The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel (2 page)

I gave Seton one last scowl before turning my back to him.
 
I was reaching for the door when he thundered, “Sit down, Marjorie!”

I jumped at the intensity in his voice.
 
The murmurs from various patrons suddenly stopped.
 
Alarmed, I spun back to Seton.
 
He crossed his arms over his chest and shot me a severe, do-not-dare-to-contradict-me-or-else look.
 
A flush of anger appeared in his handsome face, coloring the pale skin that contrasted against his jet-black hair.
 
He clenched his jaw all the tighter.
 
If looks could kill, I would have been dead meat.

Heat rose up my neck as I quickly surveyed the bar.
 
Viva Café was very small.
 
Surely everyone could see and hear this spectacle?

“Sit down, Miss Fordham,” Seton said in a low, threatening voice.

Embarrassed, I shuffled over to the table and settled back in my seat, trying valiantly not to cower from Seton’s heated gaze.

His fierce scrutiny never wavered.
 
He glowered at me for a very long time and I began to feel uncomfortable.
 
Averting my eyes, I cast a worried glance across the bar.
 
The other patrons peered over at us, curious at the two impeccably dressed people having what appeared to be either a business disagreement or a lovers’ quarrel.
 
I sighed inwardly and looked back at Seton.
 
His angry flush had lessened and his eyes had gentled a little, but not by much.

“I won’t tell you what my proposition is just yet,” he said, his English accent more pronounced now that he was angry.
 
“Though I’m quite certain that you have more or less an idea of what I have in mind.
 
But I shall tell you one thing.
 
You are never to contradict me.
 
Ever.
 
Protestations of any sort will not be tolerated.
 
Is that clear?”

Stunned, I forced myself to nod.

He shot me one last glare before reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a card.
 
“Meet me here tonight at eight o’clock sharp.
 
We shall discuss our deal then.”
 
He handed me the card, which had a home and e-mail address and a cell phone number scribbled on it.

“To answer your earlier question,” he continued, “yes, I told Mr. Williams I wanted you to court me, but he doesn’t know about this part of the deal.
 
You may doubt it, but I
am
a gentleman.”

A controlling, sexual-harassing gentleman.
 
Amazing.

“And in case you’re wondering,” he went on, “you’re under no obligation to accept my offer, and you won’t lose your job over it.
 
I’ve made sure of that.
 
So you see, Miss Fordham, you’re entitled to turn down my offer if you like”—a slight smile teased the corners of his mouth before he turned serious again—“but I’ve got a feeling that mine is not the sort of proposition you would want to turn down.
 
I know what sort of woman you are.
 
I’ve got you pegged from the moment I saw you.”

Which begged the question: what sort of woman was that?
 
But I wasn’t about to ask him that, not now that his mood seemed so dark and unpredictable.
 

Suddenly, Seton leaned forward and ran a thumb slowly over my bottom lip.
 
I gasped at the abruptness of the contact.
 
Then, as if in its own volition, my tongue flicked out and tasted him.
 
A slow smile curled Seton’s luscious lips.
 

“What a naughty girl you are, Miss Fordham,” he said, the lilt of England intoning his vowels.
 
“Just as I knew you would be.”

 
He smoothed the tips of his callused fingers over my chin and traced a languid path down my neck to my collarbone.
 
Then his thumb encircled my collarbone slowly, teasingly, making me gasp again.
 
His intense green eyes bored into mine, his eyelashes fluttering as he blinked softly, and my heart skipped a beat.
 
He was beautiful—oh, so beautiful—in a harsh, masculine sort of way.
 

Discreetly, I leaned toward him and breathed in his scent.
 
The rich combination of cologne, aftershave and man was almost intoxicating.
 
I swallowed hard and tried to ignore the flaring sensations that were coursing through my body.

“You weren’t as outraged about my proposition as you wanted to seem,” he murmured, his breath fanning hotly against my cheek.
 
“I think you’re quite intrigued.”

I shivered and looked away.
 
A couple of people were openly staring at us, an odd mixture of perplexity and amusement passing over their inquisitive faces.
 
Seton and I must’ve looked like a couple of horny lovers out on a sexy tryst.
 
Embarrassed, I pushed Seton’s hand away and clutched my handbag over my heaving chest.
 

“I trust that you will give me time to digest this information?” I asked, flustered.

“You have until tonight.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
 
“And I can count on your total discretion?”

He leaned back in his seat and cast me a playful smile.
 
“Of course!
 
I don’t boast about my conquests, Miss Fordham.”

“Conquest?
 
But I’m not your lover.”

Yet.
 
The unspoken modifier hung in the air between us.
 
He knew as well as I that this arrangement was almost a done deal.
 
But I didn’t have to be obvious about it.
 
A little game of hard to get never hurts anyone.

I took another deep breath.
 
“And this is strictly a business arrangement and nothing more…right?”

I could have sworn I saw his jaw clench before he nodded.
 
“Why, certainly, Miss Fordham,” he said dryly.
 
“How about a trade.
 
You give me what I ask for, and I’ll hand you over my novel once it’s finished.
 
Maybe.
 
No guarantees.
 
Is that a deal?”

Trepidation took over me.
 
No guarantees?
 
That meant he wouldn’t necessarily sign with Bookends AtoZ even if I did sleep with him.
 
Ah, well.
 
When push came to shove, I wouldn’t do it for his book.
 
I might have done some pretty low things in my life, but I had never slept with someone for financial gain.
 
That I would never do.
 

The truth was, I wanted Seton.
 
It didn’t matter that I barely knew him, or that his proposal was tantamount to sexual harassment.
 
His dominant nature turned me on.
 
For the past week, he had kept my kinkiest fantasies all the kinkier, and I was curious,
very
curious, and my curiosity was twenty times stronger than my ambition.
 
Besides, it wasn’t like I’d never had flings before, and what could be better than to have a fling with this god-like alpha male?

I took a deep breath and said, “It’s…a deal.”

Something flickered in the depths of his eyes that I didn’t recognize or understand.
 
“Very well,” he said, voice remote.
 
“But it’s not a done deal yet.
 
You have to hear the full proposal first.
 
I shall give you further details tonight.”

My hands quivered a little as I fought a fresh wave of confusion over the sexy, enigmatic man sitting across from me.
 
“May I please go now?”

He leaned farther back in his chair and let out a low, husky laugh that sent a flash of heat through me.
 
“Now that’s a bloody good start!
 
Yes, you may leave now, Miss Fordham.
 
But wait!”

He reached underneath his chair and pulled out a large black shopping bag I hadn’t seen before.
 
He offered me the bag.
 
“This is for you.”

“What—?”

“No questions.
 
Just take it.
 
I want you to wear all of the items in the bag for me tonight.
 
And I do mean all of it.
 
All right?”

Dazed, I nodded and grabbed the bag.

Seton paid for the wine, rose from his seat and offered me a hand.
 
Then we walked over to the exit side by side without saying a word.
 
His hand pressed into my back, sending tiny frissons of delight flowing through my skin.
 
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of him staring down at me.
 
He opened the door for me; his warm body brushed briefly against mine as I walked out into the piercing afternoon sun.
 

“Until tonight then, Miss Fordham,” Seton said formally, reaching into his immaculate jacket and pulling out a BlackBerry.
 
He walked away without giving me another glance.

I watched him disappear down the street, my gaze traveling down the full length of him.
 
It wasn’t only his elegant and formidable disposition that was magnificent.
 
He was built to perfection—a little over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, a powerful back, slim hips and long, lean legs.
 
He had the best ass I’d ever seen in a fully-clad man.
 
God, I bet he looked even better naked!

I wondered why he wore a suit.
 
Did he do something else for a living other than write books?
 

Sighing, I slung the black glossy bag over my shoulder and loped back to work, sexual awareness washing over me like a tidal wave.
 
What was it about David J. Seton that had affected me so?
 
I hardly knew him, and yet I wanted him.
 
Which was strange, because I’d never felt an attraction that strong for anyone before.
 
In fact, the less I liked a man, the better.
 
That way, when it was over, we’d simply shake hands and bid each other adieu.
 
No feelings involved.
 
What could be better than that?