The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel (38 page)

Gorgeous?
 
“Fine, thank you.”

“That’s good.”
 
He paused, and I could hear the muffled sounds of rock music playing in the background.
 
He was probably in his bathroom, shaving and getting ready to go to his art gallery.
 

“You’ve never called me gorgeous before,” I pointed out, suspicious.
 

He paused.
 
“I haven’t?”

“No.”

“Well, you are.
 
Gorgeous, I mean.”

“Uh, thanks.
 
I just find it strange that you’re using an endearment you’ve never used before, that’s all.”

“Strange?”

“Uh huh.”

“Why?”

I sighed.

“You don’t want me to say you’re gorgeous?”

“No, it’s not that—”

“Then what is it?”

Exasperation ran through me, and I huffed out a breath.
 
He had never called me that before.
 
Was it an endearment he used with Karen York and used it on me by mistake?
 
Was he having a hard time keeping track of his multiple lovers?
 

“How was London?” I asked, changing the subject.
 

“Bleak and rainy, as usual.”

“Ah.
 
And your submissive lovers over there?” I asked sweetly.

He laughed.
 
“They’re quite well.”

Anger curled through me.
 
Then I mentally counted to three and reminded myself to get a fucking grip.
 
He thought I was joking, that was all.
 
There were no other submissive lovers—or at least I hoped there weren’t.
 

“Karen is well too,” he added airily before I could think of a neutral response.
 
“Very compliant, as usual.”

A chill ran down my spine.
 
“I see,” I muttered morosely.
   

“She helped me convince the UK publishers to wait an extra three months for my next book,” he explained.

“Okay,” I said, trying to make my voice sound as remote as humanly possible.

I heard a low, breathy rumble from the other end of the line and realized that he was laughing.
 
“Jealous, were you?”

Like
that
was hard to guess.
 
I blushed even though he couldn’t see me.
 
“No,” I answered meekly.

“I like it when you get jealous.
 
It makes me feel special.”
 
Amusement was evident in his voice.
 
“If you hadn’t reacted so strongly, I would have been offended.
 
Bruised male ego and all that.”
 

I was about to open my mouth to protest when I thought back to what his sister told me.
 
Seton was a jokester, a rascal, and enjoyed winding people up.
 
She was right—I needed to get a grip, and thicker skin.

“Yeah, well, whatever,” I countered lamely.

He chuckled softly, then, “You still have that raincoat I gave you?”

I froze for a moment, suddenly apprehensive.
 
I reached inside my closet and pulled out the black raincoat Seton gave me on our first night together.
 

“Uh, yeah,” I said uncertainly.

“Wear it to work today,” he said smoothly.
 
“
Just
the rain coat.
 
I want nothing underneath it—no clothes, no underwear, nothing.
 
Then come by my house after work.
 
Understood?”
   

I stared at the long black coat with shock.
 
I blinked, and suddenly Seton’s words hit me like a ton of bricks.
 
Of all the things I had been expecting from him,
that
wasn’t one of them!
 
I had to go to work wearing only a raincoat?
 
On a ninety-something-degree weather?
 
Was he fucking nuts?

“And wear high heels,” he added.
 

“Seton, I don’t think this is a very good id—”

“What,” he uttered challengingly, “are you about to disobey me?”

“No!
 
It’s just—”
 
I blew out a frustrated breath.
 
Protestations were pointless, so why bother making them?
 
“Fine.
 
You’re the boss.
 
But how on earth am I going to explain the raincoat to everyone at work?”
 

“I’m quite certain you’ll come up with a suitable excuse.
 
Maybe I’ll pop ’round your office later today if I’m not too busy.
 
Hope that’s okay.”

I shrugged to the phone.
 
“Whatever.”

 
“Very well.
 
Until later then, gorgeous.”

My stomach roiled as I gaped at the phone receiver.
 
Then I turned dubious eyes to my bedroom.
 
Sunlight flooded in from the large windows, lending the yellow-colored walls some extra brightness.
 
A Smith student lived here before I moved in, and she had painted the walls with cheery pastel colors.
 
I hated the overly girly look, but hadn’t had the time or the inclination to change it.
 
Blinking the glaring sunlight out of my eyes, I put the phone back in its cradle and crossed over to the closet.

I glanced down at my nakedness and sighed.
 
I had to go to work wearing nothing but a raincoat.
 
Fine.
 
I could do it.
 
Seton had made me do far worse things than that.
 
But what would my colleagues think?
 
I mean, it was fucking July and it was ninety-degrees outside!
 
Beads of sweat formed on my forehead just looking at the damn coat.

I resolved not to think about it as I removed the coat from its hanger and shrugged into it, buttoning it and fastening the belt tightly around my waist.
 
The coat was thin, and it was like wearing a light sweater.
 
Hmmm.
 
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
 

I searched for a decent pair of high heels and found the black leather mules I wore at Samantha Minou’s book party.
 
I’d just do it.
 
I could wear a raincoat and nothing else all day.
 
No problem.
 
And, I thought, who knows?
 
Maybe no one will notice!

*****

“Why are you wearing a coat?
 
It’s fucking ninety-five degrees outside!”

           
I sighed.
 
Okay, so maybe I was a teensy bit deluded in hoping that no one would notice.
 
I gave Jeremy what I hoped was a nonchalant smile.
 
“No clean clothes.
 
I’m wearing something very wrinkled and ugly underneath and I don’t want to be seen in it.”

           
“So ugly and wrinkled that you have to wear a
coat
?”

           
I sighed again and turned weary eyes to my computer screen.
 
I had been explaining the raincoat situation to everyone all day, and I was exhausted.
 
I rubbed the back of my sweaty, tension-filled neck and wished for a couple of aspirins.
 

           
“Look, let’s just say I have to wear the fucking coat, okay?”

           
“Whoa!” Jeremy said, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
 
“So
rry!
 
Sheesh!
 
Someone’s bitchy today!”

           
I rubbed my neck again and gave him an apologetic look.
 
“I’m—I’m having a shitty day, Jeremy.
 
Don’t mind me.”

           
A look of sympathy crept across his face.
 
“It’s okay.
 
Hey, I’ve been there.
 
Sorry for being a pain in the ass.”

           
I flashed him a grateful smile and saved the file I’d been working on.
 
It really had been a difficult day.
 
The air-conditioner was broken, giving the office a smell that resembled moldy cheese.
 
It was hot, oppressively so, and I’d had to wear this friggin’ raincoat because I wore nothing underneath it.
 
I was sweaty as hell.
 
My hair clung to my forehead and to the back of my neck.
 
I’d sat through three staff meetings, slouched in a lump of misery, holding back tears of mortification whenever curious and amused glances swung my way.
 
It was almost as if Seton had planned it this way.
 
If Satan—ah hem,
Seton
—had wanted me to be uncomfortable, then he’d succeeded beautifully.

           
Jeremy sighed and perched on the side of my desk, situating himself right in front of the small fan that Rosie had brought in this morning.
 
“Dude,” I said, indicating the fan, “don’t hog the little bit of cool air I’m getting in here!”

“Sorry,” he muttered, moving out of the way.
 
He was leafing through an old copy of
Publisher’s Weekly
when he said, “By the way, our meal ticket’s here.”

           
My head shot up.
 
“Seton’s here?
 
Here at the office?”

           
Jeremy peered at me from underneath his eyelashes, brows furrowed.
 
“Yeah.
 
He’s been chatting with Alfred for almost an hour now.”

           
My stomach churned.
 
“And you didn’t tell me?”

           
A puzzled look flitted across Jeremy’s face.
 
He put down the magazine and slid off the desk.
 
“Well…he came over to see Alfred.
 
I didn’t think you’d—”

I leaped out of the chair and dashed out the door, ignoring Jeremy’s raised eyebrows.
 
He called out something after me, but I didn’t hear it.
 
I was going to give Seton a tongue-lashing he would never forget.
 
Who the hell did he think he was, making me wear a coat on a hot, humid day with no central air and not bothering to come see me the moment he arrived here?
 

But the anger melted away the second I saw him.
 
I skidded to a halt and just looked at him.

           
He hovered around Alfred’s doorway, chattering away with my boss as if they were old friends.
 
In spite of the heat, Seton looked cool and crisp in a beige t-shirt that emphasized the width of his broad shoulders and a pair of long grey cargo pants that brought out his lean, muscular legs.
 
His wavy dark hair was slightly unkempt, as if he’d swept his fingers through it many times.
 
His skin was slightly darker now—almost olive-colored—as if instead of London he’d traveled to an exotic tropical island.
 
His appearance warmed places deep inside of me, rising my temperature to dangerous proportions.
 
God, I’d missed him!