step up is in the near future.

I slip out of bed, shuffling to the kitchen to brew coffee and prepare breakfast. Once I get the first cup in me, I’m a little more with it, and
I head back into my room to dress. It doesn’t take me long to get ready since I lay my clothes out the night before. I chose a cobalt blue, long-sleeved, silk blouse, with a charcoal gray pencil skirt, and black pointed toe heels. My hair is in a sleek ponytail and make-up is minimal. I only apply a little liner, mascara, and opt for a nude lip.

I eat the eggs I made quickly and pour a travel mug of coffee before I totter out the door.

I
head out, exiting from the Green St. archway of my white Art Deco building, which sits on the corner of Green & Leavenworth St. I cross over Green and head up Leavenworth toward the bay. The office is within walking distance from my apartment, so I enjoy my daily commute to work.

The neighborhood has great restaurants, bars, and a charming mix of residences, from Art Deco to Contemporary to Victorian. Plus, it’s central to everything in the city. There’s
an assorted mish-mosh of people who reside here, a melting pot of artists, internet geniuses, young families, trust-fund babies, elderly, and hipsters. A fusion of residents as eclectic as the intricate buildings they call home. It’s one of the nicer areas of the city, and it’s never boring.

As I cross below the hill of winding Lombard St., a group of giggling children, sitting in the back of a station wagon turning the corner onto Leavenworth, wave and cheer at me. They chant repeatedly, “Again! Again!”

I wave back with a big grin and continue on my way.

The Monday morning traffic’s at a crawl while I casually stroll down the drenched, tree-lined sidewalk
, toward the salty scent of the bay, drinking my hazelnut coffee and taking in the heat of the sporadic rays of sun as they peek through the clouds, cloaking me in their warmth. Everything is still wet from last night’s downpour, steam rising and swirling from every surface the sunlight graces. It leaves behind a crisp, clean feeling in the air and the lingering scent of wet pavement, which I inhale deeply, enveloping my nose with the memory-provoking aroma.

As I turn the corner to the office, I notice an extensive row of black town cars parked in front of the converted warehouse. I wouldn’t give this a second thought
any other day, but the meeting is to take place in a little over thirty minutes. They belong to the CEO, Mr. Hunt, and his army of lawyers, assistants, and general ass-kissing minions.

I enter the lobby door, and
Katrina, the receptionist, greets me.

“
Hey, Kat,” I smile and greet her back, striding into the main office space, where I spot Chase. He’s an Assistant Editor, good guy, and my best friend. We are each other’s confidants. Chase knows things about me, things Julie and my parents don’t have a clue about.

We’ve connected on a level based on a mutual understanding of damaged pasts. He makes me laugh, sometimes for hours about absolutely nothing. He’s the one who got me my job, or at least got my foot in the door.

We met in high school and moved up to the Seattle area together for college. Those were tough years, but with him by my side, they were also the best. We had a thing back then, but it ended, and we went back to being best friends.

“We still on for lunch?”