The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel

by M. F. Sinclair

  “Oh, yes,” Seton drawled sultrily. “She’s been quite helpful.” His back was facing me, but I didn’t have to look at his face to know that he was smiling.

  Jeremy narrowed his eyes at me and Seton. I stuck my tongue out to him, and that made him laugh.

  “We’re gonna have to order a lot of champagne soon,” Alfred said happily to Rosie. “To welcome Mr. David J. Seton to Bookends AtoZ.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Oh?”

  “Way to be subtle, ’Fred,” Jeremy muttered.

  “I haven’t decided on that yet, Mr. Williams,” Seton pointed out, his voice slightly annoyed.

  “You will, son,” Alfred said confidently, lighting up a cigarette. “I know it. Authors develop an attachment to their editors, and I already see a special connection between you and Marge. She’ll make you want to stay, I just know it.”

  “In that case,” Seton responded, voice arrogant, “I’ll just whisk her away from you. I could tell the NY pub to hire her in exchange for my signature.”

  Alfred froze, panic written all over his weatherworn face.

  Huh. Was that what Seton wanted to talk to me about? Would he try to get me a job at Leather Binding Press so that I could edit his book from there? I toyed with the idea of working for a major New York publisher. More money, better benefits, bigger perks. I would also be working with big-name authors. It would be a huge step up for me. But I would also be working in a stuffy and impersonal work environment—with none of the warmth that Bookends AtoZ offered. Uh, no thanks. I was happy with the status quo. Besides, Seton said it wasn’t a business proposition.

  “I will never leave Bookends,” I said evenly.

  Alfred looked relieved. “And you wouldn’t want to work without Marjorie,” he said, his confidence restored.

  My cheeks flamed red. Why on earth was he so sure that Seton wouldn’t want to work without me? Was Seton right? Was our relationship no longer a secret?

  Jeremy must’ve picked up on my distress, because he shot Alfred a disbelieving look. “For crying out loud, Alfred!” he said, laughing nervously. “Don’t pressure the guy! You’ll scare him away.”

  “Quiet boy,” Alfred shot out, not rudely. “I’ve been in this business since you were in diapers. I may not have your fancy schmancy Cambridge education, but I know authors, and Seton’s a keeper. Mark my words.”

  The room tilted suddenly. “What?” I burst out.

  A tensed silence filled the room. Everyone froze. The air around us had gone suspiciously sullen.

  Swallowing hard, I walked slowly toward my desk, clutching my chair as if needing support. “You…” I began, confused eyes fixed on Jeremy. “You went to the University of Cambridge?”

  Jeremy didn’t say anything, just stood there, a pained expression passing over his face. He opened his mouth to say something but immediately closed it. Seton spun to me, guilt written all over his handsome face. Alfred and Rosie hovered in the room, frowning.

  A whirlwind of disbelief and confusion lanced through my brain, fresh beads of sweat breaking out across my forehead.

  Jeremy was Seton’s best friend from Cambridge! Jeremy knew about me and Seton all along! Jeremy was Seton’s connection to Bookends AtoZ. He was very likely the one who set up everything—the one who set the stage for Seton and me. They had planned this all along. The guilty looks on their faces said it all.

  It all made sense now. Now I knew why David J. Seton—a hugely successful author—approached a lowly publishing house. I also now knew why he’d picked me to be his potential editor. But the question that remained was, why? Why did they do that?

  Not to worry because, man, I so intended to find out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Okay, start explaining,” I snapped as I stormed my way into Seton’s living room, tossing my handbag onto the plush leather chair and fuming over the fact that, even under the current circumstances, Seton had made me use the side door instead of the front one. Jerk.

  Well, at least he had central air conditioner inside the house. He got a brownie point for that.

  Seton followed me in, unfazed and unconcerned, and walked straight to one of his bookshelves, where he kept various wine bottles and decanters. “Sit down,” he said calmly. “Have a drink and take your coat off. You’re overdressed.”

  “I’m not taking my fucking coat off!” I bit out, pacing around the sitting room and huffing out exasperated breaths.

  “Yes, you are,” he countered, voice flat with mock boredom. “I want you to clean up my house and cook me a meal in nothing but your high heels. I want my dinner served at precisely seven o’clock. It’s almost four o’clock now. So get to it.”

  I stopped pacing and looked at him with disbelief. “I don’t friggin’ think so! You have some explaining to do, buddy. I want to hear everything. And I want the truth. No more bullshit.”

  “I’ll tell you everything, but after you make me dinner.”

  “Go make your own damn dinner! I demand an explanation and I want it now.”

  I could have sworn I heard him say “spoilsport,” but when I cast him an annoyed look, he was busily uncorking one of the wine bottles on his shelf. He poured red wine into a glass and offered it to me. Reluctantly, I took it and plopped down onto the leather chair, gulping down half of the wine and trying to calm down. Seton pulled out his desk chair and sat across from me, crossing one leg elegantly over the other. We were facing each other, separated by one meter of the Persian rug that covered the area. Even in a t-shirt damp with perspiration, Seton looked as graceful and formidable as a duke.

  “All right,” he said, sighing. “What do you wish to know?”

  I scowled at him. His cool arrogance and patronizing calmness infuriated me. He and Jeremy were busted, so why was he acting as if he were humoring a hysterical child? At least Jeremy had the grace to look embarrassed right before Seton pulled me out of the office and demanded that we speak in private. But I wanted answers, so I’d just have to suck it up and put up with his crap in order to get it.

  “Did you and Jeremy set this up?”

  He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Set what up?”

  “This,” I shot out, indicating us. “This…thing between us. Did the two of you get together and decided to play mind games with an unsuspecting woman for kicks? Is this something you guys do often?”

  I realized I was speaking about Jeremy as if I hadn’t known him. Maybe I never had. I mean, I had no idea that he’d attended Cambridge University, and I didn’t know that his best friend was the David J. Seton. He knew everything about me, yet he’d kept secrets from me. I felt like a complete and utter fool. That’s what happens when you trust people.

  Seton sipped his wine and gazed at me with flat, unreadable eyes. “You sound horribly paranoid, my dear,” he said, voice remote. “This wasn’t some game Jeremy and I decided to play ‘for kicks,’ as you say. We did it because we were worried about you. At any rate, Jeremy was worried, and I agreed to help him. Jeremy’s one of my best friends. I’ve known him since before he came out of the closet. He, Quinn and I were flatmates at university. We all remained good friends long after Jeremy moved back to the states.”

  My mind flashed back to the night at the fetish club in Albany. One of Quinn Armitage’s dark and erotic paintings had two men holding hands. Quinn had dedicated it to a friend, advising him to be himself. I drank the rest of my wine, feeling dazed.

  Seton got up and poured more wine. I waited impatiently as he sat down and sipped on his wine as if he had all the time in the world. I blew out a frustrated breath when he remained quiet for several more heartbeats, a half-smile teasing his lips.

  “For the past three or so years,” he finally continued, “all Jeremy ever talked about was this attractive young colleague of his whom he thought was perfect for me. He spoke an awful lot about you, darling—how beautiful you were, how lonely he thought you were, and how you only sought out men to avail yourself physically. It was nonstop. And
so, I finally decided to humor the chap and agreed to meet you. I hadn’t lived here long when I ran into you almost every morning at Starbucks. At first, I didn’t know that the pretty little brunette at the coffee shop and Jeremy’s sad old bag friend were one and the same. I made the fascinating discovery when I saw you at that Bookends staff meeting Alfred made in my honor.”

  Sad old bag? Was that what he thought of me? He thought I was pathetic? Tears suddenly pricked the back of my eyes. I fought to keep them there. I would not cry, not now.

  “So the two of you…” I paused, swallowing back a lump that had formed in my throat. I wanted to keep my voice as neutral and as controlled as humanly possible so that he wouldn’t notice that he’d hurt my feelings. “So the two of you decided that the best way for us to meet was by approaching Bookends AtoZ with some cock and bull story about writing for us?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Except for the bit about the cock and bull story. I am searching for a new publisher.”

  “But you’ve never intended to sell your book to Bookends.”

  “Not at first, but I’ve come to admire Bookends and its authors. I do like Mr. Williams and the others. The pub’s cozy environment appeals to me. I might sign a deal with Bookends. You never know.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment, sighing wearily. “But why go through all of that trouble? Why not just set us up on a date, like normal people?”

  The give-me-a-break look he gave me was almost insulting. “Would you have agreed to go out on a blind date—or any sort of date at all, for that matter?”

  He had a point. I wouldn’t have agreed to go out on a blind date. I hated dating, and I detested blind dates. And men as long-term romantic prospects? Pfftt. I approached them like business colleagues, and arranged our trysts like—

  “So the two of you came up with this whole ‘business arrangement’ thing?” I said, understanding dawning on me. “Because you knew I would accept a formal sexual dalliance?”

  “Exactly,” Seton confirmed, smiling. “But we didn’t want to do it your way. We didn’t want it to be just a casual fling. We wanted it to be an actual business arrangement. Jeremy and I wanted to show you just how cold and, to be frank, pathetic your little exploits were.”

  Annoyance whirled within me. Who did he and Jeremy think they were, judging me that way? I shot Seton an incredulous look and said, “Pathetic? Because I wanted sex without strings? Men do it all the time. How many wham-bam-thank-you-ma’ams have you had? Why is it cold and pathetic when women do it?”

  His smile faded. “We’re not talking about women in general, Marjorie,” he said, voice a little clipped. “We’re talking about you. Double standards are not the issue here. Jeremy thought you were unhappy. He couldn’t care less about the men in your life, he only cared about you. And that’s the reason why he intervened. Sex without strings is fine so long as you’re not hurting anyone in the process, including yourself.”

  “But I haven’t hurt anyone!”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t?”

  I opened my mouth but closed it. My eyes slipped down to my drink and I sighed. I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t hurt any men, because I had, and the thought of it made me flinch.

  Seton stared at me in silence for a few seconds, then said, “Let me ask you this, are you happy having a no-strings relationship with me?”

  I toyed with my drink and said nothing. No, I wasn’t happy, but not because of any feelings of loneliness I may be having, but because I wanted Seton to be with me and only me, just as I wanted to be with only him.

  “Let me ask you something else,” he said sternly. “Are you happy knowing that I’m sleeping with other women?”

  My head shot up at that. My heart beat wildly as I tried to maintain a semblance of composure. He’d been with other women? Was that a confirmation, or was he playing mind games again? I stared at him, trying to get an answer from his eyes. His eyes were intense but they said nothing. My pulse raced all the more and tears stung the back of my eyes. Heaving out a long, shuddering sigh, I uttered a barely audible, “No.”

  A look of triumph passed over his face. “And why is that? As far as I know, you don’t care what your toy boys do in their spare time. What’s different now?”

  Nausea fluttered within me. That was a question I wasn’t ready to answer, and I wouldn’t answer it, because in order to do so, I would have to tell Seton what I felt for him, and that I would not do. Not now, not ever.

  “So this was all a setup,” I said, changing the subject. “Was that the reason why you ignored me and treated me coldly after our trysts?”

  He didn’t answer for a moment, no doubt wondering why I’d averted his question, then said, “Yes.”

  I took a deep breath, but it did little to ease the ache in my heart. “So…you taught me a lesson by treating me—”

  “The exact same way you treated all of your toy boys in the past.” Amusement touched his lips. “I believe you’ve caught on, Miss Fordham. Congratulations.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to fight the ache that was lancing through my heart. “And that’s also the reason why you don’t allow me to see you naked and why you’ve done all of those other hurtful things to me—like the mind games and stuff?”

  “That’s right,” he answered. “But there’s another reason why I’ve done that.”

  I frowned. “What’s the other reason?”

  “You’ll have to figure that one out on your own.”

  My shoulders slumped. More secrets? More guessing? I didn’t think I could take much more of this. Seton said nothing as I wrestled with my thoughts, simply holding me in his remote gaze while he sipped on his wine.

  “I’m guessing that’s how you knew so much about me,” I went on, dazed. “You knew my dress and shoe sizes, you knew that I had fantasized about domination and submission, knew about my exhibitionistic tendencies. Jeremy told you everything.”

  “Yes,” he confirmed.

  “Well, shit,” I huffed out. “I’m never getting drunk with Jeremy again.”

  “Jeremy is good at getting people to confess things while they’re drunk,” Seton said, his voice suddenly morose. “You have to be careful around him. He’s a sneaky bastard.”

  Sneaky bastard indeed. He tried to pull that shit on me during Samantha Minou’s party. He wanted me to confess to him that I had feelings for Seton. Thank goodness I wasn’t that drunk.

  “What the two of you did was mean. Mean and underhanded.” I sighed deeply. “I told Jeremy those things in confidence. He had no right to use them against me. No right at all.”

  Silence fell. I just sat there, staring at him, my heart heavy with pain and betrayal. Deep down, I knew something like this would happen. Jeremy was always on my case about needing someone special in my life, and he had often joked about arranging an “intervention” to help me with my “little problem.” He had always thought I was lonely, that I’d treated men like disposable things because I was afraid of letting them get too close and see the real me. I supposed he was right. But he had no right to meddle into my life the way he had. He and Seton played a rotten game on me, and I didn’t think that I’d be able to forgive them.

  Their plan had been perfect. They’d forced me to open up my eyes and face reality. I was no better than guys like Mitch. At least Mitch was lighthearted and fun-loving, and he’d never hurt anyone with his free-wheeling lifestyle. Unfortunately, I couldn’t say the same thing.

  I remembered Jack—or Jack the Wimp, as I used to call him. He told me he was in love with me one night after we’d had sex. So I got dressed, mumbled something about having work to do, and scooted out of his place. I didn’t take his calls for days. One day, I decided to meet up with him to tell him our affair was over. The man was distraught, almost in tears, and I just sat there, impassive, glancing down at my watch and wishing I was anywhere but there. Jack had been an all-around nice guy. He wasn’t interested in a casual fling and had hoped o
ur relationship would grow into something more meaningful over time. I knew this because he’d told me.

  “Jeremy didn’t mean anything bad by it, Marjorie,” Seton broke the silence, his voice gentler now. “He only wanted to help you. He was worried about you. He cares about you. You’re like a kid sister to him. In fact”—he laughed—“he set me aside at Samantha Minou’s party and told me that if I ever did anything to hurt you, or did anything beyond what he and I had agreed to, I would never be able to have sex again, because he would emasculate me with an axe and then feed my dick and balls to his mother’s dogs.”

  I gasped. “He said that?”

  He laughed again. “Yes. Word for word.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Well, there was that, I supposed. I knew Jeremy loved me like a sister, and I loved him like a brother, but that gave him no right to interfere with my life in such a sneaky, roundabout way. But no matter how betrayed I felt, or how pissed off I was, there was a part of me that was touched by his obvious deep affection for me, that he’d go out of his way to help me become a better person for no one’s sake other than my own. Still, he didn’t deserve to get off easily. His meddling ways wouldn’t go unpunished. Not this time.

  I sat back on my heels and narrowed my eyes at Seton. “Do Quinn and Dana know about this?”

  He stared at me, not smiling now. “No. They’re in no way involved. My sister and I decided to play a practical joke on you that day we caught you having lunch outside. We often do that, play pranks at unsuspecting people. Nothing personal.”

  “Were you trying to make me jealous?”

  A small smile touched his features. “Maybe.”

  I sat on the edge of the seat and sighed. I felt like I was trapped inside an Agatha Christie mystery. “There’s something I don’t quite understand,” I croaked.

  Seton frowned. “What’s that?”

  “You explained Jeremy’s motives, but what were yours? I mean, you did it because Jeremy told you to? That sure as hell doesn’t sound like you!”