Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (6 page)

I couldn’t believe what was happening. I’d been all
set to engage in red-hot meaningless sex for the sole purpose of
saving my own and my boss’ career, and the slick, slimy bastard who
was supposed to help me accomplish that feat had just up and
decided to become a lovey-dovey gentleman.

Today wasn’t shaping up to be my day.

I was speechless. The waiter arrived with our
drinks; I guzzled my second Cosmo in five seconds flat and then
stared dumbly into space when the waiter asked to take our dinner
order. I was so flustered by that point I couldn’t even read the
menu.

In fact, I spaced out completely. Guzzling two
Cosmos in less than five minutes was a bad idea, considering I’d
barely had more than two drinks over the past two years—one of them
yesterday in Rodney Doyle’s office. The liquor had gone straight to
my head.

And my head went straight for the floor.

I only came to after Rodney shook me, slapped me
twice, and dashed a glass of cold water in my face.

“Jasmine?” I heard his booming voice through a fog.
“Jasmine, are you all right?”

“Mrrrrrgh?” I said. “Mmmph?? Whhhhaaa—whhaaat
haaappppennned?”

“You fainted. Here, let me help you up.” Rodney
picked me up bride-style then set me upright on my chair. Once my
vision cleared, I could see that everyone in the fancy restaurant
had turned to stare at us. Several young women were even headed our
way, all of them waving autograph books. “Look!” one of them
shouted. “It’s Rodney Doyle! Rodney Doyle is here!”

Before I knew it, a slew of well-dressed
women—young, old, and middle-aged—were all swarming our table.

“Rodney! Rodney! Can I have your autograph?” A
blue-haired lady in peach chiffon shoved an old-style green
autograph book in Rodney’s face.

“Rodney, I
loved
your commentary on MSNBC
this afternoon,” gushed an attractive thirtysomething wearing a
black Armani suit and Senate floor badge. “What are your thoughts
on the latest nominee to head the CIA?”

A good half-dozen more women seemed to emerge from
the very walls, all of them waving slips of paper for Rodney to
sign and peppering him with questions ranging from politics to what
he liked to do in the bedroom.

Exasperated, Rodney gulped his second
scotch-on-the-rocks in less than ten minutes and stood up. “I’m
sorry, ladies, but you have me mistaken for someone else. Excuse
me.” Rodney grabbed me, dragged me forcibly from my seat, and used
his considerable biceps to shove a path through the throng of his
delirious female admirers, like Moses parting the Red Sea.

Rodney gripped my left wrist and pulled me along
through the restaurant so quickly I could barely stay upright. My
fuck-me stilettos scraped red tracks along the floor when I nearly
wiped out on a dessert cart. We finally made it out to the hotel
lobby, but not before a stop at the snooty
maître’d’s
podium.

“Tell our waiter to send our meals up to David
Copperfield’s room, please,” Rodney barked at him.

And before I knew what happened, I was in an
elevator heading up to Rodney Doyle’s private hotel suite.

Chapter
5

Rodney Doyle was so rich, so famous, so powerful,
that he had his very own private suite at the Mandarin Oriental
available for his exclusive use whenever he wanted. So exclusive,
in fact, that he only used it under fake names drawn from classical
literature. It was clear that the hotel respected Rodney’s
preference for literary character aliases, since there was a
hand-lettered parchment placard on the room door reading
“Mr.Copperfield: PRIVATE” and the suite’s sitting room had rows of
bookshelves featuring leather-bound copies of the complete works of
Dickens, Austen, and Melville, among others—I suppose so Rodney
would never have a problem looking up who his next alias should be.
The suite was decorated in rich red satin and brocade in a Chinese
style, along with a plethora of Asian antiques and art. There was a
huge plasma-screen TV, a state-of-the-art Bose stereo system, a
full bar, and what looked to be a massive Jacuzzi suite.

Not to mention a king-sized bed. A
round
king-sized bed.

It was quite a lot to take in. My head was still
buzzing from the booze, and soon the room started to spin. The
round bed looked like a giant red flying saucer that was headed
straight for me. I ducked, and then toppled over, very nearly
whacking my temple on a giant Chinese porcelain vase.

Rodney caught me just in time. “Jasmine, why don’t
you sit down?” He guided me over to a red velvet settee. “I think
you had a bit too much to drink downstairs.”

“Really?” I slurred. “Ya think?” The room started
spinning again.

Rodney went to the bar, poured me a glass of ice
water, then dropped in two Alka-Seltzer. “Here, drink this,” he
said. “It’ll clear your head a bit. When was the last time you ate
something?”

I thought back for a moment, then realized I hadn’t
eaten anything except for the stale raisin bagel I’d gulped down
back at Senator Grayle’s office at ten that morning. No wonder I
was so drunk.

“Is there anything to eat?” I slurred. I needed
something in my stomach to soak up some of the booze.

“Our CityZen meals should be up in a few minutes,”
Rodney said. “All I have in the meantime are the contents of the
minibar, which isn’t much food-wise unless you’re into Ritz
crackers and M&Ms.”

Chocolate sounded good. I figured sharing some
chocolate with Rodney might even help get him in the mood for
love—or lust, rather—thanks to that chemical in chocolate that
supposedly stimulates sex urges. “M&Ms,” I said. “You can have
all the green ones, though. I hate the green ones.” A lie, but I
wanted to ensure that Rodney ate at least a few of them.

“Whatever you want,” Rodney said, and pulled two
bags of plain M&Ms from the minibar. He tossed one in my lap,
and to my delight, kept the other. “To tide you over until our
meals get here. I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered you the steak
teriyaki while you were out cold. Medium rare. I trust you aren’t a
vegetarian?”

I laughed. “
Nobody
from North Dakota is a
vegetarian. Trust me.”

“Don’t cattle outnumber people there?” Rodney asked
with a chuckle.

“Yes, they do,” I said. “And the cattle would take
over everything if we didn’t eat them. I should know. My parents
raise some cattle on our farm outside Bismarck, though our farm’s
main crop is wheat.”

Rodney settled back into the settee opposite me and
dove into his bag of M&Ms. “So I see Senator Grayle still
prefers to hire staffers from his home state.”

“Yes, all the people who work for him are originally
from North Dakota,” I said, swallowing a bunch of M&Ms whole. I
felt the rush of sugar and chocolate almost immediately, which
helped to balance out the booze a bit. “Which believe me, isn’t
easy to do in Washington. There aren’t too many of us Roughriders
around here.”

“I don’t imagine there would be.” Rodney kicked off
his shoes, stretched, and took off his blazer. “Pardon me for
saying so, but you seem very sophisticated for someone who grew up
on a wheat farm in North Dakota.”

“I came to Washington to go to college at
Georgetown, and I’ve been here ever since,” I said. “I never was
much of a farm girl growing up. In fact, I hated it there. I have a
brother who stayed on to help my parents run things, and he’ll
probably inherit the farm someday. Which is perfectly all right
with me, thank you very much.”

Rodney’s eyebrows raised. “I take it you don’t get
along with your parents?”

“I get along with them fine as long as I only see
them twice a year.” I picked out all the green M&Ms from the
bag and handed them to Rodney. As I did, the skin of our palms
touched—pure electricity.

Rodney must have felt the spark too, because he
immediately sucked in his breath, got up from his seat, and began
to pace. “Jasmine, I think you and I need to have a little
discussion on exactly what kind of relationship we are going to
have.”

“I thought we already had that discussion today in
your office.”

Rodney stopped mid-pace. “Not quite.”

I polished off the rest of the M&Ms and stood
up. The booze had started to wear off a little so I managed to do
it without staggering, but now a different kind of intoxication was
setting in. “Look, Rodney,” I said. “I’ll level with you. I’m
desperate here. I not only need to do anything and everything
possible to keep my job, I am in
serious
need of some
serious
sex.
You
need a new hot story to sell papers.
And you’ve already admitted to being attracted to me. Seems to me
we can take care of both our needs and have a great time doing it.
So why not?”

I almost couldn’t believe what I was saying. Just
yesterday, I never would have considered getting drunk and
propositioning a man I’d known for less than five hours, let alone
one of the most powerful men in Washington. But desperate times
called for desperate measures.

Rodney sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You
know Jasmine, there was a time I would have been happy to take you
up on an offer like that. Like this afternoon, for example. But
I’ve changed a lot since I met you. I know it sounds corny and hard
to believe, but I don’t want to use you as a mere sex object, even
if it would save your career and Senator Grayle.”

“Yeah, it
does
sound corny and hard to
believe. Especially since you propositioned me yourself today in
your office.”

Rodney threw up his hands. “All right, I know you
probably think I’m behaving strangely right now, Jasmine. Hell,
even
I
think I’m behaving strangely. But I am being
completely honest when I say that my very genuine feelings for you
would preclude me from trading your sexual favors in exchange for
good press for Senator Grayle. Even
I
have at least some
journalistic ethics left. I guess there are just some lines I’m not
willing to cross.” He paused, looked at me with sadness. “Not
anymore, anyway.”

I sighed heavily. “Well, I guess I better go then.
This has just been a waste of time.” I picked up my purse and
started for the door.

Before I could make it a single step, however,
Rodney grabbed me by the arm. “I’m not finished.”

I stared into his deep-set eyes, incredulous. “Yes
you are. I think you’ve embarrassed me enough for one day.” I
struggled to free myself from Rodney’s grasp, but he wouldn’t let
go.

“Jasmine, I might not be willing to trade sex for
helping Senator Grayle, but I would be willing to make love with
you just for the sake of it, and no other reason.”

I was stunned. “What do you mean?”

Rodney leaned in closer. “I mean just what I said.
Make love with me, with no terms, no political favors, no strings
attached.”

“But—“

Rodney placed a finger over my lips. “Hush,” he
said. Then he placed each palm on each side of my face, pulled me
close, and kissed me.

And it wasn’t just any kind of kiss, either. It was
a long, hot, passionate, vibrating kiss, the kind with enough
tongue and rhythm to send spasms practically down to my ankles.

After what seemed an eternity, Rodney let us both up
for air. “Well?” he asked. “Are you game?”

“Sure,” I whispered. Then I kissed him back.

Chapter
6

Lovemaking with Rodney started out slow, but
delicious. First, he licked his index finger and used it to trace a
warm, damp outline on every feature of my face. Then, he used his
mouth and tongue to connect the dots between them. He ran his
tongue up one side of my neck, then down the other until I
shuddered with pleasure. He ran his hands up and down my sides,
tracing the seams of my red fuck-me dress with his fingers, sending
delightful shivers down my spine—shivers that came to rest deep
inside my pussy, where they turned from ice to red-hot flames.

I guess that meant the message this dress was
supposed to deliver had gotten through after all.

But no sooner did my mind form the thought, the
red-hot fuck-me dress was whisked over the top of my head and
tossed across the room. It landed on a pair of crossed antique
Chinese swords mounted over the fireplace, where it hung like a
battle flag.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have the most
luscious body in the world?” Rodney said as he licked my
collarbone.

“As a matter of fact, no.”

“What a travesty.” Rodney’s mouth slid across my
chest, then came to rest on my right nipple. He pulled the entire
areola into his mouth, then beat a conga dance on my nipple with
the pointed tip of his tongue while he rolled and tugged the left
nipple between his fingers. Rodney was an expert when it came to
nipples, that was for sure. Each tug, pinch, lick and pull he made
on my ample bosoms sent rockets of desire up and out through my
entire body, until even the tips of my fingers and toes were
buzzing with it. My pussy was getting warm and slick and puffy, and
I could feel my cleft widening in anticipation as Rodney first
worked my right breast, then my left with his lips, tongue, and
fingers in turn.

Just as my nether parts cried out for the feel of
Rodney’s expert mouth upon them, there was a knock at the door.

Rodney disengaged himself from my left nipple. “I
believe that’s our dinner,” he said.

“I don’t think I’m very hungry anymore,” I
protested. I tried to guide his mouth back to my boob, but Rodney
pulled away.

“Why don’t you head for the bed and make yourself
comfortable? This’ll just be a minute.”

My crotch cried out in pain. How could Rodney Doyle
think of dinner at a time like this? I was all turned on, mere
minutes away from creaming my panties, and now Doyle wanted to eat
something other than my pussy? What the hell?