Knight's Mistress (13 page)

He noticed her small hesitation, her resolute little breath, the slight tremble in her voice when she spoke. ‘Not hungry?’ he softly queried, understanding the game was fully in play now.

‘Not for that. There, that must please you,’ she said with a grimace. ‘Your record is unblemished. Every woman in the world wants you.’
And why wouldn’t they?
her little troublesome, headstrong, overly confident little voice murmured.
When he’s gorgeous and sexy as hell lounging there, his T-shirt moulded to his muscled body, the tie on his pyjama bottoms just a tug away from displaying world-class cock.

‘I thought maybe
you
didn’t,’ he quietly said.

‘You thought wrong. But I’m going home without, shall we say, getting to know you better. Sorry.’

‘I’d like to change your mind.’

That calm, quiet voice again – like nothing fazed him. ‘I’d like a lot of things,’ she brusquely said, not capable of his equanimity. ‘Most of them I won’t get.’

‘I can give you whatever you want.’

‘You don’t understand. I don’t want to be number two thousand twenty and counting in your world of kinky sex.’

‘Ah.’

‘Exactly. There must be a cast of thousands anxious for the role. You don’t need me.’

‘You’re unusual, Miss Hart.’

She smiled. ‘I like to think so.’

‘I can keep you for six more days, you know. I could say I’m not sure the Singapore bank has performed yet.’

‘I suppose. But the question is, why would you?’

He grinned. ‘To get my money’s worth. Come, Miss Hart. Keep me company. I can’t sleep for wanting you. Talk to me at least. That can’t hurt.’

‘I don’t trust you.’

‘Or yourself?’

‘Yes. Happy now?’

‘Not yet. I could be. But that’s up to you. Where’s your robe?’

‘Wherever your butler put it.’

‘He’s not my butler, he’s your butler.’

‘No, he’s not. You paid for him like you pay for everything else.’

‘But not you.’

‘No … I mean, yes, not me.’

He laughed and came to his feet. ‘I’ll find your robe. Then I’ll take you to the bar where you can enjoy the world’s best view and my charming company. That should be safe enough.’

‘If only,’ she muttered.

‘I heard that,’ he said over his shoulder as he moved towards a bank of louvred doors. ‘My heart did a little flip-flop.’

‘Please.’

‘Word of God.’

‘Jesus, you’ll say anything for a fuck.’

Dragging her robe from a hanger, he threw it across the room. ‘I’m not going to look, because you’re probably right. I might do anything for a fuck.’

‘Finally,’ she said, rising from the bed and slipping her arms through the sleeves. ‘A little truthiness.’

He chuckled. ‘I gather you watch Colbert. We could probably find him somewhere on the net if you want.’

‘Don’t bother.’ What she wanted wasn’t on the net, anyway. He was ten feet away, the murderously handsome, bad boy version of sex personified. And much too dangerous to her future if she were being sensible about CEO–employee sex. She finished tying the belt on the robe,
and said in a tone somewhere between politesse and a mild warning off, ‘You can look now.’

Totally ignoring the warning-off part, Dominic turned and smiled. ‘Very nice. Although everything about you is nice. And restful.’

‘I’m not sure that’s a compliment.’

‘Believe me, it is. I lead a hectic life.’ He held out his hand. ‘Let’s see if there’s something to eat at the bar. I’m hungry.’

‘You just ate.’

‘Two hours ago.’ He wiggled his fingers. ‘Afraid?’

She moved towards him. ‘Should I be?’

‘No.’ As her fingers slid through his, he called on whatever reserves of will-power he possessed. ‘I promise.’

He played bartender, pouring her a champagne and himself another rye. Then he rummaged through the three small refrigerators under the bar and came up with cheese, cold cuts, olives. Placing them on the marble bar top, he gave a wave towards the lounge. ‘I’m going to find some crackers.’

He came back with nuts, crackers, pickled peaches and lychees, madeleines, as well as two boxes of chocolates, one French and one local, and dumped the foodstuffs on the bar. ‘You have to be a little hungry,’ he said, beginning to rip open boxes.

‘Twist my arm,’ she said with a grin and pointed. ‘Push those chocolates my way.’

‘How about a madeleine with your champagne.’ He slid the two boxes over.

Soon he had all the tins, bottles and boxes opened, he’d found some silverware, plates, a pile of embroidered napkins and he’d poured them both another drink. ‘Am
I resourceful or what?’ he said with a grin, lifting his glass to her.

‘If I was dropped into some jungle clearing in the middle of nowhere, you’d certainly be the right man to have along.’ She smiled over the mocha truffle she was about to put in her mouth. ‘I didn’t even know I was hungry.’

‘After seeing you eat at dinner, I thought you might be,’ he said, busy arranging a line of crackers on a bar towel. ‘You have a good appetite.’

‘Is that an insult?’

A swift glance from under his lashes. ‘God, no, don’t glare.’

‘I’m not glaring.’

‘Fuck if you’re not.’ He set down the cracker box. ‘So you like to eat. It’s a good thing. Different, that’s all. Most women pretend they don’t eat.’ Picking up a package of sliced cheese, he began putting one on each cracker.

‘The women
you
know.’

He wasn’t going there, not even close.
‘You’re right. It’s a narrow segment, I agree. Cheese? No? Did you try the lychees?’ He eased the bottle closer to her.

‘Are you changing the subject?’

‘That was my intent. Do you always take a bite out of every chocolate first?’

She smiled. ‘So you’re not going to talk about the women who pretend to eat?’

Dominic’s turn to smile. ‘Nope. Sure you don’t want a cracker?’

‘And pressing you would be useless.’

‘Very.’ He spooned a dollop of pâté atop the cheese on the first cracker. ‘Tell me about the chocolates.’

She lifted one brow. ‘Maybe I don’t want to.’

A twitch of a smile, quickly suppressed. ‘Do you squabble with everyone, or just me?’

‘I’m pleased you find me so entertaining,’ she said with a sniff.

‘Then we’re both pleased.’ Another quick glance up through his lashes.

She dragged in a sharp breath, his fleeting glance was explicitly carnal, his voice like velvet on her skin.

‘What?’ He smiled lazily.

‘Nothing,’ she whispered. She drew in a deep breath of restraint and the full swell of her breasts, only thinly veiled by the white silk of her robe, rose in two perfect round fuck-me spheres.

Dominic slid the spoon back into the pâté jar. Those ripe tits nearly bursting through the delicate silk would give a monk a hard-on and he was far from abstemious. Food was no longer a top priority. Although Miss Hart’s tremulous approach to sex had to be dealt with gently. And patiently. ‘I’m assuming you don’t like creams,’ he casually said, indicating the half-eaten chocolates in the box with a wave.

‘How polite you are. Do you actually want an answer?’

‘I do. I’m curious.’ He dipped his head in the direction of the ravaged chocolates. ‘I’ve never seen that before.’ He
picked up a cheese and pâté cracker. Since he wasn’t going to rush Miss Hart, he had time to eat.

‘Nothing so uncouth, you mean.’

He grinned. ‘No. It reminds me of some three-year-old in the jam jar.’ He popped the cracker in his mouth.

‘You know about three-year-olds?’
Christ, she shouldn’t have asked.
‘Sorry,’ she quickly said.

He finished chewing and swallowed. ‘My sister has’ – he counted on his fingers briefly – ‘six children.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve seen my share of little three-year-old hellions.’ He stabbed a finger at the box. ‘So?’

‘So – I don’t like creams,’ she said, flustered that she’d embarrassed herself by suggesting he might have children.
Although he hadn’t actually answered, had he? Rich men like him could have children they discreetly supported so long as the mother was content with the financial arrangement.
‘Checking out the flavours saves me calories,’ she went on under his cool-eyed gaze. ‘And I don’t bite every chocolate like that unless they’re mine – or in this case, yours.’

The word
bite
and
yours
caused a predictable jolt to his libido, but he was long past youthful impetuosity. ‘You don’t have to worry about calories.’

‘Thank you. Nor do you.’ There. Better. Unruffled.

‘I work too hard. I have to eat a lot just to keep my weight stable.’

Really. Did everything make her think of sex tonight?
She tried not to look at the results of his eating regimen, but his T-shirted torso was only a bar width away, his powerful
arms were even closer as he spooned more pâté on top of a cheese-covered cracker and slid it in his mouth. ‘One more drink and then I’d better stop,’ she said, in lieu of all the other possibilities racing through her brain. The ones having to do with unbridled sex and Dominic Knight.

He understood body language better than most. It was a requisite in his line of work. Miss Hart was restless. Since he didn’t want her to bolt, he moved back, leaned against the counter under the liquor bottles and brought up the subject of her Bucharest success, his tone temperate, the topic intentionally banal. He wanted to put her at ease and purposely asked questions about her methodology for breaking through firewalls. She visibly relaxed as she answered, eventually started on the second box of chocolates, found several she liked and ate them with the same appreciation he’d noticed at dinner. Definitely a woman of appetites.

Over the course of the next half hour he managed to curb himself and his desire for her. And if she hadn’t said out of the blue, ‘Tell me something. The fact that I’m leaving soon accounts for your interest in me, right?’ the night might have proved uneventful.

He paused with his refilled glass halfway to his mouth, his expression guarded. ‘Honestly?’

‘Is that a problem?’

He set his glass down, met her gaze straight on. ‘No. And yes, the time line’s a factor.’

‘Hah! I knew it!’

Her little jiggle of elation made him smile. ‘You like to be right?’

‘Don’t you?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m flexible.’

‘Like in Singapore?’

‘I
can
be flexible.’

‘For the right incentive.’

But there was a teasing note in her voice now and her green gaze was bright with triumph or flirtation. Or champagne. He’d have to find out which, or whether it even mattered any more. ‘What do you have in mind?’ he drawled, thinking he’d like to kiss her rosy cheek first, taste that soft, sweet freshness. ‘I’m open to any incentive, large or small.’

The word ‘large’ scorched through her brain, sent a flame-hot rush of desire into every susceptible crevice in her body, triggered a small gasp she wasn’t able to contain.

He didn’t move, he didn’t so much as blink and when he spoke, his voice was no more than a whisper. ‘Is there something I might do for you perhaps?’ Champagne nearly sloshed over the rim of her glass and moving quickly, he lifted it from her trembling hand and set it aside. ‘All you have to do is ask.’

‘I don’t want to.’ Gathering herself, she leaned back in her chair to put some distance between herself and temptation, braced her hands palm down on the bar to steady her nerves and tried to breathe normally. Then she lifted
her cat-eyed, restless gaze. ‘If you must know, it’s too humiliating to be just another mindless fuck.’

‘Christ, as if you are. Look.’ He hesitated, his feelings so far from what passed for normal lately he was entering new territory. ‘I don’t—’ He stopped again, not sure whether honesty was beneficial or if it was safer to lie. He’d never actually been truthful to all the temporary women in his life. ‘I can guarantee you wouldn’t be’ – another pause – ‘that,’ he finished, rather than repeat her blunt phrase. ‘The fact is – I didn’t want to send you home after Amsterdam. I have no idea why. Werner could have handled Singapore for me.’ Faced with the new, baffling dilemma of his fascination with this young woman, recognizing that what he had to offer wasn’t in her best interests, in fact might be ruinous for her, he reluctantly made a principled decision. ‘On second thought’ – he exhaled heavily – ‘this’ – he did a back and forth motion with his index finger – ‘you and me isn’t a good idea. Not for you anyway.’ He took a breath, reached for his glass. ‘We’d better call it a night.’ Raising his glass to his mouth, he poured the liquor down his throat, shot her a look as he set the glass down. ‘Go before I change my mind.’ Grabbing the bottle, he refilled his glass and lifted his chin towards the door. ‘Go.’

‘I don’t want to,’ Kate quietly said. ‘Not really. Unless you want me to.’ She couldn’t tell if he did or not; this was not a man bent on seduction. He might even be inherently
decent, which surprised her. She’d seen him domineering, arrogant, even tyrannical, but not like this. Not Dominic Knight being virtuous.

With a soft oath, he put the bottle down. One of them should be practical; he thought he had been.
Now what?
A rhetorical question quickly dismissed. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ he said, thinking how unbelievably sexy she looked biting down hard on the inside of her lip. ‘Because I’m not sure I do.’

‘I think so.’

‘You’d better be sure.’ His voice was gruff.

She took another deep breath that lit up his retinas, smashed his moral compass and set the evening in motion even before she said, ‘I’m sure. I find you irresistible.’

A small sigh. He appreciated the irony. He couldn’t remember when he’d last said no to sex. Another sigh, deeper this time, because what he was about to say was sobering. ‘I feel the same way about you.’

His quiet declaration made her heart flip. ‘You don’t have to say that.’

An easy smile. ‘It’s a compliment. Say thank you.’

‘Thank you. And now, if you don’t mind.’

‘You’re impatient.’

‘It’s been a while.’

He wanted to ask how long, but stopped himself because it didn’t matter. Instead, he walked around the end of the bar, came to a halt beside her, lifted her off her barstool, seated her on the end of the bar facing him, and moved
between her legs. Smoothly untying her robe, he slipped it off her shoulders and let it fall down her arms. ‘Very showy,’ he whispered, running his palms over her large breasts, gently stroking the soft, yielding flesh.