‘I can’t move in this dress,’ I said, by way of stalling. ‘And since when do I need your permission to take off my shoes? You’re not the boss of me.’
‘A couple things, Lily.’ He poured himself a snifter of brandy and glanced over his shoulder. ‘Obviously you can’t dance in that hot little number, but I happen to know you’re wearing gorgeous lingerie underneath, which should give you freedom of movement. Another thing, I am the boss of you, and not just in the office. You understand what I’m saying, right?’
‘Oh, Christ. You’re one of those billionaires.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ He looked confused, and set his glass down on the bedside table.
‘You know what I’d really like, Dorian? I’d like to poke around the place, take a long, hot soak in a tub, which I’m sure will blow my mind, throw on something comfortable and have that long talky-visit you promised me.’
‘Too bad all your new clothes are in your room.’ He frowned. ‘Did Bea buy you a flannel nightie? I don’t have a thing for grannies.’
‘I know how to use an elevator, and I haven’t had time to check out my new rags. You may have to deal with a granny-gown. Or sweatpants that say “PINK” on the bottom.’
‘Very well.’ He sighed, quite put upon. ‘Come back quickly, or I’ll have to find something else to do with my evening. I have no tolerance for people who make me wait. No matter how pretty they are.’
‘You’ll just take off for the night if I don’t come back fast enough for your liking?’
‘Did I stutter?’
What a douchebag. Without a word, I left the room – and my stupid shoes – and Dorian Holder – behind.
For now.
Chapter Nine
Do Not Disturb
My room seemed very quiet, not just because of the actual silence, but because of the lack of crackling sexual tension in the air.
Our lust was loud.
I flung the closet doors open – no small feat, since I was half drunk – and hoped Beatrice Collins hadn’t let me down.
Nope. On the closet floor, under my new ‘professional’ wear, were a few shoeboxes and several giant department-store bags. Loro Piana? Dang. Neiman Marcus. Saks. Prada. Agent Provocateur? Oh, my. I was almost afraid to open them, let alone fish around inside. I didn’t want to get my poor-people germs all over this hot mess of soft, cute things. So I started squeezing them like they were presents under a Christmas tree. One of the smaller Filene’s bags looked about the right size and had the right softness to be something comforting enough to sleep in. I gingerly reached in and found a soft cotton jersey cami and matching lounge pants.
Paydirt.
I couldn’t get out of this get-up fast enough, but I will admit that maybe I admired myself in the mirror for a moment before unhitching my garter belt and unclipping my thigh-highs. Hands-down, the most beautiful lingerie I’d ever dream of owning … though I still can’t get behind the thong thing. So to speak. Beatrice Collins did me right with the bra, though. Black lace never felt so soft or so silky.
Once I’d donned my insanely comforting new sleepwear and decided to never take it off again, I had to make a choice about Dorian. He was so hot and cold. I was no fool, was completely aware he was screwing with both my head and emotions, but even knowing that, his game was impeccable.
I wanted to fight it. I wanted to say, ‘I know what you’re doing.’
But did I?
What did he mean he’d ‘find something else to do’? Something else … or someone? I hated being jerked around, and the man was playing me like a finely tuned fiddle. And how about tearing me down and rebuilding me, or however he described it, down at the restaurant?
What if he was serious, though, and would leave if I didn’t run back upstairs? And what if this was the one chance we’d have to hook up, and he decided he was done with me before we even got to try it out? He’d tell me to pack up my new clothes and please not come back to the office until he returned to Colorado. Oh, I don’t know. My brain felt less and less like it was my own.
Gary Numan’s ‘In Cars’ interrupted what Dorian Holder would have called my mind virus.
I still hadn’t changed that ringtone.
‘Hello, Dorian.’
‘Tick tock.’
‘Yeah, about that …’
‘I’m not going to wait around, Lily.’
‘Shit.’ I took a last glance at my hair. ‘Well, maybe get used to disappointment.’
He’d already hung up. Argh. I clenched my fists, squinched my eyes and jumped up and down hard. My angry dance. Because I knew I would be going back to his suite.
I had to.
As I waited for the lift in my bare feet and adorable new jammies, I felt more than a bit pathetic. Until the door opened.
‘Hello, Lily.’
Dorian was wearing these black silk pajama bottoms that would have looked sleazy on anyone else, but Dorian Holder was the embodiment of relaxed elegance and looked drop-dead gorgeous. He leaned against the elevator doorframe, holding it open.
‘Dorian. What are you –?’
‘I told you, I don’t like it when people make me wait. So I stopped waiting.’
‘Uhm.’ I looked down at my feet, and yes, my toes were totally curled.
‘So, your place or mine?’ he asked, with a slight smile. ‘As the common folk say.’
There was no turning back.
‘Yours.’ I lifted up my satchel. ‘See, I’ve got this fabulous new overnight bag. Some rich guy’s sister bought it for me, and it’s got a ton of Clinique products in it. Also, contact lens stuff. Did you tell her you stepped on my glasses last night?’
‘Of course not,’ he said, moving back so that I could enter the small mirrored room. ‘I don’t think I did, anyway.’
‘Liar.’ I peered into his eyes, which appeared darker than before. Is it true that people’s pupils widen when they’re lusty?
‘It’s nice to see you without your glasses, Lily,’ he said, and brushed a stray lock of hair out of my face for a closer look. He cupped my cheek, forcing me to look up at him. ‘Your eyes are the rarest colour.’
‘They’re grey,’ I corrected him, because compliments are scary. ‘Not so spectacular.’
‘No, they’re glasz. Beautiful.’
‘They aren’t glass! They’re real.’
What a freakshow.
‘Not glass, silly girl. Glasz. The most magical shade. Blue, green, gray and sometimes a flash of yellow.’ His lips were full and sensual, and he spoke the words as if reciting an incantation. A prayer.
A spell.
I must have looked confused, because he continued talking.
‘It’s French. The only artists who could properly capture it were the Impressionists. If you ever find yourself on the coast of France, you’ll see the water reflects your eyes perfectly, Lily.’
The door clicked shut, and my stomach dropped as we began our ascent.
Damn. I wouldn’t swear to it, but that may have been the moment I began to fall in love with Dorian Holder.
I resisted the stupid urge to make a joke about my mother almost naming me Brittany – French coast, get it? – but gave in to an even stupider urge. I pulled Dorian Holder to me, threw an arm over his shoulder and pressed my slightly opened lips against his. Startled, he drew in a quick breath, and leaned in closer. He stroked my cheek, sucked at my lip, and then his tongue slid inside my mouth, exploring, giving me a taste of what was to come. Apparently there was no underwear beneath those silk pajamas; his erection pushed against me, stiff and insistent. And his smell, the warm sweet smell of his tanned skin. The next thing I knew, he had me shoved up against the wall of the elevator, his rock-hard muscles compressing me. Though reluctant to stop his demanding kiss, I turned my head, relieved by the coolness of the elevator wall against my cheek.
‘You can’t get away,’ he growled in my left ear.
‘What’s that –’
But I couldn
’t finish the sentence.
‘You’ll always come for me, Lily,’ said Dorian.
‘Is that –’ I sucked in a breath, and my knees buckled at the wave of his delicious scent ‘– is that a threat or a promise?’
‘Both.’ He bit my earlobe, hard enough that my eyes watered.
I closed my eyes. ‘You –’
‘No, you, Lily.’ Dorian grasped my hair and turned my head so that I was forced to look at him. ‘You’ll always come for me.’
For a second I flashed back on last night’s phone call, how I rubbed and writhed after hanging up, picturing a moment such as this. Terror. Anticipation.
Acquiescence.
You’ll always come for him, echoed a voice, some place deep inside of me. The idea was thrilling.
And terrifying.
‘Well?’
The door slid open with a slide and click, and Dorian let go of me and leaned against the wall. He crossed his legs, trying to smother the erection tenting his silk pajama trousers.
Epic fail.
We were silent as a long-legged, shaggy-haired man with heavy eyebrows joined us. I always wondered how those guys managed to wear skinny jeans without looking like total idiots. He leaned his gig-bag against the opposite wall, crossed his arms and started whistling a song that sounded familiar.
Wait a second.
Dorian cleared his throat, while I caught my breath. Despite the brief respite against cold metal, my face was hot.
‘Excuse me,’ I managed. ‘Were you playing at T.T.’s the other night?’
He smirked, looked at Dorian and raised his eyebrows.
Goddamn it. Zane McBain had seen my tits even before my boss.
Now I could see what Gwen meant by the Jack White comparison. If Jack White, Johnny Depp and Russell Brand had some miraculous homoerotic encounter and fathered a child, he would have totally been Zane McBain.
How cool would it be to watch those three guys go at it?
Also, I was standing in an elevator, all hopped up on hormones, with two total hotties, who could not be any more opposite. Both of them seemed intrigued with me, though why that was, I had no clue. But there was major vibe. What if –
The door slid back open, and Zane McBain winked at us. ‘Get a room, you two,’ he said. He had a slight Irish accent, which did nothing to calm my shaking, as it made me even hornier. I looked away from the wannabe rockstar as the bell dinged.
‘Trying to have a moment, here, friend,’ Dorian growled. ‘If you don’t mind.’
‘Getting off,’ Zane McBain replied, and he grabbed his guitar and strutted out into the hall. The dude was unfazed by Dorian’s chilly demeanour. Cool.
‘Who was that?’ asked Dorian, frowning. ‘Ex-boyfriend?’
‘No.’ I looked at my bare feet. ‘I think he was in the band I saw on my birthday. It was all kind of a blur.’
There was another soft ring as we reached our floor.
‘Hm. Charming, Lily.’
God, I hate sarcasm.
Dorian stepped into the corridor, not looking over his shoulder. ‘This way.’ He made a vague gesture toward his unmarked room. The icy tone in his voice was a complete contrast to his last utterance in my ear.
‘OK.’ In my mind’s eye, I had this image, or flashback, of myself lifting my shirt to that very same wannabe rockstar, though my only point of reference was Gwen’s recounting of the night.
That was yesterday morning, when I’d never seen Dorian Holder before.
What a difference a day makes.
He flung open the door and snapped his fingers at me. ‘Come,’ he ordered, not even bothering to look over his shoulder.
Head down, I shuffled behind him. There was a click, as the door locked behind me. I was trapped. Yes, I could have turned and run, something so familiar from the past that it would have been a comfort to me. Something safe.
In retrospect, knowing everything now that I didn’t know then, perhaps I should have followed my instinct.
It was too late.
He had me.
Chapter Ten
Just Desserts
‘Sit,’ Dorian Holder ordered, pointing at the bed.
I’d heard kinder tones used on dogs. But I sat. Perched, rather, on the edge of the mattress.
‘Who was that little twerp?’ he demanded, gesturing toward the door. ‘What’s your connection to him?’
I twiddled my thumbs, but remained silent. None of his business. Hey, if Zane McBain could afford to stay at the Mandarin Oriental, maybe he was a real rock star. I’d have to Google him.
‘Very well,’ Dorian said. In one swift motion, he snatched up a pair of fresh white face towels that had been stacked neatly on a cabinet top. ‘Look at me, Lily.’
I obeyed, and was startled by the wildness in his eyes.
He stretched the towels, eyes not moving from my face. The hair on the back of my neck prickled with fear …
… and excitement.
I had made him angry.
Very angry.
And it felt good.
So good that a low thrumming began below my abdomen. What would happen to me if I got him enraged?
‘I told you, he was in some band I saw the other night. Zane McBain or something. Jealous much?’ I taunted, arching an eyebrow.
‘Don’t even.’ His eyes tightened. ‘This is not about jealousy. This is about respect. You don’t need to go flirting with some little ponce in front of your man to feel empowered. That’s not how I play, Lily.’
‘How do you play, Mr Holder?’ Did he just refer to himself as my man?
‘Lie down,’ he said, pointing at the bed. ‘Good girl. Now stretch your arms over your head.’
I stretched back, without a word of protest. With the grace of a dancer, Dorian moved over my body, tied a towel around each wrist, then spread my arms into a V. With a couple of swift motions he secured me to the bedposts with knots that allowed some wiggle room. His breathing had grown heavier, faster, and his penis so swollen that as he reached over me the tip brushed against my nipples through my thin cami. My breath hitched as he straddled me, and he clicked his tongue in response.
‘What is it?’ I whispered.
‘You tell me,’ he said, his voice calm. ‘You’re free to go, Lily. I’ve tied you, but with a flick of your wrist the knots will come undone. Go ahead. Try it.’
I wriggled my left arm and, sure enough, my hand was freed. Part of me was disappointed. ‘Tie me back up,’ I said, and my voice sounded far away, as though it belonged to someone else.
‘I knew it!’ Dorian crowed, and the shadow of anger that darkened his face lifted for just a moment. ‘You need this. Assuming I’m correct, it’s time to show some humility. Starting with “Please”.’
‘Please tie me back up,’ I said, nodding my head.
‘Please tie me back up, Mr Holder.’ He stretched out one of the towels in his hands.
‘P-Please tie me back up, Mr Holder.’
‘As you wish.’ Glaring, Dorian tied my wrist back to the bedpost. ‘But don’t think for a moment you won’t face consequences for your misbehaviour.’
‘Of course, Mr Holder.’
‘I’m going to have a moment to myself in the other room, and try to decide what to do here. I’d much rather stay and chat, as we planned, but you’ve disrespected me. Whatever happened between you and that worm, I’ll find out. Clearly, your birthday was even more interesting than your “dear friend Gwen” told Joe the snitch. An accountant and halfwit guitar player in the same night? Classy, Lily.’
‘But –’
‘Don’t talk to me.’
I shifted, trying to get more comfortable, but did not make a sound.
‘When I come back, if you’re still tied up, you’re mine. If you’ve broken your bindings and left, then the jig is up. Do we have an understanding?’
I nodded.
‘Good. When I say mine, it means no more of this childish flouncing out of the room, your ri
diculous attempts at making me jealous and your pathetic efforts to argue with everything I say. Are we clear?’
‘Crystal.’ If my sarcasm stung him, his impassive face gave no indication. ‘When are you coming back, Mr Holder?’
‘I don’t know, Lily.’ He looked at me with something akin to pity and added, ‘Maybe a few minutes. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day. There’s a back entrance to the suite, so I won’t disturb you should you fall asleep.’
‘OK.’ I swallowed. ‘We’ll see.’
‘Oh, yes, we will.’ He laughed. But there was no mirth, only menace. ‘Won’t we?’
Dorian closed the door, leaving me to my own devices.
My own mind virus.
* * *
Lest there be any confusion, I was no stranger to bindings, spankings and a bit of rough play. I loved giving in and giving up. In fact, only one of my sexual relationships hadn’t involved one or all of these factors, and that was with my high-school sweetie. Danny McBride had been one of the most darling people I’d ever known – that is, until he broke my heart. But that’s another story. I only mention it because I’d vowed to never let anyone hurt me that way again.
Until eight months earlier, when I decided to go celibate for a while.
Until I found someone who had something more special to offer me. It was clear to me – crystal – that Dorian and I were bound to have sex, whether that night or another. But I tried to convince myself it wasn’t so much that I believed I could truly fall for this man as that I’d simply become so frustrated that I had to let go of this whole neo-virginal thing and scratch the itch.
There was a difference, though, which I refused to acknowledge. My other partners and I played these parts, but none of them actually got to me. No man since Danny Boy had ever got under my skin. And none of them had ever messed with my mind. Made me question myself. Fucked with my head. Tricked me into doing his will, while thinking it was somehow my idea, then finding out only too late that I’d been had.
Reaching Lily Page 12
