“Marjorie,” Seton said, voice hoarse. “I’m going to change the story. I had every intention of rewriting it. I haven’t felt right about it for a very long time. I got a queasy feeling in my gut every time I sat down to write it. That’s the reason why I flew to London and had a meeting with my publisher. I wanted an extension so that I could fix it. I wish you hadn’t read the story before I had a chance to change it.”
Tears touched my eyes, and I blinked them away. “You shouldn’t change the story. It’s perfect the way it is.” I paused. “No, actually, you should make a few changes, starting with making Madeleine seem a little less like me. I do want to show my face at work again.”
Anger coiled within me. I tried to calm down, tried to breathe slowly, to maintain a semblance of control. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” I said, sighing. “You can’t take back what you did to me.” I linked my fingers with his, then moved our twined hands from his chest to mine. “You have no idea how much you’ve hurt me, Seton. No idea.”
His face fell, a pained expression covering his features. “I shall fix it,” he said desperately. “I’ll make it all better again, Marjorie. I love you.”
His words came out in one breath. Fresh pain stabbed at me. Why did he have to utter those words? Why now?
I pulled back a little, and met his brooding gaze. “You don’t love me,” I said, voice remote, silently trying to calm my speeding heart.
He moved my hand up to his lips and brushed a soft kiss across my knuckles. “I do,” he whispered in my hand, closing his eyes as if to ward off grief. “I adore you, Marjorie. For weeks… for many weeks I have known that you’re the only woman for me, and that was why I had a hard time letting go.”
“What was your proposition?”
Confusion flitted in his eyes. “What?”
“Yesterday, at the office, you said you had a new proposition for me. What was it?”
A faint blush crept over his face. “I was going to ask you to move in with me.”
The sounds of thunder echoed through the walls, sharpening my despair. I needed to forget what he’d just said, so I asked him something that had been plaguing me since I read the manuscript. “Did you really have that impression of me when you began writing your book?”
He sighed and looked past me for a brief moment. “Yes.”
“But why? Was it all based on what Jeremy said about me?”
“Yes, and also based on our first meeting. When you weren’t behaving like a tough businesswoman, you were either making phony protests or scowling at me. You tried to come across as independent and obstinate, but instead you just seemed childish and insecure.”
I sighed and tried to ignore the hurt that seeped through me with each word. “And do you think of me in that way now?”
“No.”
“So what changed your mind?”
His look just about melted my insides. “I got to know the real you—this beautiful, frightened girl who lacks self-confidence and runs away from her feelings and desires—and then everything changed. You kept invading my thoughts, disturbing my carefully made-up plans. When you ended our affair and bypassed just about every attempt I made to bump into you on the street or at the office, I…I thought I would go mad.”
I took a deep breath and struggled with my emotions. Was he lying? Was he playing mind games again? Deep in my heart, I knew the answers were no. But the old me had pushed her way forward and reminded me of the things he had done. His words said one thing, but his actions had said another. I couldn’t allow myself to believe him, I just couldn’t. I was willing to go along with his mind games and forget about his alliance with Jeremy, but I couldn’t turn a blind eye to this too. It was too much. Who would be able to forgive so much?
But all thoughts escaped me the moment Seton pulled me closer to him, and I surrendered to the warmth of his embrace, enjoying the momentary comfort it offered. His naked skin felt warm against my clothed one. If only he had some clothes on. I laughed inwardly. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
“I want to love you, Marjorie, but you won’t let me. What do I have to do to prove to you that I won’t ever leave you?” His lips, luscious and soft and delicious, nuzzled around my ear. “I’m sorry you read that bloody-awful book,” he whispered soothingly. “I misjudged you severely as I wrote it, and I want to make it up to you. Just tell me what I have to do to make it all better, darling, and I shall do it.”
Tears were building up again, filling my eyes as I arched closer to him, and my anger and indignation wavered for several heartbeats. But I couldn’t let him persuade me. Not again. This was Seton—the master of deception. He might want me, he might be waxing poetic about love and compromise, but deep down he was just being Seton, a dominant man well used to getting his way. I suddenly couldn’t be in the same room as him anymore. I pulled away, not wanting to be distracted by the warmth and promise in his touch, and turned tail, heading to the front door.
“Marjorie, wait!”
It was an order, one I ignored. I bolted toward the door, fighting the urge to look over my shoulder, for I knew he was following me.
“You can’t end this, my pet,” I heard him say from somewhere behind me. His voice could only be described as desperate and dark. “I won’t let you. You may be willing to give up on what we have, but I’m not. Give me—us—another chance. Show me that you’re not the shallow, self-absorbed woman from the book.”
Show him I wasn’t the woman in the book? The bastard! I wanted to slap him. My hand was so itching to smack him one. But I did nothing, just edged for the foyer, started to bolt, but he captured my arm and tried to pull me against him.
“You’re not leaving me,” he ground out.
My gaze drifted to his hand wrapped around my wrist, then traveled up to his eyes, and I dug my nails into my palms to keep them from striking him.
“You’re not leaving me, Marjorie,” he repeated.
I raised an eyebrow. “Is that an order?”
He looked thoughtful for a few moments, then said, “I cannot, and will not, allow you to leave me. What we have is worth fighting for, and you will not walk away like a coward. Not this time.”
I stared at him, not sure I’d heard him correctly. “That sounds like a threat.”
“It wasn’t meant to be, but you can take it any bloody way you like. I won’t let you run away from your feelings again.”
I let out a harsh laugh. “I’m not running away from my feelings. I’m running away from the asshole who used me to develop the story in his new book. And with that, not only have you broken my heart, but you’ve destroyed whatever progress you and Jeremy have made with me.”
He opened his mouth to say something but quickly closed it. Though his face was carefully neutral, I could see the frustration and helplessness flickering in his eyes. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders squared with tension. He couldn’t seduce, tease or dominate his way out of this and we both knew it.
Baffled and weary, I wrenched my arm free from his grasp, then turned away from him and strode determinably across the foyer and toward the front door. Ah, but wait…
“Oh, I forgot,” I said insolently, skidding to a halt and turning stormy eyes to him. “I’m not allowed to use the front door. I have to use the side door. You wouldn’t want your neighbors to see that you’ve welcomed a whore into your house, would you?”
He squeezed his eyes shut briefly and winced, realizing that I had tossed his own words back in his face. He turned pleading eyes to me. “My pet—”
“Don’t call me that!” I bit out, snarling. “I am not your pet, and I’m not your whore, Sir. Not anymore.”
“You are my pet,” he said determinably, his face hardening, dominance recoiling in his eyes. “You’re mine. You said so yourself.”
Blowing out a breath, I bent down to unclasp the ankle bracelet and slip its matching ring from my toe. Then I hurled both items at Seton, the twinkling jewels landing somewhere on the floor. “And in case the
re’s any doubt,” I spat out. “Velvet. Come near me again and I’ll call the police. Goodbye.”
Smoothing away tears, I turned to the opposite direction and dashed over to the side door, my feet moving fast so that I could get the hell out of here as quickly as possible. But Seton caught up with me just as I reached the door.
“You can’t leave,” he said quietly.
I shoved him backwards. “The hell I can’t!”
“No, you can’t leave. Not like that.” He meekly indicated my clothes. I wore nothing more than his t-shirt. I threw my hands in the air and let out a frustrated grunt.
Seton reached out to touch my shoulder. I took a step backward, out of his reach. “I’ll get you something decent to wear and then I’ll drive you home,” he said sternly.
I glared up at him. “That won’t be necessary.”
“George will drive you.”
“Let the poor guy get some sleep. You’re a fucking slave driver.”
“But it’s bloody raining—”
“I don’t care!” I thundered, pushing him away and retracing my steps to the foyer and toward the stairs. Seton called out my name, but I ignored him. I was sick of all this drama and wanted to go home, where I could wallow in misery alone.
What could be worse than discovering that the man of your dreams has been using you and lying to you? Trying to make a dignified exit. It’s difficult to express heartbreak, betrayal and searing pain while stalking up the stairs to your soon-to-be ex-lover’s bedroom to strip off his t-shirt and retrieve your purse and shoes, then rush back down the stairs to cover up your nakedness with a raincoat (turned out that I needed it after all) and scamper out into the rain at three in the morning with as much dignity as you could muster, but I gave it my best shot.
Chapter Fifteen
Bright sunlight streamed in through the windows when I woke the next day. A cool, crisp breeze blasted into the room, forcing me to wrap the covers tighter around me. New England weather is a funny thing. It was hot as hell yesterday, then it rained cats and dogs late at night, and now it was sunny and pleasant. I wished my mood matched with the sunshine, but it didn’t. My spirits were as bleak and stormy as last night’s weather.
But it wasn’t the sunlight that woke me. I had the unsettling sensation that I wasn’t alone. Yawning, I rose on both elbows and scanned the room with half-closed eyes, and let out a startled yelp when I spotted Jeremy hovering near the windows. His hands were clasped casually behind his back and his body looked relaxed, but I could see the tension in his squared shoulders.
“How the hell did you get in here?” I asked sharply, scowling at his back.
“You didn’t show up to work this morning and I got worried.” His voice was soft, neutral.
Frowning, I sat up in bed and glanced at the clock on my bedside table. It was almost noontime. I bent my knees until they reached my chest and wrapped my blanket tighter around me. I was naked underneath the sheets, having stripped off the raincoat before jumping into bed last night. It didn’t surprise me that I’d slept the morning away. When I arrived home last night, I cried for a good three hours before sleep overtook me. It seemed that I’d only found relief in sleep lately.
“I think we need to talk,” Jeremy said. “There are things I have to say. Things you need to know.”
“Unless it’s ‘What I did to you was sneaky and cruel, please forgive me,’ I don’t want to hear it.”
Jeremy sighed. “I know about last night, Marjorie. David called me this morning and told me to check on you. He was worried.”
“Boy, news does travel fast around here,” I muttered nastily as I curled my arms around my knees. “And suddenly it’s David, not Seton. I had no idea the two of you were such big chums. You hid your deception very well.” I stretched my knees across the bed and crossed my arms over my chest. “Again, how did you get in here?”
“I still had the key you gave me last year before you went backpacking to Australia. I didn’t think you’d let me in, so—”
“So you barged in here uninvited?”
He nodded.
I stretched out a hand. “I want my key back.”
“It’s on the nightstand.”
“I can’t believe you let yourself in while I was sleeping.”
“Like I said, I didn’t think you’d let me in. I didn’t want to wake you, so I waited here by the window for almost an hour.”
“Well, gee, that’s not creepy or anything.”
He didn’t respond, just continued to look out the window. I sighed and ran shaky fingers through my tussled hair. This had been the worst twenty-four hours of my life. I wondered what other unpleasant surprises lay in store for me today. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least bit if terrorists suddenly showed up at my house with their bodies covered in explosives, just for the hell of it.
Jeremy glanced briefly over his shoulder, his brown gaze skating down my disheveled form before looking away. “Margie, I didn’t know David was writing about you—”
“I know. Seton told me. But it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t meddled into my life the way you did. How could you do something like that to me?”
“Margie—”
“And did you know that you were hurting others in your little scheme? You dangled Seton like so much delicious bait in front of Alfred. Did you know that Bookends AtoZ was in trouble? We’re all going to be without jobs in less than two years! Alfred needs someone like Seton to help save the company, and you bastards just waltzed in with your bullshit story, giving the poor old man false hopes.”
Jeremy’s back stiffened. “I—I didn’t know that.”
“No, you didn’t! Nobody knows, but Alfred told me. Look what your plans have done to others, and all for what?”
“I was being a friend.”
“Friends don’t betray you by setting you up with arrogant, manipulative assholes who treat you like crap and then write a book about it.” I put my face in my hands for a moment and softly counted to ten. “Why didn’t you tell me you attended Cambridge?”
“I did tell you!”
bsp;&nbnNo, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did, Marjorie.”
“When?”
“Ages ago. I told you I lived in England for four years, that I attended Cambridge during that time, and that I transferred to Columbia and lived in New York before I moved here. I told you all that when we became friends.”
Huh. Maybe he did tell me, but I honestly don’t remember. I knew he’d gone to Columbia and that he’d lived in Manhattan during that time. I also knew that he had traveled to England often. I sighed. Maybe he had mentioned it. “That doesn’t get you off the hook,” I told him. “You and Seton are a match made in hell. With friends like you, who on earth needs enemies?”
He gave me the sort of sigh that spoke of long-suffering patience. “Christ, Margie, I was just trying to help you! Here you are, a bitter, cynical, frustrated woman who’s felt nothing but disdain toward the world and the people around her. You’ve always criticized women and their so-called clinginess and neediness when it comes to men. But let me ask you this, Marjorie, have you been happy with your life? Is spending your nights alone watching old movies and eating chocolate fulfilling in any way? Because I happen to know that you haven’t been happy. You say you hate relationships, that you want nothing from men except for what’s between their thighs, and yet you spend your nights watching romantic movies and reading Regency romance novels. You do want those things, Margie, but you think you won’t get them, that no one will ever find you interesting or attractive enough to stick around. Your father was cruel to you, and now you’re terrified of rejection.”
“I so totally tuned out most of what you just said.” I rubbed a hand across still tired eyes. “If you’re going to give me a long-winded speech, at least have the decency to turn around and look at me while you’re doing it.”
Jeremy sighed another martyred soft of sigh, big drama queen that he was, and spun to
me slowly. I gasped when I saw his face, then quickly rolled the sheet over my body and jumped off the bed, scampering toward him. I cupped his face with both hands and examined it. It was badly bruised—well, his left eye was—and there was a slight cut on his bottom lip. There were buttons missing from his shirt and his tie hung loose around his neck.
“What the hell happened to you?” I asked, stunned.
Amusement shone in his dark eyes, his expression slightly bashful. “As soon as David told me what he did to you, I went over to his house and kicked his ass.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Obviously, he did some ass-kicking of his own.”
The arrogant gleam in his eyes suggested that Seton had gotten as good as he gave. He pushed my questing hands away and sauntered over to a lounge chair by the bedside table, plopping down on it. “Yeah, it was pretty bad,” he said, his face in his hands. “We were at it for a while, punching and wrestling around the house. Then we cooled off and sat down, had coffee and talked more calmly.”
Hmm. Two darkly handsome men fist-fighting over little ol’ moi? And I wasn’t there to watch? Well, shit, I thought. That sucks! “Did you castrate him?”
His head shot up at that, surprise flickering in his face. “Did I what?”
I snorted softly and reached for a silk robe resting on the bed’s wrought-iron footboard. “Seton told me that you’d emasculate him with an axe if he ever did anything to hurt me.”
A smile played about his lips. “No, I didn’t, unfortunately.” His eyes shifted to my neck. “What the fuck is that?”
Following his gaze, I drew my fingers to my neck, and remembered the rather intense shower session Seton and I had engaged in last night. Bruises had probably already formed around my neck. I felt my cheeks flushing pink.
“Jesus, Margie, rough much?” He shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“It’s none of your business anyway.”
“You’re right, it’s not. I just hope you won’t mind wearing turtlenecks during the summer.”
The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel Page 27
