"What?!" she blurted out in an indignant tone that I had never heard come out of her mouth when we were together.
The submission in her eyes and her stance bled away in a heartbeat. I stared at her in wide-eyed shock, too surprised to react. Granted, I'd never turned her away before in the last month or so we'd been fucking, but she'd never been anything but polite and accommodating. I narrowed my eyes at her and continued, deciding to ignore her momentary impertinence. After all, this was my fault.
"I have to ask you to leave now." I stepped away to put some distance between us, not wanting to give her the wrong idea by touching her again.
"Are you kidding me?" Anger gleamed in her eyes. "I'm not leaving," she snapped out waspishly.
"Excuse me?" I asked in a low growl.
"I've been giving you anything you wanted for weeks. You owe me." She glowered at me.
"I owe you?" I asked incredulously. "And what exactly do you think it is that I owe you?"
"You're a wealthy man," she sneered, "you figure it out."
"This was not a relationship," I stated in a hard clipped tone, "but even if it was, that doesn't make you entitled to anything of mine. This was merely a mutual exchange of power and sex." I stepped closer, my anger rising exponentially along with the heat in my voice. "We both agreed to that arrangement, and I thought you understood that was all this was. I never promised you anything beyond that. If you deluded yourself into thinking otherwise, that's not my fault. I owe you nothing."
"You're an asshole," she bit back.
"So I've been told," I replied as I stiffened angrily. My ex-wife had called me that so many times, you'd think it wouldn't even phase me anymore, but it did. I lashed out in reaction. "And you're a gold-digging cunt."
She gasped indignantly, and her arm shot out to slap me. I grabbed her wrist mid-swing, and stared her down balefully as she fought my grip unsuccessfully. I was vaguely aware of Reggie growling nearby, and I was happy he hadn't bitten her. I didn't need a lawsuit.
"Get out," I snarled at her between clenched teeth.
Finally, she took me seriously and shrank away from me in fear. Did she think I was just a Dom for show? She was lucky that I'd never strike a woman. Well, at least not outside of sex, but that was consensual and for pleasure. I dragged her toward the door by her wrist, opened it, and shoved her out into the foyer.
"Our arrangement is over. Don't come back. Ever." I slammed the door shut in her face, then crossed to the intercom and called Robert. I let him know that Daphne was no longer welcome here, then watched the security feed to make sure she got on the elevator.
I turned and headed upstairs with Reggie in my wake, no longer wanting my dinner or my wine. I needed something a hell of a lot stronger. I went straight to the bar and poured myself a stiff bourbon. I stood there sipping at it for long time, wondering how I missed seeing Daphne for what she really was. When I met her, getting her to agree to our arrangement had been exceedingly easy, too easy actually. Her submission seemed real, but obviously it'd been an act all along to try to benefit from my wealth. Perfect submissive my ass. Good riddance.
I was even more grateful now that I'd run into Malory again today, otherwise I'd still be in the dark with Daphne. Getting Malory to agree to see me again wasn't turning out to be easy at all, and perhaps that was the key. Not to mention, she actually seemed turned off by my money. She seemed so genuine and real, unlike any woman I'd ever been with before. She said what she thought and held no punches. It made her even more attractive to me.
Obviously, it was time for a different approach to fulfilling my sexual needs, and a certain redhead seemed to be just what I needed to do that. Thankfully, I'd already enacted a plan to get her to have dinner with me. And if that didn't work, then I'd try something else, because I'd had enough sleepless damn nights. After all, I was a driven and persistent man when I wanted something, and I wanted Malory.
8
MALORY
I pulled the little card out of the envelope to read it yet again, knowing full well what it said, but unable to help myself.
Malory,
Sometimes an indulgence is exactly what you need. Indulge yourself and have dinner with me tomorrow night.
Can't stop thinking about you,
Gareth
It was followed by a phone number, which I assumed was his. It was delivered to my little office cubicle yesterday afternoon. It accompanied a gift bag that held a bottle of the black label bourbon he'd recommended on Saturday night. I took that home last night, but I'd tucked the card in my bag. I'd been obsessively reading it all morning, debating on whether to agree to go out with this guy or ignore his invitation all together.
I wasn't sure what the note meant. Did this man, who I now knew as Gareth, merely intend to finish the one-time indulgence we almost shared, or did it mean something more? The closing that said he couldn't stop thinking about me suggested it did mean more than just sex. I didn't know which option frightened me more, having a one-night-stand with him, or trying to have a relationship with someone completely out of my league and social class. I was so confused.
I stared blankly at my computer monitor as I laid the card on my desk in front of me. This dilemma had distracted me all morning, and on only my second day of working at Cooper Media, that was a bad thing. So was losing sleep over a man I didn't even really know, and showing up to work exhausted. Something had to give, but I was trapped in my indecision. I was swiftly running out of time to choose as I worried and fretted about what course to take.
My desk phone suddenly rang and scared the crap out of me. I hastily answered it, desperate for a distraction.
"Malory Burke," I said into the receiver.
"Hi, Malory, this is Amy in reception," a sweet, yet professional female voice announced. Amy had shown me around the day of my interview, and got me settled in yesterday. I really liked her, and we had instantly bonded. "There's a guy here to see you." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "And he is seriously gorgeous."
Holy crap, was it Gareth? My mind went into instant panic mode. "Uh..." I was not prepared to deal with him right now. "Um...who...who is it?" I asked hesitantly as I gripped the edge of my desk tightly. I wondered if anyone would question my sanity if I climbed under my desk to hide.
"Dean Shepherd," she replied.
Thank you, God. "Oh," I said as a wave of sheer relief fell over me. "I'll be up front in a moment."
I glanced at the time on my computer. It was almost noon, and I'd completely forgotten that Dean was taking me to lunch today. I snatched up the card and shoved it back into my purse, then stood and grabbed my coat.
When I walked into the reception area, Dean was standing at Amy's desk smiling wickedly at her with amusement brightening his dark eyes. I wondered what bullshit he was feeding her about himself or me. They were laughing about God knows what when a delivery guy walked in and approached the desk.
"I have a delivery for a Malory," he said as he stared at the little handheld device in his hand. "I don't have a last name." He glanced up apologetically.
"That's fine," Amy reassured him as she turned to see me walking toward her. "That's her right there." She smiled broadly at me, her big brown eyes gleeful as she tucked some of her shoulder-length brown hair behind one ear. Dean eyed me curiously with a raised brow.
I took the device from the guy, signed it, and gave it back to him. He handed me a small gift bag, then immediately took off without another word. I frowned at the bag in my hands, knowing exactly who'd sent me this delivery. I was half tempted just to throw it away.
"What's that?" Dean asked. I didn't realize he'd walked up beside me.
"That's the second package she got since yesterday," Amy said helpfully. "The first one was a bottle of really good bourbon." I glared at her, wishing I hadn't opened it in front of her yesterday, but it only earned me a shrug. I was quickly learning that Amy was a blabbermouth.
"Bourbon?" Dean asked incredulously. "F
rom who?"
"She won't say," Amy told Dean. "I thought maybe they were from you." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively at him.
"Oh, please," Dean said with a dismissive hand wave as he eyed me pointedly. "I don't bat for Mal's team, but I am curious who sent it."
I never said a word to him on the phone last night about the bourbon, or about running into tall, dark, and cocky again yesterday. I didn't tell him because, as of last night, I wasn't planning on calling Gareth at all. However, after another long night filled with erotic dreams and sexual frustration, that I took care of myself with no relief, I was having second, and third, and even fourth thoughts.
"Let's go eat," I deflected. "I'm starving."
I had every intention of telling Dean everything, but I wasn't discussing it in front of Amy. I certainly wasn't opening this new delivery in front her either. I didn't know her that well, but Dean was my best friend. Maybe he could help me decide, because I certainly couldn't manage it. I headed toward the doors and walked out into the hall. Dean hurriedly followed as I took off, not catching up with me until I stopped by the elevators.
"Well?" he asked irritably as I jabbed the down button.
"It was from him," I said meaningfully as I faced him with a sober expression.
"Him?" he asked sharply as he crossed his arms with a perplexed expression.
I pursed my lips and arched a brow irritably. Was he really this dense?
Suddenly, his brows shot up. "Oh," he blurted out in comprehension.
"He was standing right here when I got off the elevator yesterday morning." I pointed at the floor in front of me.
"Here?" he stared at me in disbelief. His single word questions were getting old.
"Yes, here," I snapped out as the elevator door slid open in front of us. "Apparently, he works in this building, and he wants me to have dinner with him tonight."
"Tonight?"
"Do you think you could manage more than a single word at a time, Dean?" We stepped into the elevator, and Dean glared at me as the doors closed. "Usually, it's all I can do to shut you up."
"Well, maybe if I knew what was going on before now, I wouldn't be so shocked," he said in a low growl as the elevator began to move. We glared at each other for a long moment.
"I'm sorry," I finally said apologetically. "I told him no yesterday, and I was planning on ignoring his gift," I sighed deeply, "but, today I keep reading the note he sent with it, and I can't seem to stop thinking about him and dreaming about him since we met. I don't know what to do, Dean. I don't know what any of this means."
"Show me the card from yesterday." Dean reached out his hand, palm up.
The elevator doors opened again, and we stepped out. We stopped as I opened my purse to pull the card out. I wordlessly handed it to Dean. He stared at it for a long moment.
"See?" I asked. "I can't tell if this is just a one -time thing he wants or something more."
"It sounds like he's definitely into you, but it's hard to tell if it's only physical from this note," he said. "Which one do you want it to be, Mal?"
"To be honest, I don't know," I answered as I shook my head.
"It's obvious you're into him." He handed the card back to me. "I've never seen you this flustered over a man before. What would it hurt to go out to dinner with the guy and see what happens?"
"I guess I'm afraid." I hugged myself as I frowned. "The effect he has on me scares me to death. I want to see him again, but I don't want to get hurt." I'd been burned so many times before, and particularly the last time, and it led to two years of self-inflicted loneliness.
He stared at me thoughtfully for a few seconds. "Open it." He motioned toward the small gift bag that I was still clutching in my hand. "Maybe you can find your answer in there."
I stared down at the bag in my hand. I sucked in a breath and reached into it. My fingers found the cool contours of something glass. I grasped it and pulled it out, a small card fluttering to the floor as I stared at the object. It was a bottle of the inexpensive French perfume I wore, the crisp, clean scent of the ocean. It was my mother's favorite. I wore the perfume everyday to remember her by.
Dean crouched down to grab the card. He straightened and stared at it for a moment. He looked up and smiled softly as he handed it to me. "Call him," he said with a firm nod.
I glanced at the card, and gaped at it in awe.
One doesn't discover new lands without consenting to lose sight, for a very long time, of the shore. - André Gide
Take a risk...
G
Not only was this quote completely apropos to this situation, but he'd even managed to cite its source accurately. It was from a book called The Immoralist by André Gide, a renowned early twentieth-century French author who won the Nobel Prize for Literature. The quote was frequently misattributed to Christopher Columbus, and usually misquoted as well. As a book nerd, I was impressed. There was more to this man than I'd originally thought, much more.
Dean was right, and my decision was easy now. I pulled my phone out and dialed the number at the bottom of the card. Gareth answered on the first ring in a smooth, yet husky voice that was thick with pleasure and so heated with the promise of sex that I shivered.
"Hello, beautiful."
**********
The firm knock on my door sent my nerves into a tailspin. I smoothed my hair down anxiously as I walked to the door. I looked through the peephole. Gareth looked just as gorgeous as I remembered, even more perhaps, with his broad shoulders and dark brooding good looks. I took a deep shuddering breath, and opened the door, equal parts eager and afraid.
"Hi," I said lamely as I stared at him. He was dressed in dark jeans and a charcoal wool coat with a deep red scarf underneath. He wore the sexiest smile I'd ever seen as his dark eyes roved up and down my body appreciatively. I was dressed casually like he'd suggested, in a gray sweater, black leggings, and tall black boots. I'd added a green infinity scarf that made my long red hair pop.
His grin widened as he met my gaze again, his eyes sparking with arousal. "You look beautiful, Malory." His voice was a low husky caress that made things deep in my pelvis throb.
"I'm ready to go," I announced as I held up my purse and coat, stepping forward hastily. I was nervous and just standing here with him staring at me was making me jittery.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asked with a smirk. "I'd love to see more of your apartment than just the doorway."
"Uh, sure." I stepped aside to motion him inside.
He stepped past me into my apartment, leaving the heady scent of sandalwood in his wake as I followed him. Crap, I was turned on already, and he hadn't even touched me yet. He stopped in the middle of my small loft apartment, glancing around at the eclectic mix of miss-matched furniture and decor of my kitchen and living area. It wasn't what you'd call traditional since I tended to decorate with quirky pieces that I liked, but it worked. I had a feeling he wouldn't approve, given his wealthy background, but I didn't care. I liked what I liked, no matter what he or anyone else thought.
"I really love your apartment. It has a lot of character." He glanced over at me and smiled, and I practically melted into the floor. "Just like you," he said sincerely. It wasn't what I expected, and it threw me off again. I was too stunned to reply.
He turned back toward the room, and his face lit up when he saw my bookshelves. They covered the entire far wall from the floor to the vaulted ceiling, the shelves framing the two tall windows that overlooked the street below. I even had a sliding ladder, so I could reach the top shelves. My massive book collection was my pride and joy, and the shelves were the reason I chose this apartment.
He made a beeline across the room for it and began reverently running his fingers over the spines of my books. I had a bit of everything in my collection, from classics to smutty romances. I even had a large section of nonfiction filled with random topics that had caught my interest over the years, from classical mythology to house plants. I had a l
ittle of everything. I was a curious person, and I loved to read and learn.
He turned away from my books with a bemused tenderness on his face that threw me off for a second. However, it was quickly replaced with his typical roguish grin when he met my eyes, making me question what I'd seen.
"Are you ready to go?" he asked as he walked back to me and held out his hand.
I took it and tried to ignore the tingling awareness that skittered up my arm from the skin on skin contact. My hand felt so right in his. I suddenly felt hot and out of breath. I wanted him to wrap his arms around me and kiss me right now. I wanted to feel surrounded and enveloped by him.
We hadn't even left my apartment, and I was already out of my depth and in over my head with this gorgeous man. I was starting to wonder yet again if this date was a good idea. I'd been vacillating back and forth over the wisdom of my decision, even after agreeing to see him tonight.
Gareth led me out the door and to the elevators, his grip warm and firm around my hand. "How long have you lived here?" he asked casually as he caressed the back of my hand idly with his thumb. I was so very aware of his body's proximity to mine that it was hard to string a thought together. Did he have any idea what he was doing to me?
"Um...I guess it's been almost five years now," I replied as I desperately tried to focus on something other than how close he was to me. "I moved in here after I finished my master's degree in English and got my first copy editing job." I suddenly realized that I had no idea what Gareth did for a living. "What do you do?" I asked without preamble.
"I'm a lawyer," he replied immediately, rolling with my abrupt subject change like it didn't phase him at all.
I blurted out a sudden laugh. "Why am I not surprised?" I shook my head and smiled. "No wonder you convinced me to have dinner with you tonight."
His expression was one of wry amusement. "I can be very persuasive," he said, his voice dropping seductively.
Dark Dominion: Dangerous Desire Book 1 Page 8
