All He Needs (All or Nothing) (2 page)

Nana chuckled. “That goes without saying. When it comes to bragging rights, no one outdoes Jan anyway. I’m years behind her since I’m polite, so I expect you to tell a good story.”

Kate had a story to tell that would curl Jan Vogel’s toes, but it wasn’t for public consumption. “I did see how the rich and famous live. I could describe Dominic Knight’s house in Hong Kong, his private plane, and the fleet of Mercedes-Benzes at his beck and call…”

“Sounds exciting,” Nana said. “But really, I just like to show you off. You know that. So talk about whatever you want.”

“It was another world, Nana. You wouldn’t believe the
luxury, the huge number of servants, the beautiful surroundings, the incredible food and expensive wines. And it’s all just taken for granted.”

“I’m glad you had a chance to see it,” Nana gently noted. “Most people don’t. At least people we know.”

Kate sighed, feeling a pang of heartache. “You’re right. It was definitely a not-to-be-missed opportunity.”

“Perhaps Singapore will be equally exciting. You never know.”

“It might be,” Kate politely replied, even though it couldn’t possibly be without Dominic. “I’ll call the banker and tell him I’m taking the job, then I’ll let you know when I’m coming home.”

“Anytime, sweetie. Leon and I will be waiting. Did I tell you he’s gained another twenty pounds? He’s like the pony you always wanted.”

Kate chuckled. “The one Gramps didn’t want in his garage.”

“One of the few times your grandfather didn’t give you everything you wanted,” Nana said drolly.

“Only that once, Nana.” Kate’s voice trembled and tears blurred her vision. Her Gramps had been a kind, generous man with rock-solid convictions who was devoted to her. Who challenged her to try anything and everything. Her Santa Claus and badass drill sergeant rolled into one.

“I think he was saving himself from mucking out a pony’s stall. You would’ve done it once or twice at that age and then it would have been his job. Your grandfather was a practical man. Now we better change the subject or we’ll both be crying.”

“Right,” Kate said briskly. “So let me call McCormick back, then I’ll make my reservations for Minnesota.”

Kate called Mr. McCormick, accepted his offer, made her flight reservations, and texted Nana with the numbers. Then she ordered a pizza and watched the end of the tragic samurai movie while she waited for the pizza delivery. Yet another reason for returning to work: her eating habits were lamentable. If she continued lying in bed and having food delivered, she’d soon weigh two hundred pounds.

After the movie ended, Kate decided on the spur of the moment to call Meg and tell her she’d stop by Missoula for a day or two on her way to Singapore.

It was time to see if some other man could ignite her libido. After three solid days of misery, she was willing to try anything to put Dominic behind her. And who better than Meg to set her straight—the queen of “sex is for fun, check your heart at the door, last names aren’t necessary.”

Meg squealed when she heard Kate would be visiting. “Really! Really, you’re coming to visit! I can hardly wait!”

“It sounds like you’re having fun out there,” Kate said. “Missoula’s not much out of the way to Singapore, and I’m
not
having any fun here so I thought—”

“Hey, what’s with the someone-died voice? Oh, shit, don’t tell me—”

“No, no, Nana’s fine. But”—Kate sighed—“tell me you can’t die of a broken heart.”

“Ohmygod! You didn’t! Oh Christ,” Meg said as though she were telepathic. “You really did. You slept with the billionaire.”

“Kinda, sorta”—a grumbling sigh this time—“yeah. Now all I do is cry.”

“Listen to me, sweet pea.” Meg spoke in her it’s-for-your-own-good tone of voice. “I’m going to be brutally frank. First—you’re not Cinderella. Second, even if you were, Dominic Knight’s definitely not prince material. Third, whatever happened had nothing to do with love, it was sex. And fourth and most important, even if you think your heart is broken, no one
ever
,
ever
dies of a broken heart. Got it?”

A lengthy pause.

“Trust me. Okay? I know. Remember Johnny Dare? I got over him.”

“In less than a day,” Kate pointed out sarcastically.

“So you’re behind the curve. I’ll get you back up to speed. I got to tell you, the men out here are prime examples of heavy-duty testosterone. They hunt, fish, break horses, and—I don’t know—probably chop wood in their spare time.”

That brought a reluctant chuckle from Kate. “So you’re saying if I have a wood stove—they can help me out?”

“They can help you out in even better ways than that. Guaranteed.”

“You’re right.” Kate put a little briskness in her tone, as if she actually believed Meg’s guarantee. “Why mope.”

“Hey, I’m not pretending Dominic Knight isn’t dazzling. I’ve seen him in enough tabloid magazines, always with a Barbie doll on his arm. But you know he’s only shopping, never buying. Hey, speaking of shopping”—the sudden animation in her voice was familiar to Kate, who’d known Meg
since they’d been dorm mates freshman year—“you can do a little shopping too. I’ll invite all of Luke’s gorgeous, studly friends to a party, and you can look them over and take your pick. When are you coming?”

“Probably Friday.”

“Perfect. I’ll have a complete lineup on hand. You choose your favorite one night stand, have some fun and forget billionaires who have dollar signs where their hearts should be. Seriously, sweetie, one has to be practical about men who own half the world.”

“I know. Really, I’m trying.”

“Good,” Meg said warmly, like a teacher praising a slow student who finally gave the right answer to two and two is four. “Now—any preferences for your rebound sex? Tall, muscular, dark, blond, blue eyes—give me a hint.”

“Blond’s good.” Someone who wouldn’t remind her of Dominic, someone who wouldn’t trigger even the tiniest memory of a tall, dark, handsome jerk.

“Blond it is. God, I’m so glad you’re coming out! We’ll have a ball!”

After ten drinks maybe.
“I’m looking forward to the party,” Kate fibbed. But she knew once she was in Missoula at least she’d be busy. Meg was a full-steam-ahead, egocentric personality who didn’t sit still. “And thanks,” she politely added. “I feel better now.” But she knew it was a lie, even as she said it.

“I’ll have a full roster of studs waiting for you,” Meg replied gleefully. “All blondes. And, may I say, it’s about freaking time.”

A
t the same time Kate was making plans with Meg, Dominic was seated across the dinner table from a beautiful, blond divorcee whom he’d known for years.

“I can’t believe my luck, darling.” Victoria Melbury smiled at Dominic over the rim of her wineglass. “What are the odds of bumping into you on the street in Paris?”

Factoring in the population of Paris and his previous plans to fly home from Hong Kong, he smiled and said, “Definitely a long shot.” He’d been getting out of his car in front of his apartment on the Île Saint-Louis a few hours ago when Vicky had called out his name. Dominic had met Vicky at a London party three years ago and had fallen into bed with her soon after. It was a pattern he’d repeated several times since.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said in a seductive purr. “But I wasn’t about to be shy in asking you out when you said you weren’t in the city for long.”

Dominic smiled again. “Not a problem. I was about to invite you out to dinner anyway,” he lied. He’d actually planned on sitting alone in his apartment and drowning his sorrows in whiskey.

“This is such a darling little restaurant.” She lifted her perfectly manicured hand in a flighty little wave that encompassed the room before reaching out to lightly brush
her fingers across Dominic’s hand, which was resting on the table. “I’m so glad you brought me here. I gather the chef is a good friend of yours.” The chef had come out to greet them when he heard Nick was in the house.

“Guillaume and I met in Nice a few years ago. I was pleased when he moved to Paris.” The restaurant was on a quiet, tree-lined street in Montmartre, on the ground floor of a small house that had been converted into a neobistro thanks to an investment from Dominic.

“He reminds me of that lovely young chef in Monaco. Do you remember that little café by the water?” She giggled prettily. “We were a little risqué that night.”

“I remember. We were both pretty loaded.” He picked up the bottle on the table, uninterested in reminiscing about their public sexual escapades. “More wine?”

She readily held out her glass and gave him a playful smile. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Nicky dear?”

He shook his head. “It’s just a good wine.”
He actually was trying to get himself drunk.
He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to see Vicky across the table from him, full of flattery and artifice, showing off her boobs, taking it for granted that they were her best calling card. He had wanted to leave twenty minutes ago… alone.

The way Vicky ate the first course of white asparagus with anchovy dressing almost took away Dominic’s appetite. Although, realistically, it wasn’t her fault, it was his. Pre-Katherine, watching Vicky delicately place the tip of the asparagus in her mouth and slowly nibble on it until she’d consumed the entire stalk would have been amusing. Now it was unappealing on so many levels.

Daintily wiping her mouth when she finished, she smiled and pointed at Dominic’s barely touched asparagus. “Aren’t you hungry, darling?”

Not anymore.
“I should have ordered the ravioli,” he said with a quick glance at his watch. Then he caught the waiter’s eye and nodded at their plates.

As their first courses were whisked away and their glasses refilled, Vicky leaned forward to better display her impressive cleavage, beautifully framed by the deep V of her white angora knit dress. “You seem moody.” Her voice softened. “All dark and dangerous. I like that,” she whispered.

If she mentioned whips he might lose it.
“I’m just a little tired. Long day at work.” He smiled tightly and wondered if he was being punished for all the iniquities in his past. “Guillaume’s blanquette de veau is amazing,” he said, determined to change the subject. “You’ll enjoy it.” And reaching for his wineglass, he drained it, nodded at the waiter for a refill, and drank down the next glass without tasting it.

Two bottles later, he was marginally relaxed
or
mildly anesthetized. The food was superb as usual, the veal spectacular, the wine cellar excellent, the waiter alert to his glances for more wine, the low buzz of conversation tranquilizing. Vicky was persistently flirtatious, doing her best to lure him in.

Unfortunately, he was unaffected by her overtures.

She obviously was planning on staying the night.

He’d previously thought the same; a fuck was a fuck. But each minute that passed, each perfumed remark directed his way, each seductive smile, left him not only
indifferent but seriously demoralized by his own apathy. Since when had he become a eunuch?
Don’t answer that
, he quickly warned the insinuating little voice in his head.

His unprecedented feelings aside, what he really needed was a way out. But his escape mechanisms were rusty from neglect; he couldn’t remember when he’d last turned down a woman. Calling for another bottle, he hoped alcohol would quash his aversion to fucking Vicky.

Sadly, it only made him more averse.

Long before dinner was over, he knew that there was no way he was bringing Vicky back to his apartment. He ordered a rare port to prolong the meal, then another for tasting, at which point Guillaume came out to the table and politely said, “I have two of those bottles left in the cellar. Come, Dominic, you decide which you prefer.”

Dominic experienced such a feeling of deliverance, he was momentarily touched by a flash of religiosity. But his voice was calm as he came to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, Vicky, I’ll be right back.”

Dominic shot a glance at Guillaume as they entered the back hallway. “How the hell did you know I needed rescuing?”

“You don’t normally drink so much. Bertrand noticed and told me.”

“Bertrand must be the mother I never had,” Dominic said with a grin. “I’ve been trying to think of some way to end this dinner date. Vicky’s lovely but I’m not in the mood for more of her tonight.” Smiling, Dominic shook his head when he saw Guillaume’s quizzical look. “Don’t look at me like that—I haven’t a clue why either.” The men had partied
together in Nice and Paris; they both loved women. “I need an escape plan she won’t find insulting. Although, if necessary, I’ll go with insulting.”

“Are you unwell,
mon ami
?” Guillaume looked at Dominic with male understanding. “I know a good doctor; he doesn’t mind if I call day or night. He’s a friend from Nice.”

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.