Knight's Mistress
Page 23
‘Butler?’ There was a word that had never before entered her life.
‘They come with the suites.’
Do you come with the suite? Unbidden, the words leaped to mind, her libidinous little voice chiming in without a moment’s hesitation, You can make it happen, girl! Female power rules!
Dominic broke into her chewed-lip moment of silence. ‘I’m really hungry. Does eight give you enough time to dress?’
Was he talking in code or was she listening in code? Hungry? Hungry for what? ‘Ah … er’ – she looked up – ‘I mean … yes, yes … eight’s fine.’
‘Good. Eight it is.’ As if inured to stammering women, he reached past her, opened her door, then turned and strolled away.
Christ, how gauche was that? And how freaking gorgeous is he, she thought, watching him stride down the corridor, all grace and beauty and worldly polish. She guessed those bound women he was whipping in that blog didn’t really mind it when Dominic Knight was doing the whipping because they’d get him afterwards. And Kate knew just how much of him there was to get after the much watched image on the video. Although he was big everywhere – tall, buff, with muscle like some Greek god or NFL player— Jesus, stop already! There was a butler probably ten feet away, which meant climaxing on the spot was seriously uncool.
Taking a deep steadying breath, she entered the suite and sure enough, there was a butler standing at attention in the middle of a very large room filled with couches, chairs and real works of art. Christ, keep it together. Although she was sorely tempted to ask, ‘May I take a picture of you to send to my grandmother?’, because Nana would go bonkers on seeing a real live butler. Unfortunately, that would be double gauche. So she smiled instead and dismissed him with as much I-do-this-all-the-time panache as she could conjure up from her memories of Masterpiece Theatre.
Like Amsterdam, however, the rewards of having a servant were immediately apparent. Her bath had been drawn, Greta’s clothes had been hung up – not that she was surprised to see them after two days in the company of a man who considered himself master of all he surveyed. A great number of spanking new suitcases were neatly stowed away in the wall of closets and an open bottle of champagne on ice was waiting for her on the ledge of the bathtub. A bathtub with a 117-storey view of Hong Kong. Like first class all the way! Nana was getting a picture of that texted right away, regardless that it was probably three in the morning back home or the next day or whatever. Seconds later, the photo was winging its way around the globe and moments after that, Kate was immersed in hot suds, sipping a glass of champagne and revelling in an incredible sense of well-being.
While it was tempting to empty the bottle of champagne, the lure of an evening with Dominic Knight required a clear mind. She wanted to remember this night on the town. Every second, every heartbeat, every word and smile and tilt of his gorgeous head. How he ate and drank, what he ate and drank, the entire fantastic imagery of her date with – let’s face it – the handsomest man on the planet.
And she didn’t often indulge in over-the-top superlatives like that.
Dominic Knight was definitely an exception.
After her second glass of champagne, she washed, towelled off, then went to survey her neatly hung designer wardrobe. She could, of course, wear her own clothes. She probably should wear her own clothes. Or – she could wear that floaty chiffon number that was enticing her like the veritable apple in Paradise. Let’s see – her own slacks and a blouse or that dream dress. It wasn’t even close. Did Dominic Knight know women or what?
To soothe her conscience or feminist principles, she told herself she was just borrowing the dress for the night. Using the dress on loan didn’t make her one of those women in the video. She wasn’t like them. But at the end of the day, if she wanted to sleep with Dominic Knight, why shouldn’t she? Oh, Jeez, what if she asked and he said no because she’d blown him off in Amsterdam? How embarrassing would that be? Maybe she’d better not ask.
She was seriously dithering about sleeping with Dominic Knight mostly because of two things: the video, of course, and the spill-over in terms of the absolutism that constituted so much of his personality.
She almost felt like flipping a coin.
Then again, when it came to wanting what she wanted, that left too much to chance.
So with Greta’s dress enticing her, along with the promise of a night on the town in Hong Kong with the most beautiful man in the world, it didn’t take long to put her insecurities to rest. If she felt out of her depth at some point in the evening, she’d do what she did last time. Just say no. There was no way she was backing out of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, because seriously, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
And Meg would never let her forget it if she passed up sex with Dominic Knight.
There. Done. Case closed.
Sliding the chiffon dress off the hanger, she slipped it over her head and let the silky fabric swish down her body. Gazing at her image in a floor-length mirror, one of Whistler’s paintings of a gauzily dressed female sprang to mind. The flowered print, the sheer fabric, the pale, cream background was, with the exception of its short length – very much like those dresses in a Whistler painting. Although the tomato-red ribbon at the waist was a vivid touch of creative whimsy on Greta’s part. After tying the silk taffeta into a floppy bow, she briefly admired her handiwork before considering shoes. Naturally, there were silk, sling-back heels in tomato red. You could see how Dominic Knight could manage every detail of a global empire.
‘They come with the suites.’
Do you come with the suite? Unbidden, the words leaped to mind, her libidinous little voice chiming in without a moment’s hesitation, You can make it happen, girl! Female power rules!
Dominic broke into her chewed-lip moment of silence. ‘I’m really hungry. Does eight give you enough time to dress?’
Was he talking in code or was she listening in code? Hungry? Hungry for what? ‘Ah … er’ – she looked up – ‘I mean … yes, yes … eight’s fine.’
‘Good. Eight it is.’ As if inured to stammering women, he reached past her, opened her door, then turned and strolled away.
Christ, how gauche was that? And how freaking gorgeous is he, she thought, watching him stride down the corridor, all grace and beauty and worldly polish. She guessed those bound women he was whipping in that blog didn’t really mind it when Dominic Knight was doing the whipping because they’d get him afterwards. And Kate knew just how much of him there was to get after the much watched image on the video. Although he was big everywhere – tall, buff, with muscle like some Greek god or NFL player— Jesus, stop already! There was a butler probably ten feet away, which meant climaxing on the spot was seriously uncool.
Taking a deep steadying breath, she entered the suite and sure enough, there was a butler standing at attention in the middle of a very large room filled with couches, chairs and real works of art. Christ, keep it together. Although she was sorely tempted to ask, ‘May I take a picture of you to send to my grandmother?’, because Nana would go bonkers on seeing a real live butler. Unfortunately, that would be double gauche. So she smiled instead and dismissed him with as much I-do-this-all-the-time panache as she could conjure up from her memories of Masterpiece Theatre.
Like Amsterdam, however, the rewards of having a servant were immediately apparent. Her bath had been drawn, Greta’s clothes had been hung up – not that she was surprised to see them after two days in the company of a man who considered himself master of all he surveyed. A great number of spanking new suitcases were neatly stowed away in the wall of closets and an open bottle of champagne on ice was waiting for her on the ledge of the bathtub. A bathtub with a 117-storey view of Hong Kong. Like first class all the way! Nana was getting a picture of that texted right away, regardless that it was probably three in the morning back home or the next day or whatever. Seconds later, the photo was winging its way around the globe and moments after that, Kate was immersed in hot suds, sipping a glass of champagne and revelling in an incredible sense of well-being.
While it was tempting to empty the bottle of champagne, the lure of an evening with Dominic Knight required a clear mind. She wanted to remember this night on the town. Every second, every heartbeat, every word and smile and tilt of his gorgeous head. How he ate and drank, what he ate and drank, the entire fantastic imagery of her date with – let’s face it – the handsomest man on the planet.
And she didn’t often indulge in over-the-top superlatives like that.
Dominic Knight was definitely an exception.
After her second glass of champagne, she washed, towelled off, then went to survey her neatly hung designer wardrobe. She could, of course, wear her own clothes. She probably should wear her own clothes. Or – she could wear that floaty chiffon number that was enticing her like the veritable apple in Paradise. Let’s see – her own slacks and a blouse or that dream dress. It wasn’t even close. Did Dominic Knight know women or what?
To soothe her conscience or feminist principles, she told herself she was just borrowing the dress for the night. Using the dress on loan didn’t make her one of those women in the video. She wasn’t like them. But at the end of the day, if she wanted to sleep with Dominic Knight, why shouldn’t she? Oh, Jeez, what if she asked and he said no because she’d blown him off in Amsterdam? How embarrassing would that be? Maybe she’d better not ask.
She was seriously dithering about sleeping with Dominic Knight mostly because of two things: the video, of course, and the spill-over in terms of the absolutism that constituted so much of his personality.
She almost felt like flipping a coin.
Then again, when it came to wanting what she wanted, that left too much to chance.
So with Greta’s dress enticing her, along with the promise of a night on the town in Hong Kong with the most beautiful man in the world, it didn’t take long to put her insecurities to rest. If she felt out of her depth at some point in the evening, she’d do what she did last time. Just say no. There was no way she was backing out of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, because seriously, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
And Meg would never let her forget it if she passed up sex with Dominic Knight.
There. Done. Case closed.
Sliding the chiffon dress off the hanger, she slipped it over her head and let the silky fabric swish down her body. Gazing at her image in a floor-length mirror, one of Whistler’s paintings of a gauzily dressed female sprang to mind. The flowered print, the sheer fabric, the pale, cream background was, with the exception of its short length – very much like those dresses in a Whistler painting. Although the tomato-red ribbon at the waist was a vivid touch of creative whimsy on Greta’s part. After tying the silk taffeta into a floppy bow, she briefly admired her handiwork before considering shoes. Naturally, there were silk, sling-back heels in tomato red. You could see how Dominic Knight could manage every detail of a global empire.
