The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel (54 page)

           
“We were just on our way to the office,” Jeremy explained.
 
“David has some more paper work to fill out.”

           
I frowned.
 
What paper work?

           
Seton said nothing, just stared at me with unreadable eyes.
 
Jeremy fidgeted awkwardly with his foot, turning to Seton.
 
“Hey, man,” he said, tapping his newspaper across Seton’s arm, “we’ll do it later, okay?
 
I’ll let you guys talk.”

           
He strolled to the entrance, but not before mouthing, “I want details” to Seton.
 
Jeremy saw me looking at him and blushed.
 
Embarrassed, he rushed off and disappeared inside the building.
 
I turned back to Seton when I heard him chuckle.
 
He was shaking his head, amused by his friend’s meddling.

           
“He will never change,” Seton observed.

           
“I think you’re right about that.”

           
An uncomfortable silence followed.
 
Seton broke it when his emerald gaze slid up to my hair.
 
“You’ve cut it.”

           
I nodded, surprised that he’d noticed such a thing.
 
“It’s midsummer, and neck-length hair is easier to manage.”

           
“You look great.”

           
I smiled a thank you and looked away for a few heartbeats, avoiding his smoldering gaze.
 
But even though I wasn’t looking at him, I was acutely aware of his overwhelming presence.
 
Of the tightness of the black jacket against his broad shoulders.
 
The way his pants defined his hips and brought out his long legs to perfection.
 
I stared out into the distance, hoping like hell that this encounter wouldn’t ruin my day.

           
“How’ve you been?”
 
His voice was casual, conversational.

           
I sipped absently on my frozen drink and turned wary eyes to Seton.
 
“Fine, thank you.”

           
A small smile touched his lips.
 
“I’m glad.”

           
Silence.
 
We did nothing, just stood awkwardly in front of the building, staring at each other.
 
I clutched my handbag and took another sip of my coffee, wishing I could move away, but my feet felt like concrete.
 
An early-morning breeze stirred around us, and the murmurs from numerous passersby poured into my ears.
 
A guitar-playing bohemian was singing a soulful rendition of “Breakeven” by The Script in the far corner of the street.
 

           
Gaining my composure, I took a step closer to the door and said, “Well, it was nice running into you, Seton, but I’ve got to get—”

           
“I’ve missed you.”

           
My heart just about rose to my throat at the sound of his confession.
 
I closed my eyes and rubbed a hand across them.
 
They stung, as if filled with unshed tears.
 
I felt Seton reach out and gently cup my elbow, pulling me slightly toward him.
 
The warmth of his touch sent frissons of delight seeping through my skin.
 
He still had the same effect on me.
 
Nothing had changed in that regard—though given it had only been two weeks since I last saw him, that was hardly surprising.
 

           
“I’ve booked a table for tonight at
Voila!
, if you wish to join me,” he said, his voice carefully flat.
 
“We have a lot to talk about.”

           
“There’s nothing to talk about.”

           
“There is and you bloody well know it,” he said, voice turning a little snappish.
 
“We have loads of things to talk about.”

           
I raised my eyebrows at the sudden edge in his voice.
 
“Oh, yeah, like what?
 
Like how you used me?”

           
It was an extremely spiteful comment, and I shouldn’t have snapped at him like that.
 
I had made a vow to myself that I would never again be bitchy and petty, but old habits die hard.
 
Perhaps I, like Jeremy, would never change.

Seton’s nostrils flared as he studied me for a moment, then looked away.
 
His face had no expression, but his eyes sparkled with irritation.
 
“There’s nothing stopping us from resuming where we left off.”

“Yes, there is.”

“No, there isn’t.”
 
He grimaced.
 
“The book is just an excuse, just like everything else has been an excuse.
 
You’re pulling away because you’re afraid, and your fear is the only thing stopping us from being together.”

           
Yeah, and it was one of the problems I had to sort out on my own.
 
I took a deep breath and gave him a weary look.
 
“I can’t do this, Seton,” I said sincerely.
 
“It’s… too soon for me.”

           
He let out a sigh, then his fingers curled tighter around my elbow, and the small yet tangible contact sent warm shivers down my spine.
 
“I want us to start fresh, Marjorie.
 
Let’s get to know each other again.
 
Let’s have dinner and see where it goes from there.
 
No pressure.”

           
“Get to know each other
again
?
 
We don’t even know each other beyond the realms of sex.”

           
“That’s not true.”
 
Frustration passed over his face.
 
“I know you better than you know yourself.”

           
“Yeah, thanks to Jeremy and Mitch you do!
 
But what do I know about you?”

“I’ll tell you everything that you wish to know.”

“Too late.”
 
Besides, thanks to Jeremy, I already knew the essentials about him, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.
 

“I’ll earn your trust again.”

“You never had it.”

A hurt expression flickered in his eyes.
 
“Then I’ll earn your trust full stop, but you have to meet me halfway.
 
We have to communicate, Marjorie, otherwise our relationship won’t work.”

“It’s not that simple, Seton.
 
We started on the wrong foot.
 
We should’ve just… you know”—I gesticulated wildly with one hand—“gone out on a stupid date or something.”

“You wouldn’t have wanted it that way.”

“You’re right,” I conceded, my voice morose, “I wouldn’t have.
 
This relationship was doomed from the start.”
 
I laughed a sad sort of laugh.
 
“We’re totally screwed up, you know that?”

“Yes,” he agreed, sighing.
 
“If only life worked out the way it does on paper.”

“How’s that?”

The soft smile he gave me just about undid me.
 
“Delete and start over.”

A sharp pain lanced through my heart.
 
I didn’t want to hear this, not from him.
 
I ripped my elbow from him and squared my shoulders, tension knotting every muscle in my body.
 
“Seton, I’m not up to dealing with this right now.
 
I’m not ready to see or talk to you.
 
In fact, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

           
“Well, you’ll have to deal with it soon because we’ll be seeing each other quite regularly,” he said sternly.
 
“I signed a two-book deal with Bookends AtoZ last week.”

           
I was about to excuse myself again, but the words froze in my mouth as his words hit me.
 
“You… you’ve signed with Bookends?”

           
He nodded.
 
“No one except Alfred, Karen, Jeremy and now you know.
 
Alfred will make the announcement during the opening of my gallery this Saturday.
 
The party will be held at the gallery.
 
You’re invited, of course.”

           
My mind whirled with confusion.
 
“But what about Leather Binding Press?”

           
“I told them I wouldn’t be selling my book to them after all.
 
Karen objected, but she had no choice but to accept my decision.
 
I’m part of the Bookends family now.”

“I see,” I said, glad my voice was even.
 
I couldn’t believe it.
 
Seton turned down a multi-million dollar deal with Leather Binding Press and signed with Bookends AtoZ—a small publishing house that offered nothing, not even a generous advance or a decent PR campaign?
 
But why?
 
And then something occurred to me.
 
Suspicious, I narrowed my eyes at Seton.
 
“Jeremy told you that Bookends was in trouble, didn’t he?”

He hesitated, a faint glint of amusement touching his eyes.
 
“Whatever do you mean?”

I glanced past him, suspicion turning into pain.
 
He was being playful, his usual self.
 
I didn’t want him to be playful and adorable, didn’t want to see that part of his multi-layered personality.
 
Not now.

His amused expression fled.
 
“Marjorie, I told Alfred that I wouldn’t sign unless you edited my book.
 
So now you’ll have to do it.”

           
I blinked and suddenly his words registered in my scrambled brain.
 
“Me?”
I bellowed.
 
“Why me?”

“It’s important,” he said matter-of-factly.
 
“You have to read the revised version and understand its meaning.
 
You need to understand everything that passed over between us during the months we were together.
 
I haven’t finished rewriting it, but I shall be done in about three months.
 
I knew you wouldn’t want to read my book, so I demanded your editing services, and now you’ll have to read it.”

“Is the book still called
Madeleine
?”

“Yes.”

“And is the plot essentially the same?”

A brief pause.
 
Then, “Yes.”

“So the book is still about me?”

“It’s about
us
,” he shot back, “and what we mean to one another.
 
And you’re going to read it whether you want to or not.”

           
Anger boiled through me and I briefly contemplated the joy of yelling at him, but in the end, it didn’t matter.
 
Nothing mattered.
 
I had decided to change, to turn in a new leaf, and in order to do that, a decision had to be made.
 
Here.
 
Now.
 
Because if I didn’t make that decision, I would be threading back to old habits again, and that I would not do.

           
I stepped out of his reach, not wanting to feel the heat of him near me.
 
“Seton, I won’t be editing your book, nor will I go out on a date with you.
 
My decision is final.”