The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel (40 page)

“I hate to break this moment,” I said with deep regret. “I mean, I
really
hate to break it, but I should get dressed before someone sees me.”
 

Seton said nothing, just smoothed away a strand of my hair from where it lay plastered to my hot forehead and delivered another soft kiss to my lips.
 
Then he bent down to grab the raincoat and wrapped it tenderly over my nakedness.
 
My body and the coat were now drenched with sweat, both mine and Seton’s.
 

“It’s a bloody shame you have to be covered up,” he lamented.
 
“You look beautiful this way, all flushed and glowy.”

“That’s not glow, that’s sweat.”
 
I slipped my arms inside the sleeves and fastened the belt.
 
“I can’t believe you made me wear this God-awful thing in this kind of weather.”

           
He looked shamefaced for a moment.
 
“My most humble apologies, darling.
 
I had no idea it was going to be this bloody hot.
 
Next time I’ll check the weather forecast.
 
Promise.”
 

“Yeah, you’d better.”
 
I gave him a quick once-over and wrinkled my nose at him.
 
“Could you please move away from me?
 
You smell kind of funky.”

He raised an eyebrow.
 
“You weren’t complaining just a few moments ago.”

“Of course I was!
 
Didn’t you hear me refusing you just moments before you ravished me?”

He laughed.
 
“Shut up or I’ll do it again.”

“No!”
 
I held up my hands and made the sign of the cross.
 
“Stay away!”

Seton chuckled as he sauntered over to a mini-fridge perched in the corner of my small office and pulled out two bottles of water.
 
He handed one to me.
 
Then he reached for the fan and moved it right in front of me.
 
The combination of the semi-cool fan air and the cold water revived me.
 
“Are you free tonight?” he asked after he took a sip of water.
 
“I have something planned for us this evening.
 
Something naughty.”
 
He smiled.

I returned the smile.
 
“Yes, I’m free.”

An unidentifiable emotion passed over his features as he trailed a finger down the bridge of my nose.
 
“I also have a proposition to make.
 
A new one.”
 
Something akin to that of apprehension passed over his features.
 
“And it’s not a business proposition this time, so don’t even think it.”

Trepidation coursed through me.
 
What was he going to propose, and was I ready to hear it?
 
Was he going to end things with me?
 
Or was the proposal—dare I hope?—a romantic one?
 
For a few moments, I imagined Seton asking me to go steady with him.
 
But that was a dangerous bridge to cross.
 
I couldn’t get my hopes up, so I squashed the thought altogether.
 
Suppressing a shiver, I opened my mouth to reply, but in that moment I heard the muffled sounds of Alfred barking out orders to Rosie.
 
He was heading for my door.

           
“Shit!” I hissed, pushing Seton off of me and rushing to the window in the opposite corner, where I stood as far away from Seton as possible.
 
Hastily, I buttoned up my coat with shaky fingers.
 

Flustered, I smoothed down my hair and sent a silent thank you heavenward for the hot and humid weather.
 
Otherwise I would have never been able to explain my feverish, ravaged state to my boss.

           
Unhurriedly, Seton zipped up his pants and tried to put some order in his appearance.
 
Alfred knocked just a second before charging in, Rosie and Jeremy behind him.

           
Alfred glanced at me and Seton and smiled.
 
“Sorry to interrupt, but I just want to let you kids know that we’re calling it an early day.
 
It’s hotter than a freshly screwed fox in a forest fire in here and I’m concerned about Marjorie’s health, wearing that thing.”
 
He grabbed a chair and plopped down onto it, blissfully unaware of the tension in the room.
 
Well…unaware of
my
tension, for Seton looked smooth and relaxed—as smooth and relaxed as someone whose face was almost completely covered in sweat could look.
 
“I hope our Marjorie has been helpful.”

           
“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.