The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel (29 page)

I looked up from the magazine and turned my attention to Mitch, who stood next to me, duffel bag over his shoulder, waiting patiently for my response.
 
Amiable laughter drifted from somewhere in the vicinity of the outfield as a gentle, late-May breeze stirred around us.
 
The late afternoon sunlight burned into my eyes as I smiled at Mitch and said, “Sure.
 
I’d love to see you tonight.”

Surprise flickered through his eyes.
 
“Great!
 
Nine o’clock at my place okay?”
 

I nodded, mentally stopping myself from changing my mind.

He grinned.
 
Then his gaze momentarily went past me, to somewhere below me, and his body stiffened, his eyes opening unnaturally wide.
 
“I, uh, I gotta go, Marge.
 
See you tonight!”

Mitch raced down the bleachers and rushed out of the park.
 
Huh.
 
What on earth could have caused such a strange reaction?

Curious, I spun around to see the source of Mitch’s sudden departure…and my stomach contracted into tiny knots.
 
Seton was there, four steps below me, his back facing me, watching the players in the field gather their things as they got ready to leave.
 
He wore a beige baseball cap, a dark green t-shirt, cargo shorts and—get this!—flip-flops.
 
I had never seen him look so casual in the little time I’d known him.
 
I wouldn’t have recognized him had it not been for those broad shoulders and that unmistakably confident, formidable posture of his.
 
That was the first time I’d ever seen his bare legs.
 
They were muscular and athletic, a light coat of black hair covered his masculine limbs.
 

A woman stood beside him.
 
Their close proximity told me they were not strangers.
 
A spark of jealousy blazed through me, but I immediately squashed it.
 
He was a free man, always had been, and he could do with his life whatever he damn well pleased.

The woman looked familiar though.
 
Something about the elegant and seductive way in which she stood made me look at her more closely.
 
Bile rose within me when I realized it was the busty blonde in red from Cajun Catfish.
 

I looked away from them for a moment and took a deep breath.
 
I felt worthless just looking at her.
 
She was perfection, a glamazon from top to bottom.
 
Even in casual clothes, the blonde looked as sleek and alluring as the last time I saw her.
 
She wasn’t wearing a red dress and fuck-me stilettos now though.
 
She wore a pretty white top with a pink miniskirt just shy of showing her high, perfect little buttocks.
 
The skirt skimmed her thighs, showing off her silky-smooth skin to perfection.
 
On her head rested a large pair of chic sunglasses, keeping her glossy, caramel-colored hair off her face.
 
The bright sun brought out her salon-perfect blonde highlights to their best advantage.
 
And—for the pièce de résistance—she was holding a cigarette languorously, sexily, in her manicured hand, flicking the butt to the side using graceful, rose-tipped fingers.
 
I looked down at her feet, expecting to see an ankle bracelet and a toe ring, but she wore running shoes with pink socks that almost reached her calves.
 

But I didn’t have to see the jewels.
 
It was obvious that Seton and the blonde were involved.
 
How could they not be?
 
They were like cinnamon and apples—perfect together.
 
They were gorgeous, stylish and worldly—flawlessly designed for one another.
 
J. Crew models had nothing on those two!
 
They were almost the same height too.
 
The blonde was about three inches shy of reaching Seton’s six feet.
 
She dwarfed me in every possible way.
 

Grimacing, I glanced down at my unzipped blue windbreaker, white wife-beater t-shirt, blue capri pants and worn-out black Nikes (no socks).
 
My hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail.
 
I looked like someone who grabbed the first thing she saw in her closet and then shrugged into it carelessly—which, coincidentally, was exactly what I did.
 
The only expensive item on me was my Louis Vuitton shoulder bag.
 
I blew out a disgusted breath.
 
There was no contest.
 
He would have never picked me over the vision in Prada hovering around him.

I studied my unpolished nails, wished I smoked and swore blind that the next time I ran into Seton I would look nicer.
 
I turned dubious eyes to the perfect couple and gasped.
 
Intense green eyes stared up at me, darkening when I met their gaze.

Shit!
 
Shit, shit, shit!!

Flustered, I shoved my magazine and half-empty bottle of Evian into my purse and slowly walked down the bleachers, trying to scoot out of the area as inconspicuously as humanly possible.
 
Once down, my legs quivered when I tried to turn tail and run as if my life depended on it.
 
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Seton and the woman rushing toward me.
 

Fuuuuuck!

I couldn’t run off now!
 
How would that look?
 
Taking a deep breath, I managed to stiffen my knees, then turned to face the perfect couple.
 
I plastered a pleasant smile on my face and uttered a barely audible “Hello.”

“Hello,” the woman replied.
 
With her thick English accent, it sounded like she’d said “huh-low.”
 

I licked dry lips and peered up at Seton.
 
His beautiful face was expressionless, almost remote, but his eyes shimmered with a heat that stirred an answering fire deep within me.
 

Standing so close to him, having those magnetic eyes of his stare down at me, stunned me for a moment, my smile frozen into place.
 
I had to look away from him, even if it meant turning my attention to the blonde goddess next to him.
 
My gaze drifted to the woman and I widened my smile.
 
She reciprocated by curling her luscious lips into a warm, friendly grin.
 
I stared at her, trying to pick up on any traces of smugness or mockery in her flawless face, but there was none.
 
I let out an inner sigh.
 
That’s right, I thought pettily.
 
Act all nice and sweet so I won’t hate you.
 

I zipped up my jacket and shoved my hands into the side pockets, trying not to look as uncomfortable as I felt.
 
Why was she smiling at me?
 
Why was she being so nice?
 
She wasn’t supposed to be nice, wasn’t supposed to look at me with kind, friendly, lake-water green eyes framed with the longest, thickest eyelashes I had ever seen…

Oh.

“I’d like you to meet Dana Janice Seton,” Seton said tonelessly.
 
“My sister.”

“His
twin
sister,” Dana added, rolling her eyes at her brother.
 
“He always forgets to mention that bit.”

Shock coiled through me.
 
His
sister
?
 
His
twin
sister?
 
I’d been jealous of his
twin sister
all this time?
 
I’d tortured myself for endless days and nights over a blood relative?
 
Ugh!
 
And what about Karen York?
 
What was she, his cousin?
 
Oh, God, let them be related too!

I swallowed hard, but it didn’t seem to ease the dryness in my throat.
 
I looked back at Seton.
 
He was still gazing down at me, his face impassive.

“And this is Marjorie Fordham,” Seton continued, voice neutral, “editor at Bookends AtoZ.
 
She was courting me for a while, wanted to edit my next book, but then she changed her mind.”

Something unreadable flickered in his eyes as he uttered the last sentence.
 
I felt my cheeks turning pink as I cast a cautious glance at Dana.

“Lovely to meet you,” she said in a sing-song English lilt.
 
“You know, I’m trying to convince David to join your publishing house.
 
I think a nice, quaint little house is precisely what he needs.
 
People who care about
him
, not just about the money he’ll make them.”

Seton snorted derisively at that.
 
“Such a place doesn’t exist.”
 

“Seton!” someone shouted from the field.
 
Our heads swiveled at the sound.
 
It was Alfred.
 
“Come over here!
 
Let me introduce you to one of our bestsellers.”

Seton swung back to us, mumbled a “be right back” and walked quickly away.

Dana and I were alone.
 
Nervous, I dug my hands deeper into the jacket pockets, unsure of what to do.
 
She turned her lovely green eyes—eyes identical to those of her brother’s—to me and gave me a closemouthed grin.
 

I returned her smile.
 
It was impossible to resist her charm.
 
I had only known her for five minutes and already she seemed so different from her brother.
 
He was arrogant and imposing and brooding, whereas she seemed amiable and sweet and, I suspected, a bit on the shy side.
 
I had to rethink my previous impression of her.
 
Sure, she was gorgeous and glamorous, but she was also down to earth.
 
Or at least she seemed that way.
 
I felt bad for misjudging her so severely.

 
“So,” she said, reaching into her Prada bag and removing a pack of Marlboro Lights, “you and my brother are shagging then?”

My smile faded.
 
Okay, so she wasn’t as sweet as she seemed.

She let out a throaty little laugh that would have made her the perfect phone-sex operator.
 
“My brother is right,” she said, lighting up a cigarette and perching on a bench next to the bleachers.
 
“You
are
easy to wind up!”
 

I said nothing, just stood there, feeling like a lump of clay as this English goddess made fun of me.

She chuckled softly as she crossed one leg swiftly over the other and held up one hand, the cigarette balanced between her index and middle fingers.
 
“You poor thing!
 
You’ve no idea how Davy’s like, do you?
 
He’s quite the rascal, I warn you, and when we team up…well, there’s no end to our mischief.”

I thinned my lips and sat next to her.
 
“Unfortunately, I already know just how bad he is.”

Amusement flirted with her mouth as she took a seductive long drag on her cigarette.
 
Oh, God.
 
She knew, didn’t she?
 
She knew about the arrangement and knew that Seton had been playing me for a fool.
 
They were probably very close and told each other everything.
 
He’d probably told her about our trysts.
 
Ick!

“What we did to you was quite awful,” she said, smiling.
 
“But it was Davy’s idea.
 
He saw you having lunch with two of your colleagues outside and thought he’d give you a bit of a shock.”

My shoulders sagged as I stared ahead at the field.
 
Seton was chatting away with Alfred and one of Bookends’ most successful authors.
 
He cast a quick glance at us, face blank, and then turned back to his companions.
 
I moved my hands from my pockets and wrapped my arms around my chest as a prickle of pain burned deep within me.
 
So, he
had
been laughing at me!
 
Our relationship was nothing but a joke to him.
 
I sighed slightly to ease the ache inside of me and turned rueful eyes back to Dana.