All He Needs
Page 6
Dominic smiled. “Thanks for the concern, but I don’t need any penicillin. Although maybe I should mention I do. That might put a damper on Vicky’s plans.”
Guillaume spoke over his shoulder as he started down the basement stairs. “It’s not like you to turn it down. If you’re not temporarily hors de combat”—a Gallic lift of his shoulder that was both query and commiseration—“why not just politely decline?”
“Because Vicky won’t accept it, polite or otherwise. She’s a taker. So help me out. What the fuck can I say to her that’s semipolite but clear?”
Guillaume came through with flying colors. Five minutes after Dominic returned to the table with his bottle of port, Guillaume brought over his newly pregnant wife and asked Dominic if he’d accompany her to the hospital. It wasn’t serious, he said, but she’d been instructed to come in the next time her pulse rate accelerated so they could check her on a monitor. She didn’t want to bother Guillaume when he was busy.
“I’m sorry, Vicky,” Dominic said gently with what he hoped was tangible regret. “I’ll have my driver take you home. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
After some minor resistance, Vicky was placed in his car, his driver quietly instructed to not, under any circumstances, take her to Dominic’s apartment and Dominic watched the car drive away with a profound sense of relief. It didn’t bear close scrutiny.
Nor did he give it any.
When it came to his sex life, he wasn’t introspective.
He was however, careful to stay out of sight. Moving into the kitchen with his port, Dominic sat down and poured himself a glass.
Guillaume’s wife, Amalie, gave Dominic a kiss on the cheek before she went back upstairs. “I never thought I’d see the day,” she said with a twitch of a smile, her pretty face tipped slightly, her dark gaze assessing. “You uninterested?”
“I’m as surprised as you.” Dominic glanced up, a touch of amusement in his eyes. “Must be old age.”
“Hardly. Is there something you’d like to tell us?” Her female intuition was working overtime because she’d seen Dominic with the blond beauty in Nice two years ago and he hadn’t been running away.
“I wasn’t going to mention it yet, but I’ll buy you a bigger restaurant if you name the baby after me.”
She sniffed, gave a little toss of her head. “Keep your deep, dark secrets then. But the lady was angry. She’ll make you pay.”
“She’d have to find me first.”
Amalie lightly tapped his cheek. “Don’t forget, I met your little Vicky. She might find you after all.”
Dominic groaned.
“You’ll have to leave town to escape her,” Guillaume said, looking up from the roux he was stirring. “You’ve done that before.”
“I can’t. I’m here for a meeting. I’ll have to go with plan B.”
Which turned out to be a suite at the George V. Upon registering, Dominic asked for privacy. Assured that his presence there was completely confidential, Dominic settled into the presidential suite until the rescheduled meeting with his rare earth investors. In the intervening days, he immersed himself in company business, desperate for a distraction from his own chaffing discontent. Each day he read a dozen proposals for new speculative ventures, discussed the undertakings with the various Knight Enterprises personnel involved, responded to his constant barrage of e-mails, and limited himself to a bottle of single malt a night to avoid calling Katherine and saying something he shouldn’t.
The fact that he didn’t choose to call any of the other women he knew in Paris or pay a visit to one of the private sex clubs he used to frequent didn’t bear reflection. It was too unnerving to contemplate the extraordinary changes in his life. He resorted to masturbation and used a photo for inspiration.
Actually, two photos: the ones he’d taken of Kate sleeping in his bed just before he left Hong Kong. He’d had the cell phone photos enhanced and edited at a commercial lab in Paris, printed into 8 x 10s, and framed in a folding titanium case he could carry with him when he traveled. He didn’t question his unusual behavior. But then he rarely questioned any of his actions, particularly when his personal pleasure was involved.
He’d settled into an evening routine that began with dinner in front of the TV in the suite’s living room, followed by half a bottle of any of the single malts on hand in the liquor cabinet. Or vice versa, depending on his mood. Although the hotel’s famous chef was beginning to question his skills when many of his dinners went untouched.
Dominic had tried watching porn in an effort to distract his thoughts from the continuous images of Katherine looping through his brain. To no avail. His body’s total lack of response gave him pause—but only briefly, because he had no trouble getting hard when he thought of Katherine.
Inevitably, he’d take the half-drunk bottle to bed, flick on the TV, mute the sound, direct his gaze to the photos of Katherine opened like a book on a table at the foot of the bed, and slowly begin masturbating. He always took his time, remembering only the pleasure they’d shared, not the ruinous end—when they’d both reached a point of no return. But neither his mind nor body could forget the inexpressible wonder of their time in Hong Kong.
THREE
While Dominic was staring at the muted TV, enduring another sleepless night, waiting for the sun to come up in Paris, Kate was tossing down a tequila shooter in Meg’s kitchen, wondering if there was enough liquor in the world to make her hook up with the really sweet premed rodeo cowboy who kept telling her how beautiful she was. The ear-blasting music from the ad hoc band playing in the living room was only a few decibels quieter in the kitchen and tall, handsome, blond, blue-eyed Ben had his mouth near her ear so she could hear him.
Guillaume spoke over his shoulder as he started down the basement stairs. “It’s not like you to turn it down. If you’re not temporarily hors de combat”—a Gallic lift of his shoulder that was both query and commiseration—“why not just politely decline?”
“Because Vicky won’t accept it, polite or otherwise. She’s a taker. So help me out. What the fuck can I say to her that’s semipolite but clear?”
Guillaume came through with flying colors. Five minutes after Dominic returned to the table with his bottle of port, Guillaume brought over his newly pregnant wife and asked Dominic if he’d accompany her to the hospital. It wasn’t serious, he said, but she’d been instructed to come in the next time her pulse rate accelerated so they could check her on a monitor. She didn’t want to bother Guillaume when he was busy.
“I’m sorry, Vicky,” Dominic said gently with what he hoped was tangible regret. “I’ll have my driver take you home. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
After some minor resistance, Vicky was placed in his car, his driver quietly instructed to not, under any circumstances, take her to Dominic’s apartment and Dominic watched the car drive away with a profound sense of relief. It didn’t bear close scrutiny.
Nor did he give it any.
When it came to his sex life, he wasn’t introspective.
He was however, careful to stay out of sight. Moving into the kitchen with his port, Dominic sat down and poured himself a glass.
Guillaume’s wife, Amalie, gave Dominic a kiss on the cheek before she went back upstairs. “I never thought I’d see the day,” she said with a twitch of a smile, her pretty face tipped slightly, her dark gaze assessing. “You uninterested?”
“I’m as surprised as you.” Dominic glanced up, a touch of amusement in his eyes. “Must be old age.”
“Hardly. Is there something you’d like to tell us?” Her female intuition was working overtime because she’d seen Dominic with the blond beauty in Nice two years ago and he hadn’t been running away.
“I wasn’t going to mention it yet, but I’ll buy you a bigger restaurant if you name the baby after me.”
She sniffed, gave a little toss of her head. “Keep your deep, dark secrets then. But the lady was angry. She’ll make you pay.”
“She’d have to find me first.”
Amalie lightly tapped his cheek. “Don’t forget, I met your little Vicky. She might find you after all.”
Dominic groaned.
“You’ll have to leave town to escape her,” Guillaume said, looking up from the roux he was stirring. “You’ve done that before.”
“I can’t. I’m here for a meeting. I’ll have to go with plan B.”
Which turned out to be a suite at the George V. Upon registering, Dominic asked for privacy. Assured that his presence there was completely confidential, Dominic settled into the presidential suite until the rescheduled meeting with his rare earth investors. In the intervening days, he immersed himself in company business, desperate for a distraction from his own chaffing discontent. Each day he read a dozen proposals for new speculative ventures, discussed the undertakings with the various Knight Enterprises personnel involved, responded to his constant barrage of e-mails, and limited himself to a bottle of single malt a night to avoid calling Katherine and saying something he shouldn’t.
The fact that he didn’t choose to call any of the other women he knew in Paris or pay a visit to one of the private sex clubs he used to frequent didn’t bear reflection. It was too unnerving to contemplate the extraordinary changes in his life. He resorted to masturbation and used a photo for inspiration.
Actually, two photos: the ones he’d taken of Kate sleeping in his bed just before he left Hong Kong. He’d had the cell phone photos enhanced and edited at a commercial lab in Paris, printed into 8 x 10s, and framed in a folding titanium case he could carry with him when he traveled. He didn’t question his unusual behavior. But then he rarely questioned any of his actions, particularly when his personal pleasure was involved.
He’d settled into an evening routine that began with dinner in front of the TV in the suite’s living room, followed by half a bottle of any of the single malts on hand in the liquor cabinet. Or vice versa, depending on his mood. Although the hotel’s famous chef was beginning to question his skills when many of his dinners went untouched.
Dominic had tried watching porn in an effort to distract his thoughts from the continuous images of Katherine looping through his brain. To no avail. His body’s total lack of response gave him pause—but only briefly, because he had no trouble getting hard when he thought of Katherine.
Inevitably, he’d take the half-drunk bottle to bed, flick on the TV, mute the sound, direct his gaze to the photos of Katherine opened like a book on a table at the foot of the bed, and slowly begin masturbating. He always took his time, remembering only the pleasure they’d shared, not the ruinous end—when they’d both reached a point of no return. But neither his mind nor body could forget the inexpressible wonder of their time in Hong Kong.
THREE
While Dominic was staring at the muted TV, enduring another sleepless night, waiting for the sun to come up in Paris, Kate was tossing down a tequila shooter in Meg’s kitchen, wondering if there was enough liquor in the world to make her hook up with the really sweet premed rodeo cowboy who kept telling her how beautiful she was. The ear-blasting music from the ad hoc band playing in the living room was only a few decibels quieter in the kitchen and tall, handsome, blond, blue-eyed Ben had his mouth near her ear so she could hear him.
