Finally, the elevator pinged and the doors opened.
Dallon put his arm behind me again and led me out, down the hall and to his
door. He didn’t visibly relax until he’d taken off my coat and hung it up
neatly and there was a glass of wine in my hand.
“Sit,” he said, motioning toward his white leather
couch.
I wanted to make a joke out of the number of times he’d
commanded that I sit, but his expression warned me not to. I was dealing with
serious Dallon again. Dallon on a mission.
I sat down on the couch and pulled my legs up underneath
me. Dallon didn’t join me; instead, he continued standing, studying me
thoughtfully before speaking. I felt like I was on display.
“We were interrupted,” he began. “I asked how you can be
sure.”
“Be sure of what?”
“That you’ll get hurt.”
Oh, that. He was like a bloodhound on a scent. I thought
for a moment before responding, fidgeting on the couch under his gaze. How
could I explain in a way that wouldn’t make him angry? I’d learned that he
didn’t like it when I put myself down, so explaining my fears about where he
was in life, even if it could be attributed to our age difference, really
wasn’t an option. Neither was revealing the fear that he was more handsome than
I was beautiful because in addition to putting myself down, I knew it wasn’t
relevant; my appearance was perhaps the only thing I knew he liked about me for
sure.
“Have you been hurt before?” he prompted.
I shifted uncomfortably. “You mean by past boyfriends or
whatever?”
He nodded.
“Yes. But who hasn’t?”
He gave me a slight salute with his wine before taking a
sip. “Good point.”
I bit my lip.
“The fantasy woman comment got me thinking,” he
continued, pacing back and forth slowly and never taking his eyes off me, “that
you believe I have some ideal for you to live up to. Well, I don’t.”
I took a sip of my own wine, unsure how to respond.
“I don’t think that’s all it is, though.” Dallon stopped
and waited for me to speak.
“We met due to an advertisement,” I said, looking at my
hands. “I think you’re drawn to my appearance because it fit your
requirements.”
“And that I will soon grow bored with you,” he finished.
I flinched. He’d hit closer to home with that one.
“But I still don’t think that’s all.”
Dallon put his wine glass on the table and strolled over
to me. I expected him to sit beside me on the couch, but to my surprise, he
crouched in front of me, putting a hand on my knee. It burned from the heat of
his hand, a pleasant warmth that traveled up my leg. My face must have
registered my feelings because he smiled his knowing smile. When he spoke, his
voice was low and seductive.
“I think you’re afraid of how you feel about me. I think
you’re afraid of what you felt that day during our photo session, when I
touched you.”
I swallowed, unable to take my eyes off him. He wasn’t
blinking. It was like he was waiting for my face to betray that he’d hit the
nail on the head this time.
“How do I know you won’t hurt
me
, Miss Clair? So
far you’ve proved very bad for my health. I’ve never been this close to
becoming a stalker.”
Stalker
. The word implied
he couldn’t stay away from me, which gave me a delighted chill, even though I
knew it shouldn’t. He was using the word jokingly, but I knew how dangerous
obsession could be.
He stood up, sauntered over to the kitchen. “What do you
feel like for dinner? I have a craving for pasta.”
He started going through his cupboards and I was glad I
didn’t have to respond, that the question had been rhetorical. The moment he’d
walked away, I’d started breathing again, and my heart was beating like crazy.
He was right—I was definitely just as afraid of him as I was attracted to him.
Or maybe it was the same thing when it came to Dallon King.
“You look cold,” he said, frowning at me from the
kitchen. “I’ll turn on the fire and grab you a blanket and some slippers.”
He flicked a switch and a fire appeared in the marble
fireplace. Then he disappeared into the only room he hadn’t shown me on the
tour, presumably his bedroom, and returned with a beige blanket and a pair of
pink slippers. My stomach dropped when I thought about the reason behind him
owning a pair of women’s slippers, but I pushed the thought aside as he wrapped
the blanket around me.
“Thank you.” I reached for the slippers, but he pulled
back, smiling playfully.
“I’ll put them on.”
I untucked my legs and stretched them out on the couch.
Dallon picked up first my right foot, massaging it gently before putting a
slipper on it. I bit my lip, afraid I might groan in pleasure or something else
embarrassing. No one had ever rubbed my feet that way.
“There,” he said, pulling the blanket tighter around me.
“Now relax for a bit and think about how much fun it would be to date me,” he
added with a wink.
He turned his back to me as he did something on the
stove, and I watched his muscles on his back move under his tight shirt. His
dark hair was perfect, like it had just been cut. He was wearing black jeans
that were tighter than his other pair and sat snug on his butt. As I watched,
he threw a towel over his shoulder and lifted a wooden spoon to his lips to
taste the sauce. God, was he hot.
Soon the smell of sautéed shrimp wafted through the
room and my stomach growled. It had been a while since I’d eaten anything close
to a real meal. I stood and made my way to the kitchen.
“Can I set the table or something?”
Dallon looked over his shoulder and frowned at me. “I
told you to relax. You’re not very good at following directions, are you Miss
Clair?” Again that knowing smile appeared, and I reddened, my mind traveling
back to when he’d said that during our photo session.
“I want to help.”
“Very well.” He pointed to a drawer with his wooden
spoon. “The cutlery is in there. The placemats are in the buffet.”
I opened the drawer he’d referred to and pulled out two
forks and two knives. They were heavy; I flipped them over to see Vera Wang
inscribed on the back. Then I went into the living room and found the buffet.
The wood was sleek, shiny. I pulled open a few drawers until I found silk
placemats and set them on the table, which was made of the same wood as the buffet.
Dallon King had very good taste.
When I entered the kitchen again, he was garnishing our
plates with parsley. I bit my lip but didn’t say anything.
“For you,” he smiled and passed me a plate of pasta. It
smelled amazing and I was worried he might actually hear my stomach rumble. He
motioned for me to take the lead, so I led us into the dining room. Dallon put
his plate down and grabbed two candlesticks from the buffet, lit them before
turning a dial on the wall to dim the lights.
“Go ahead, dig in,” he smiled at me while spreading his
napkin over his lap.
I took a bite. It was delicious.
“This is really good,” I said enthusiastically. “I mean,
really good. I haven’t had pasta like this in a while, since my parents took me
to Italy!”
Dallon smiled. “I did an exchange in Italy. I love their
food, their culture, and their art.”
“Me too,” I smiled.
“What do you usually have for dinner?”
“It depends. Easy things I can cook on the hotplate,
like soup. The best pasta I’d make is Kraft Dinner.”
It was meant to be a joke, but Dallon didn’t laugh.
Instead, he put down his fork. “I’m worried about you living there and not
being able to make proper meals.”
I shrugged. “I’m not much of a cook anyway.”
This didn’t seem to make him feel better. “Health is
very important to me, Miss Clair. Nutrition is an important aspect of good
health.”
“I eat vitamins,” I said sheepishly.
“Good. Do you eat enough vegetables?”
“No,” I said, looking down guiltily. “But I wouldn’t if
I had a kitchen. I don’t like them that much.”
Dallon sighed and looked down at his meal composed
mostly of carbs. “I should have made something else. Oh well, I’ll know for the
future.”
I picked up my glass of wine and he smiled.
“It’s getting easier for me to read you, Miss Clair.”
I wished I could say the same. I took a sip of my wine
and put it back down on the table carefully.
“I mentioned the future. I would like this make this
work,” Dallon said, his eyes never leaving me. “Finish your dinner and then we
will discuss what I can do to convince you.”
By the time we finished dinner, I was feeling the wine.
I hadn’t told Dallon, but dinner had been my first real meal of the day. I’d
only eaten an apple for breakfast and hadn’t found time during my shift to eat.
On top of that, I was beyond nervous. What was I doing having dinner with a man
I’d hated only a month earlier?
When I finished the last bite, Dallon leaned back in his
seat and smiled at me. “You look like you enjoyed that.”
“I did. Thank you.”
I stood up to clear the plates, but he shook his head
and nodded toward my seat. I sank back down. He swirled his glass of wine, his
eyes on me. When he spoke, his tone had changed; his voice was low, as if in
warning.
“I’m not a patient man, Miss Clair.”
I swallowed. I was pretty sure I knew where he was going
with this; he had said he was used to getting what he wanted.
“I know,” I whispered.
Dallon stood and made his way around the table toward
me. I remained seated, my heart beating rapidly in my ears. He stopped beside
me and reached out to stroke my cheek. “Stand up.”
I got to my feet, my eyes level with his chest. I hadn’t
realized how much taller he was than me until then.
“Look at me.”
His voice was almost a whisper. I peeked up at him and
he took my chin, tilted my face up. “Still so timid. Why are you so afraid of
me, Miss Clair?”
“I don’t really know you, Mr. King.”
He smiled. “True, but do you like me?”
When I hesitated, he added, “You don’t have to like me
as a person to be attracted to me, Miss Clair. Are you attracted to me?”
Before I could respond, Dallon wrapped an arm around my
waist, leaning down close enough to kiss me, and I involuntarily moved closer.
He pulled back and smirked.
“Oh, yes you are, Miss Clair.”
I glared at him and tried to pull away, but he held his
arm firmly around my waist.
“I like you as well. But not just for your body. Do you
trust me on that?”
I bit my lip.
“Answer me, Amy. I don’t like being ignored.”
“Yes,” I said softly.
He pulled me into his embrace and kissed the top of my
head. “Tell me what you need,” he whispered into my hair. “Tell me how I can
convince you to try.”
Dallon had said that I was dangerous to his health, but
the truth was, he was dangerous to mine. There was nothing he had to do to
convince me; I hadn’t stopped thinking about him since our photo shoot.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he continued, gently
kissing along my temple and then my forehead. “Tell me anything.”
Maybe it was the drink, but I suddenly felt like I
needed his support to stand. When he asked the next question, the answers
poured forth as if I had no control over my own mouth.
“Why are you so afraid, Amy?”
“Because of what happened the night of the photo shoot.
When you… spanked me. And the pictures. I’m so confused.”
“It’s okay.” His hand moved to the back of my neck, the
other on the small of my back, drawing small circles with both. “Because you
liked it?”
My cheeks heated and I saw him smile.
“You didn’t know before then,” he said softly,
presumably referring to my desires.
“I’m not even sure I know now.”
One side of his lips turned up. “Yes, you do. Otherwise
you wouldn’t blush.”
As if on cue, I blushed again, suddenly feeling dizzy
and warm. My heart was beating rapidly and my cheeks were burning.
He looked down at me with concern. “Are you okay?”
I put a hand to my head. My vision had started to blur.
“I think I had too much red wine.”
“Your eyes are swimming.” In a second, he scooped me
into his arms and strode out of the living room, past the dining room and into
his bedroom. He put me down in front of his king-sized bed. It was modern with
a leather headboard and a dark red duvet. It looked very… sexual.
Dallon began rummaging through his drawers while I
climbed onto the end of the bed, no longer trusting my legs to stand. How had I
let this happen? I hadn’t even had enough to get drunk, or had I? Maybe it was
the nervousness. I wasn’t myself around Dallon King.