Knight's Mistress (9 page)

She handed over the laptop bag. ‘Would they really have kept your money?’

‘Damn right they would have if they’d had the balls.’

‘Did you threaten them? It looked like you did.’

He hesitated briefly, then said, ‘Perhaps a little. I could have dragged it through the courts, but’ – he shrugged – ‘a foreign city state with a virtual dictatorship … the results are uncertain. Ah – finally.’ He held the elevator door for her, followed her in and hit the lobby button. ‘That presentation of yours deserves a bonus, Miss Hart,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘Send your bill to Max.’

‘You’re paying me enough already.’

He shot her a look. ‘Miss Hart,’ he quietly said, ‘if someone offers you carte blanche, don’t ever say no.’

‘I will if I want.’

He laughed. ‘Lord, you’re a breath of fresh air. Do you know you’re the first person I’ve ever met who’s turned down money? We have to celebrate miracles like that. What do you say to a night on the town in Hong Kong? Say yes. I’m in a bloody fine mood after saving my twenty mil. Come, Miss Hart, a simple yes.’ The doors opened onto the bustling lobby. He grinned at her. ‘You still owe me seven and a half days,’ he said. ‘You don’t have a choice.’

As she began to say maybe she did have a choice if he actually got his twenty million, that her assignment would be over, he grabbed her hand, hauled her out of the elevator, through the lobby and out onto the pavement where his car was waiting. ‘If you’re going to make a scene,’ he said, opening the back door, ‘do it in the car. It’s not that I’d be embarrassed,’ he added, politely shoving her in, ‘but you might be if I start screaming back.’ He
slammed the door shut, set her bag on the floor. ‘The airport, Chu. Call Max. Tell him to meet us there.’ Then he turned back to Kate and grinned. ‘OK, I’m ready. Scream away.’

Now was her chance to make her point about going back home. ‘I’d
like
to see Hong Kong,’ she heard herself say. She had no explanation; she wasn’t even looking for one. She just felt happy saying it.

‘You would?’

She enjoyed his startled reflex. It made him human. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

It took him a moment to answer, her sudden agreement unnerving.

She smiled. ‘Do you think I want something? You do, don’t you?’

‘The thought crossed my mind. Forgive me if I’m wrong.’

‘I do want something.’

His gaze went shuttered. ‘Tell me what it is,’ he coolly said.

‘A night on the town. It sounds like fun.’

A flint-eyed scrutiny. ‘That’s it?’

‘Jesus. You’d think I’d asked for your first-born. Does everyone always want something from you?’

‘Mostly.’ He blew out a breath. ‘Yeah, a lot of them do.’

‘I don’t.’
Well, maybe a little something. Just maybe.

His smile slowly unfurled. ‘In that case, consider it a date, Miss Hart. It’s a three and a half hour flight. We should be there for dinner.’

A date!
She had to stop herself from verbally freaking out. ‘Dinner sounds lovely,’ she said, proud that she’d been able to keep her voice even. In contrast, her brain was practically exploding she was thinking so many things at the same time. First, the classic Cinderella dream that every young girl brought with her into adulthood regardless of the sheer futility of such a scenario. But really Dominic Knight was as much Prince Charming as any fantasy could contrive. Then, after jettisoning the Cinderella myth, she focused on the word ‘date’ like some star-struck teenager. That at least was a marginal reality, and she intended to relish every minute of the evening because she would be the envy of every woman who had eyes to see. And after the soft-focus lens on romance gave way to a more stark reality, she ran through possible fantasies of a more lurid sexual nature. At which point, she abruptly punted and returned to the more pleasing romantic images filling her mind.

But Kate wasn’t the only one pleased.

Dominic started making plans.

Two cars were waiting for them at the airport. Max politely took his leave of Kate, offered her good wishes for her future, told Dominic he’d talk to him next week, then loped towards a waiting car and jumped in.

‘He’s impatient to see his family,’ Dominic explained as the car sped away.

Max has a family?
‘I don’t suppose he gets home often with your schedule.’

‘We have a deal. It’s every two weeks – mostly – this time it stretched to three, so he’s in a hurry. Here’s our car.’ He guided her to another shiny black sedan.

After the evening in Amsterdam, Kate wondered what kind of family. Was he married or did the Roche family live here? If he had a wife, was she Chinese? Not that it was any of her business. Really, it wasn’t. ‘Is Max married?’ The words escaped before she could censure her brain, so there was no further point in being discreet. ‘He doesn’t look like he’d be married. He looks like he should be carrying an AK-47.’

Dominic gave her a blank stare for half a heartbeat. Then he said, ‘Max is married. He has a young son. Anything else?’

‘Sorry. It’s just that I’ve never seen anyone who looks so much like a mercenary.’

‘Actually, Max is a physicist.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Like a physicist who defuses suitcase bombs? Or builds them or trades in nuclear secrets?’

Dominic smiled faintly. ‘You have a vivid imagination, Miss Hart.’ Always an asset for what he had in mind tonight. Although she’d seemed sexually demanding in Amsterdam. He’d have to tame that impulse. As for Max’s MI6 history, evasion was best. ‘The work Max does for me is quite ordinary. No nuclear secrets, just business. His wife is also English,’ he added, in an effort to establish Max’s unremarkable bona fides. ‘Max and Liv are both from ex-pat families. His son, Conall, will be one this week. That’s about it.’

Their driver had the car door open. Dominic waited for Kate to get in, then followed her into the back seat.

‘I was just curious after … well … that night in Amsterdam,’ Kate said. ‘He seemed to know everyone at that club.’

Curious indeed.
‘The Ritz-Carlton, Dan.’ He settled back in the seat and smiled at Kate. ‘If you’re asking whether Max is happily married, he is. He adores his wife and son. Hollywood couldn’t do it any better.’

‘Oh.’ Surprise turned into a smile. ‘That’s great. I like Hollywood happy endings.’

‘I thought you might.’

‘You say it like there’s something wrong with happily ever after.’

‘On the contrary, if only it were true the world would be a better place.’

‘Cynic.’

‘Welcome to my reality.’

‘That’s what comes from making too much money. The thrill is gone.’

He laughed. ‘You know that, do you?’

‘Call it a calculated guess.’

‘In any case, Miss Hart, tonight we’re going to forget about reality and making money. We’re just going to have fun.’

She lifted her brows. ‘Do you know how to have fun?’

An easy smile. ‘You tell me tomorrow.’

They’d landed at the old airport on Kowloon so it was a relatively short drive to the Ritz-Carlton where they were whisked up to the 117th floor with such exaggerated courtesy by the hotel manager that Kate understood Dominic Knight’s financial status was well known. On reaching the club level, the small, trim man and Dominic spoke briefly in Cantonese before the manager pivoted back to the elevators and Dominic turned to Kate. ‘Let me show you to your room.’ He indicated the direction with a nod. ‘If it’s convenient,’ he said, moving down the wide corridor, ‘I’ll pick you up for dinner at eight. Hong Kong is all about food. Some say there’s shopping and finance too but’ – a quick
smile – ‘mostly it’s food. We’ll start with drinks at the China Club.’ He stopped at a set of double doors. ‘If you need anything, ask your butler.’

‘Butler?’ There was a word that had never before entered her life.

‘They come with the suites.’

Do you come with the suite?
Unbidden, the words leaped to mind, her libidinous little voice chiming in without a moment’s hesitation,
You can make it happen, girl! Female power rules!

Dominic broke into her chewed-lip moment of silence. ‘I’m really hungry. Does eight give you enough time to dress?’

Was he talking in code or was she listening in code? Hungry? Hungry for what?
‘Ah … er’ – she looked up – ‘I mean … yes, yes … eight’s fine.’

‘Good. Eight it is.’ As if inured to stammering women, he reached past her, opened her door, then turned and strolled away.

Christ, how gauche was that? And how freaking gorgeous is he, she thought, watching him stride down the corridor, all grace and beauty and worldly polish. She guessed those bound women he was whipping in that blog didn’t really mind it when Dominic Knight was doing the whipping because they’d get him afterwards. And Kate knew just how much of him there was to get after the much watched image on the video. Although he was big everywhere – tall, buff, with muscle like some Greek god or NFL player—
Jesus, stop already!
There was a butler probably ten feet away, which meant climaxing on the spot was seriously uncool.

Taking a deep steadying breath, she entered the suite and sure enough, there was a butler standing at attention in the middle of a very large room filled with couches, chairs and
real
works of art. Christ, keep it together. Although she was sorely tempted to ask, ‘May I take a picture of you to send to my grandmother?’, because Nana would go bonkers on seeing a real live butler. Unfortunately, that would be double gauche. So she smiled instead and dismissed him with as much I-do-this-all-the-time panache as she could conjure up from her memories of
Masterpiece Theatre
.

Like Amsterdam, however, the rewards of having a servant were immediately apparent. Her bath had been drawn, Greta’s clothes had been hung up – not that she was surprised to see them after two days in the company of a man who considered himself master of all he surveyed. A great number of spanking new suitcases were neatly stowed away in the wall of closets and an open bottle of champagne on ice was waiting for her on the ledge of the bathtub. A bathtub with a 117-storey view of Hong Kong. Like first class all the way! Nana was getting a picture of that texted right away, regardless that it was probably three in the morning back home or the next day or whatever. Seconds later, the photo was winging its way around the globe and moments after that, Kate was immersed in
hot suds, sipping a glass of champagne and revelling in an incredible sense of well-being.

While it was tempting to empty the bottle of champagne, the lure of an evening with Dominic Knight required a clear mind. She wanted to remember this night on the town. Every second, every heartbeat, every word and smile and tilt of his gorgeous head. How he ate and drank,
what
he ate and drank, the entire fantastic imagery of her date with – let’s face it – the handsomest man on the planet.

And she didn’t often indulge in over-the-top superlatives like that.

Dominic Knight was definitely an exception.

After her second glass of champagne, she washed, towelled off, then went to survey her neatly hung designer wardrobe. She could, of course, wear her own clothes. She probably
should
wear her own clothes.
Or –
she could wear that floaty chiffon number that was enticing her like the veritable apple in Paradise. Let’s see – her own slacks and a blouse or that dream dress. It wasn’t even close. Did Dominic Knight know women or what?

To soothe her conscience or feminist principles, she told herself she was just borrowing the dress for the night. Using the dress on loan didn’t make her one of those women in the video. She wasn’t like them. But at the end of the day, if she wanted to sleep with Dominic Knight, why shouldn’t she? Oh, Jeez, what if she asked and he said no because she’d blown him off in Amsterdam? How
embarrassing would that be? Maybe she’d better not ask.

She was seriously dithering about sleeping with Dominic Knight mostly because of two things: the video, of course, and the spill-over in terms of the absolutism that constituted so much of his personality.

She almost felt like flipping a coin.

Then again, when it came to wanting what she wanted, that left too much to chance.

So with Greta’s dress enticing her, along with the promise of a night on the town in Hong Kong with the most beautiful man in the world, it didn’t take long to put her insecurities to rest. If she felt out of her depth at some point in the evening, she’d do what she did last time. Just say no. There was no way she was backing out of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, because seriously, it was a
once-in-a-lifetime
opportunity.

And Meg would never let her forget it if she passed up sex with Dominic Knight.

There. Done. Case closed.

Sliding the chiffon dress off the hanger, she slipped it over her head and let the silky fabric swish down her body. Gazing at her image in a floor-length mirror, one of Whistler’s paintings of a gauzily dressed female sprang to mind. The flowered print, the sheer fabric, the pale, cream background was, with the exception of its short length – very much like those dresses in a Whistler painting. Although the tomato-red ribbon at the waist was a vivid touch of creative whimsy on Greta’s part. After tying the
silk taffeta into a floppy bow, she briefly admired her handiwork before considering shoes. Naturally, there were silk, sling-back heels in tomato red. You could see how Dominic Knight could manage every detail of a global empire.

For a fleeting second, she wondered if this fantasy would evaporate at the stroke of midnight. Would Dominic Knight disappear in a puff of smoke and she’d discover that this was all just a dream?

A clock on the dresser suddenly chimed, reminding her that she actually was at the Ritz-Carlton, Hong Kong. And, she noted, checking the time, she still had a half-hour to do some exploring of the club floor. A date with Dominic Knight was a memorable occasion; she wanted all the little details etched on her memory.

Five minutes later, her tour complete, she discovered that with the exception of the concierge and bartender, she was alone. Stopping before a beautiful young Asian woman behind the concierge’s desk, Kate smiled. ‘The view’s absolutely stunning up here. You must hear that a lot.’