Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (28 page)

I was aghast. “
Criminal
charges? What kind of
criminal charges?”

Rodney ticked off a list on his fingers. “Bribery,
racketeering, improper campaign fundraising, tax fraud, I could go
on and on. I’m not necessarily saying you’re guilty of any of these
things—because I think you just got caught up in something much
bigger than yourself through no fault of your own. But the powers
that be probably wouldn’t have seen things that way. So I had to
intervene, before it was too late. That’s why I’m here.”

I pondered this for a moment. On the one hand, I was
flattered to no end that Rodney Doyle had seen fit to play
knight-in-shining-armor to my damsel-in-distress. But on the other
hand, I couldn’t help but feel that he was probably responsible for
the whole mess in the first place. “How exactly do you propose to
intervene in this fiasco, Rodney?” I asked. “Especially considering
you’re in the thick of it yourself.”

He reached into his pajama pocket and pulled out a
small black address book. “I took the liberty of taking down the
names and numbers of all the people who left you messages here at
the resort, looking for trysts. Most of them are already here on
St. Lucia,” he said, his expression stern. “Some are even staying
here at this very resort. I blacked over their names and numbers on
your message slips so you wouldn’t call them before I had a chance
to talk to you first.”

I chewed my lip. I still had very mixed feelings
about the whole thing, and wasn’t at all sure I’d want to go along
with anything Rodney proposed. “I’m still not crazy about the fact
you broke into my hotel suite, however honorable your intentions
might be,” I said. “I could even call the island police on you if I
wanted to.”

Rodney blinked. “You’re right, you could. And you’d
be totally justified, in my opinion. But the fact is, you’ll end up
in trouble with the island police yourself if you don’t at least
hear me out.”

“Go on,” I said, now more than a little nervous.

Rodney handed me the little black book. I was
stunned to see it not only listed the names of Congressman Jacob
Raleigh and Rocky Robinson, editor-in-chief of the
Post
, but
several senators (male and female), two state governors, a
Democratic party leader, and a member of the Cabinet. It seemed
that Dexter really knew how to set up an offshore political
orgy.

Rodney took both my hands in his; his palms had gone
from cold to clammy. “It’s my understanding that Mr. Robinson from
the
Post
is here basically as an undercover journalist. He’s
planning to pose as someone who’s interested in procuring
your—ahem—services in exchange for offering you a job at his paper.
But his real goal is to expose what you’re doing here as front-page
news, along with outing all the identities of all the movers and
shakers Dad arranged for you to meet with while you’re here. For
the
Post
, it would be the political scoop of the century, on
a par with what they uncovered during Watergate. For you, it would
mean the end of your professional career, maybe even jail time. The
Post
was going to position their story around the assumption
you were setting up an illegal offshore campaign-finance party,
with you as the entertainment. If the
Post
had been able to
conjure up any evidence that even
suggested
you might be
doing that—which I know you weren’t, but Dad could probably have
pulled some strings so it looked that way—you’d be looking at a
federal indictment, and immediate extradition back to the
States.”

My stomach lurched when I remembered that Dexter had
lightheartedly suggested on the way to the airport that I tell my
guests tax-free campaign financing was the purpose of my little
getaway.I thought he’d been joking. Apparently not. “So he
basically entrapped me,” I said. “How could I have been so stupid?”
I put my now-throbbing head in my hands and bit my lip again until
I tasted blood.

“You’re
not
stupid, Jasmine,” he said, his
tone soft and reassuring. “My father is a master of deception. He’s
managed to trap and expose world leaders, even. He can trap anybody
he wants to. And he saw you as a way to get to me. You didn’t stand
a chance. Your—ahem—
friends
Rebecca and her Congressman
boyfriend are at risk, too. I’ve already spoken with Congressman
Raleigh about this mess, and he’s gone into temporary hiding, just
to be safe.”

I groaned. My life was over, it seemed. I thought I
should just go out to the beach and wade far out into the ocean
until the tropical currents carried me away. “So what do we do
now?”

Rodney stood up and stretched. “Well, I do have a
plan, if you’re interested.”

“I’m all ears.”

Chapter
19

I was very skeptical of Rodney’s plan for our
salvation at first. But I soon warmed up to it.

“I’ve been wanting to clean up the
Beltway
Times’
image for a long time,” Rodney explained. “All these
years, I thought I was getting back at my father by publishing
low-level political dirt in my newspapers. I thought I was
one-upping my father, doing something more legitimate than he did.
I honestly thought I was bettering society by using everything at
my disposal to manipulate public opinion against more than half the
body politic. Can you believe that?”

I chuckled. “Yes, I can believe it,” I said. “But
I’m not sure anybody but the chairman of the Republican Party would
agree with you.”

“I know,” he replied. “But since I’ve met you,
Jasmine, I’ve discovered that I don’t have to do things the old way
anymore. In a nutshell, I was just doing what my father had always
done, just in a different way. I discovered that I’d
become
him, actually—just in a different way. And I don’t like that idea
one bit.”

I smiled. I liked this new side of Rodney very much.
“So what are you going to do about it?”

“I think we should use this opportunity to
accomplish two things,” Rodney said, his face lighting up. “One, we
can finally give my father his come-uppance. And two, we can turn
the
Beltway Times
from a lowbrow political tabloid to a
highbrow investigative news outlet in one fell swoop.”

I was intrigued. “How do you propose to do
that?”

“Congressman Raleigh and I have discussed my plan at
length and I think it will work. First, Congressman Raleigh—I mean,
Jacob—will lure Dexter down here with promises of a good time at a
tax-free political shindig. If we play things right, Dexter will
think that Congressman Raleigh is knee-deep in your little
sexcapade scheme. Then, once Dexter—Dad—is here, I’ll have you meet
with him disguised as Mistress Hyacinth Slaughter. Not many people
know this, but my dad has a real weakness for dominatrixes.”

“Like father, like son,” I offered with a laugh.

Rodney flushed deep red. “I suppose that is one
trait we share,” he admitted. “When you’re in your Hyacinth
Slaughter disguise, you can use your considerable talents to slowly
draw the truth out of Dad. I’ve made some discreet inquiries, and I
think we can arrange to have not only the Washington
Post
editor present, but also several of the other high-ranking
officials who’ve made their way down here look on in secret while
you do your thing. I’ll also have the proceedings recorded. Once we
have the evidence we need, we’ll go public with all the information
Dad reveals about his undercover business. I’ll share some of the
scoop with the
Post
so they’ll cooperate, but the most juicy
parts will be released exclusively by the
Beltway Times.
Congressman Raleigh even thinks he can use his position on the
House Economics Committee to launch a Congressional investigation
into Dad’s business activities, as well as all the people who’ve
hired him illegally.”

Hearing how Rodney wanted to hinge his entire plan
on my fledging dominatrix skills had me excited, but very
apprehensive. “Do you really think I can get that kind of
information out of Dexter—I mean, your father—just by playing
Mistress Hyacinth with him?”

“I have every faith in you,” he said.

“Are you sure? Because I’m still pretty new at the
whole bondage-submission thing.”

Rodney grinned. “Jasmine, trust me on this. Even
judging by what little you’ve done already, you are by far the most
talented sex mistress I’ve ever encountered. And I’m speaking as a
connoisseur.”

I still wasn’t convinced. “I find that pretty hard
to believe,” I said. “I’ve never really learned how to be a proper
dominatrix. I just sort of flew by the seat of my pants the few
times I’ve tried it. And I could never be as good as Mistress
Violet.”

Rodney’s expression softened. “That’s not true at
all, Jasmine. Dominatrixes aren’t made—they’re born. You don’t
train to become one, you
are
one. And believe me, you were
born
to boss men around in the bedroom. When Dexter gets
here, just do what comes naturally to you, and nature will take
care of the rest.”

“All right,” I acquiesced. “But I don’t have any
dominatrix clothes. How will I hide my identity? And shouldn’t I
have a whip or something?”

Rodney enveloped me in a hug. “That’s my girl,” he
said. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.”

****

I don’t know how he managed it, but somehow
Rebecca’s Congressman boyfriend Jacob lured Dexter down to St.
Lucia with promises of a wild offshore political fundraiser
featuring exotic entertainment. Dexter couldn’t believe his luck;
thinking that he’d improved upon his sinister set-up of me entirely
by accident, Dexter was en route to St. Lucia by charter flight the
very next morning. Dexter probably thought he’d stumbled upon the
exposé of his career, when in reality, he was about to step into a
trap that would likely end it.

Meanwhile, Rodney set out to convert his
presidential villa into a domination den. That morning, Rodney,
Rebecca and I had set out on a shopping tour of the tiny island,
making the rounds at the tourist ports-of-call as well as local
hangouts. Using some tips we’d gotten from Reginald, we found the
best sex shops on the island down a little-known alley in downtown
Castries. At, Night Moves, a run-of-the-mill adult store aimed
mostly at tourists, we were able to load up on the basic
necessities—lube jelly in several flavors, extra Rabbit vibrators,
nipple clamps, and the like. Good Vibrations, the second of the
three shops, carried an exciting array of boudoir costumes. Rebecca
outfitted herself with a classic Naughty Nurse made out of leather
and PVC; Rodney helped himself to some baggy pirate pants and a
matching eye-mask and hat set. I selected a shiny red PVC catsuit
with zippers at nipples, neck and crotch, along with a matching red
half-mask decorated with marabou feathers.

But by far the most exciting bedroom gear came from
the last shop in the alley. Hidden down a dark, rickety flight of
stairs that were practically unnoticeable without Reginald’s
detailed directions, was the small, brown, unmarked door to the
third and most exciting sex shop of the three—The Dungeon.

The Dungeon had no sign advertising its presence,
and its door was kept locked at all times. Its only customers came
through word-of-mouth. Per the detailed instructions Reginald had
given us, we had to knock three times on the door and wait for the
owner to unlock it before entering. Back at the resort, Reginald
had explained that absolute secrecy was necessary for the shop to
stay in operation. Apparently, the St. Lucian authorities
considered much of what was for sale inside The Dungeon illegal,
since most of it could be construed as weapons.

Once the owner—a stout, elderly Creole woman named
Genevieve—let us inside, we found ourselves in a veritable
dominatrix’s paradise.

I was blown away by what we found inside. The
Dungeon’s walls and ceilings were draped and hung with every
possible kind of S&M harness, suspension apparatus, restraints,
whips, and sensual weaponry known to humankind. There were things
in there I’d only read about in books like
The Story of O
and
Safe Word.
There were even things I’d never known
existed.

After pouring over the store’s exotic stock, Rodney,
Rebecca and I decided to keep things simple for Dexter’s little
party. I selected a classic braided leather whip with a single
wooden bead embedded in its tip, along with two sets of black
leather binding cuffs and a matching blindfold.I also chose a
pocket-sized hand whip with multiple metal-tipped leather strands.
While a leather-aproned Creole clerk decorated with multiple face
piercings rang up the purchases, Rodney disappeared into the
store’s dank back room with the proprietor, Genevieve. “To place a
special order,” he explained.

After a few minutes, Rodney re-emerged from the back
room carrying a mysterious invoice, which he tucked into his pocket
before I had a chance to read it over his shoulder. We gathered up
our purchases and headed back to the resort.

When the three of us arrived back at Rodney’s
private villa, there was a message from Jacob Raleigh taped to the
front doorknob:

Dear Co-Conspirators:

The trap is set, and the bait has arrived.
The
Post
editor and numerous other guests have been
summoned. Ring the bell desk when you’re ready to begin
festivities. I will accompany the bait to his party myself.

Sincerely:

J.R.

“All right, ladies,” Rodney sang. “Time to get this
show on the road.”

Rebecca, Rodney and I all donned our disguises.
Rodney then rehung the semitransparent window drapes across the
middle of the room to create an improvised submission chamber. I
would occupy center-stage in the curtained room, with the various
spectators watching through the semitransparent fabric. The room
would be kept dark enough so Dexter would think the curtains were
opaque and we were alone—at least until the costumed and masked
Rodney and Rebecca joined the fun. Rodney had also rigged a digital
recording device underneath a small endtable he’d placed in the
room for me to store my equipment in.