All He Needs (All or Nothing) (3 page)

W
hile Dominic was staring at the muted TV, enduring another sleepless night, waiting for the sun to come up in Paris, Kate was tossing down a tequila shooter in Meg’s kitchen, wondering if there was enough liquor in the world to make her hook up with the really sweet premed rodeo cowboy who kept telling her how beautiful she was. The ear-blasting music from the ad hoc band playing in the living room was only a few decibels quieter in the kitchen and tall, handsome, blond, blue-eyed Ben had his mouth near her ear so she could hear him.

“Let’s find a little quiet. That okay with you?”

“Sure.” Because she was here for a reason tonight, because she’d silently picked Ben out of Meg’s lineup and there was no point in putting off her rebound sex.

Grabbing the tequila bottle, Ben took her hand and led her through the kitchen and down the hall to the bedroom. He knocked, saying with a grin, “Just in case. Or we could go to my place if you like.”

She smiled. “Here’s good.”

“Hey, we lucked out.” He shoved the door open.

Or Meg had warned everyone else off, Kate thought, but was too tipsy to give it much thought. Because, bottom line, this was about her leaving the past behind. This was the night she erased Dominic Knight from her memory.

Ben pulled her into the bedroom, shut the door, and walked to the bed, where he placed the bottle on the bedside table, sat down, and drew Kate down on his lap. “You should stay in Missoula for a while,” he whispered, kissing her lightly. “You could stay with me. I’ll show you how to ride.”

“Maybe,” she murmured, because it was easier than explaining why she couldn’t. And reaching up, she took his face in her hands and kissed him hard, shoving her tongue down his throat, wanting to
feel
something. She felt something all right, but it was his erection swelling against her bottom. Nothing for her. Not a scintilla of emotion. She might as well have been kissing the mirror. Christ, she could see a future devoid of mind-blowing sex stretching before her and she knew where the blame lay—with Dominic’s goddamn sexual prowess. She reached for the tequila bottle. “Want some?” She held it out.

“Nah. I’m good.” Ben smiled. “Take your time.”

Tipping the bottle to her mouth, she smiled back. “You’re way nice.”

“I’m not in a rush.”

Jeez, he was really nice. Although a guy with his looks wasn’t hard up for women to fuck. Swallowing, she took another quick shot, then put the bottle back and wrapped her arms around Ben’s neck. “There. Sometimes I’m real small town. Sorry about that.”

“Not a problem. Everyone in Montana’s from a small town.” He dipped his head and brushed her lips with his. “I can relate.”

In an effort to overcome her body’s stunning indifference
to Ben’s delicate kiss and huge erection, Kate moved her bottom in a gentle undulation over his rigid dick.

With a low groan, he fell backward, taking her with him, and stretched out on the bed—cowboy boots and all. Shifting her slightly on his lean, muscled frame to accommodate the hard swell of his erection, he cupped the back of her head and pulled her closer for a kiss. “We’ll take it easy,” he said, his smile only inches away. “Small-town easy.”

Maybe that was the problem. Ben was too polite. Dominic often wasn’t; he was demanding, occasionally coercive, always in control. Jeez, did that make her some kind of masochist? Did normal sex leave her cold? But then she remembered their days on the
Glory Girl
when Dominic had been all tenderness and affection, when he’d made plans for their future, when he’d not said no to her even once. And suddenly, her eyes filled with tears and she was choked with grief. “I can’t do this,” she said on a suffocated sob, shoving herself upright. “I’m sorry.” Her tears spilled over, and sniffling and sniveling she said in a cracking voice, “I just broke up with someone. I’m a basket case.”

“I know. I’m not here to push you.”

Her eyes flared wide. “You know!”

“Luke told me. Hey, it’s no big deal.”

“Oh God,” she groaned, the shock at least drying up her tears. “How pathetic is that?”

“Hey, babe.” He slid his finger over her bottom lip. “I’d take on any guy to have you. Okay?”

“I don’t suppose this has ever happened to you? Only women cry about this shit.”

“Everyone’s gone through a breakup.” He smiled. “I didn’t cry, but I know what you mean.”

The way he said it, she doubted his world had gone dark. And for a second she debated shutting her eyes and going through with it. She sighed. “I guess I’m too much of a wuss.” And rolling off him, she sat on the edge of the bed.

He brushed her arm in a light downward drift of his hand. “We don’t have to do anything. We could go see a movie or something.”

“I feel really dumb,” she whispered.

“I could kick his ass for you.”

That brought a small smile to her face; she turned back to him. “I might take you up on that.”

“Anytime.”

Meg was right. There was no lack of testosterone in Montana. “I’ll let you know.” She came to her feet. “And thanks. Really.” Then she left the bedroom, walked to the bathroom, locked herself in, and quietly cried.

Ben followed her and talked to her through the door. Still polite. A real gentleman.

“Maybe next time,” he said. “Call me.” And he walked away.

What was wrong with her?

Did only arrogant pricks turn her on?

The day of Dominic’s rescheduled meeting finally arrived. Max, along with the other attendees, met in the sumptuous conference room of the Paris office, with Dominic lounging at the head of a long Empire table that had once graced the Château de Malmaison. Coffee, tea, and pastries were available, the cups set before each man Sèvres porcelain
contemporary with the table. Small flower arrangements offered scent and color without blocking any sight lines. Dominic’s office staff was efficient.

As the investors found their seats Dominic dispensed with a greeting. “This shouldn’t take long,” he said curtly. “Everyone’s familiar with the prospectus?” It wasn’t really a question.

Mindful of the last aborted meeting, the fact that Miss Hart was not in attendance was noted by all the industrialists as they settled back in their chairs. Very soon, the attendees also took note of Dominic’s poisonous mood.
Related? No, not with Dominic
, they all individually concurred. But he was conspicuously less accommodating, more prickly, quick to reject any quibbles about money. And in the end, he essentially offered them a
take it or leave it
proposition.

With Dominic’s track record they all took it, but they grumbled after he got up, brusquely said, “You gentlemen will be much richer after today,” and walked out of the room without so much as a thank you. A little courtesy wouldn’t have been out of place when they were investing billions.

Max was left to soothe outraged egos.

Sometime later, Max walked into Dominic’s office, bit back his comment about the half-empty bottle on Dominic’s desk, and forced himself to speak in a measured tone. “You could have been more polite, Nick. It’s going to take them a while to cool off.”

Dominic drained his drink before looking up, his half-lidded gaze indifferent. “I gave them the full extent of my charm in Hong Kong. I didn’t feel like kissing ass again. If
they want to make money, they can buy in. If they don’t”—Dominic shrugged—“I don’t give a shit. I’ll cover it myself.” He coolly met Max’s gaze. “Is there anything else?”

“You’re drinking a lot and you’re drinking alone,” Max said pointedly. Dominic had never been a solitary drinker.

“So?” He refilled his glass.

“So you’re getting hard to handle.”

“Point noted. Is there more of this lecture? I hope not, because I’m already bored. And not that it’s any of your business, but I only drink at night.” He glanced at the clock and a muscle twitched along his jaw. Three fifty p.m. “Today’s an exception,” he muttered. Seeing the same men again had brought back the horror of their last meeting, when Katherine had seen the disastrous e-mail with the licentious photos of him with other women and everything had gone into the tank. “As for drinking alone,” he said with biting sarcasm, “it’s never too late to learn.”

Max sighed softly. “The lecture’s over. How you choose to go to hell is your own business. But try not to use that snarky tone with Lillibet. She’s new, she’s an excellent analyst, and I wouldn’t want to lose her because you’re an asshole.”

Dominic lifted his glass to Max. “Consider me warned. Lillibet will be treated with extreme deference. Is she some politician’s daughter? Just asking.”

“No.”

“Thank God. Politicians can be demanding.” Dominic smiled tightly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He drained his glass, reached for the bottle, and shot a look at Max, who hadn’t moved. “Do you mind? I’m busy.” Uncorking the bottle,
Dominic poured himself another drink, leaned back in his chair, and put the glass to his mouth. He didn’t hear the door shut because he was calculating how much liquor it would take tonight to erase the memory of Katherine’s tears when she’d looked up from his laptop that day in Hong Kong.

He was still there after the office had gone dark, another opened bottle in hand. The wall of muted TV screens opposite his desk was the only illumination in the room, and his eyes were half shut against the glare.

The door slowly opened and a beautiful, leggy blonde quietly entered the room, shut the door behind her, and leaned back against it. “I’m the last one here, Mr. Knight,” she said in softly accented English. “I was wondering if you needed anything before I leave.”

Innuendo was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Explicit enough to penetrate the layers of Dominic’s despair.

He automatically looked up at the familiar tone of voice and crooked his finger. “What’s your name?”

“Tatiana,” she said, moving toward his desk.

“Surname?” He’d loosened his tie and collar, his attire otherwise unaltered since the meeting, his white shirt a vivid contrast to his dark suit in the heavily shadowed room.

“Ismay.”

No relation to a politician he knew, nor a family of his acquaintance. That didn’t make it necessarily safe, but safer.
“How long have you worked here, Tatiana?” he gently queried, instinctively surveying the lovely young woman. Max had good taste.

“A year, sir.”

“Have we met?”

“Twice, sir.”

“And what do you do for us?”

“I’m one of your attorneys.”

“And you were wondering if I needed anything?” he murmured.

“Yes, sir.”

His gaze narrowed at that third
sir
and he wondered if they’d met somewhere other than the office. Or were his vices common knowledge? “Why did you think I might need something?”

“You were all alone in the dark.” Opaque glass panels framed the door.

“Drinking.”

“I see that.”

“Would you like a drink?” A gratuitous impulse or perhaps a mechanical prompt in a situation like this.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

He shut his eyes, the bittersweet phrase like a punch in the gut: he’d said it to Katherine during their first breakfast together at the Garden House, and again after the cocktail party in Hong Kong, both occasions lush with memory. “Actually, I
would
mind,” he said, his voice suddenly crisp as he shoved himself upright from his lazy sprawl. “I’m sorry, Miss Ismay.” He smiled politely. “I’m too drunk to be good company. Although I appreciate your concern. It was a pleasure to meet you”—he dipped his head—“again. Have a pleasant evening.” He grabbed the bottle, pulled out the cork, and thought about offering an additional apology when she didn’t move. But he stared at her instead until she
did move because he had no intention of fucking her. Now or ever.

After a slow five count, she turned away.

Jesus, he thought glumly, watching the door shut on Miss Ismay; he couldn’t even accept a beautiful woman’s offer of sex. He was seriously fucked up. Then a highly unpleasant thought surfaced. There wasn’t a chance in hell Katherine was going without sex—not with her libido. And for a fraction of a second he thought about calling Tatiana back. But he didn’t want her; he wanted only Katherine—who could never get enough fucking, who was always ready, who was so incredibly responsive he had only to touch her and she was wet for him.

He swore under his breath, then out loud.

Christ, it was like going through withdrawal, his cravings so intense he couldn’t function normally. He was edgy, couldn’t sleep; he was drinking alone when he never did. At least he wasn’t hallucinating yet. Then he swore again. Katherine was on his mind constantly, her image stamped on his brain, and if that wasn’t hallucinating it was only a matter of interpretation.

He shoved the bottle away, then the glass.

An addiction could be overcome.

He’d dealt with worse problems in his life.

And it wasn’t as though he didn’t have countless women willing to spread their legs for him. A shame he felt no pleasure at the thought; not necessarily a rare feeling—that lack of pleasure in his life. But it was infinitely worse now after having climbed to the top of the mountain with Katherine and witnessed the great beauty of the world.

He probably shouldn’t have bolted; perhaps a less fucked-up person would have stayed.

But she’d left too.

So the riddles of the universe remained.

He absently glanced at the clock as though to confirm his location in time and space in the more prosaic world, then turned to the windows and registered brief surprise. It was completely dark. With a weary sigh, he reached for his phone, punched in a number, and spoke rapidly in French. “I’ll be down in ten minutes, Henri. No, I don’t think so. No, I’m not hungry. Just home, and then you’re free for the night.”

Pushing himself to his feet, he switched off the TVs, found his way to the door in the light from the windows facing the Quai d’Orsay, and checked the hallway in the event Miss Ismay hadn’t taken her dismissal to heart. He was grateful to find himself alone.

It would have been a huge effort to be courteous even for as long as it would take to get to the entrance doors downstairs. He wasn’t in the mood for polite conversation.