Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (5 page)

“How did you know I was meeting with Rodney
Doyle?”

“Rebecca filled me in on what you’re up against
before you arrived. You’re not the first Washington PR staffer
who’s been in your position, and you won’t be the last. In order
for Rodney to help you, you need to distinguish yourself. Make him
want
to help you. And trust me, from what I understand,
there’s only
one
way to do that.”

She didn’t need to tell me what. “I’ve figured as
much,” I said. “That’s why I needed the sexy dress, after all.”

“That’s not all you needed, Jasmine.”Rhonda took my
hand and squeezed it. “When you walked in here, you were a walking,
talking ball of repressed sexual tension. That was no way for you
to go off to seduce the most powerful press editor in town and then
try manipulating him into helping save your career. You needed to
get yourself into a—shall we say—more
open
position.
Otherwise, you wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about how Rodney
Doyle works for someone who sells cocktail dresses for a living,” I
said. “I mean that in the nicest way possible, of course.”

“Let’s just say that I’ve helped dress many ladies
on their way to the top of the Washington power structure, at leave
it at that.” Rhonda helped me into my crumpled blazer. As she did,
I was stunned to notice a diamond wedding set on the ring finger of
her left hand.

“You’re
married?
To a
man?”

“Of course, dear. Happily. For twenty-eight years,
in fact.”

Now I was completely taken aback. “Does your husband
know how you—ahem—
service
your customers?”

Rhonda smiled. “My husband and I have no secrets
from one another. We’re products of the wide-open seventies, and we
enjoy sexual experimentation whenever and wherever possible. It
really saddens us that the younger generation isn’t as free now as
we were at that age.”

“Wow,” I said. “That’s—that’s pretty wild.”

Rhonda gave me a knowing smile. “You have no
idea.”

I finished gathering up my things and prepared to be
on my way. “Well, umm, thanks and everything,” I stammered, not at
all sure how to leave things with Rhonda. I’d never had a one-off
lesbian experience before, and I wasn’t quite sure what the proper
etiquette was.

“You’re most welcome, Jasmine. Any time.” She placed
a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I hope I was able to help you and
your career in some small way. And if you ever need anything
else—anything at all—you know where to find me. I’m here from nine
until four-thirty, Monday through Friday.”

With that, I was off to the shoe department, in
search of some fuck-me red stilettos to match my fuck-me red
dress.

Today was ending up a very interesting day
indeed.

Chapter
4

I arrived at the super-posh Mandarin Oriental Hotel
at eight sharp. After finishing things up at Nordstrom I’d treated
myself to a facial and new hairstyle at my favorite salon, then
made it home with just enough time to freshen up and pour myself
into my brand-new fuck-me red dress and matching stilettos. I
decided to take full advantage of the dewy, musky condition Rhonda
had left my body in after her extra-special clit treatment by not
showering.

I turned heads left and right as soon as I stepped
past the hotel doorman. I didn’t know if it was the fuck-me dress
and heels, or the fact that a veritable cloud of musky sex-scent
hung over me like a thick London fog. It was probably a combination
of both. At any rate, I was right and ready to launch my seduction
project.

I paused for a moment in the ladies’ room to check
my makeup and hair. While I reapplied lip gloss and mascara, I
thought over the day’s events. Just this morning, I was a
strait-laced, frumpy, all-business (and
successful
)
Washington PR staffer working for a popular senator. A mere eight
hours later, I was a desperate, dressed-to-kill sexpot with a train
wreck of a PR career planning to seduce the most powerful press
editor in Washington. I could hardly believe it.

What a difference a day makes.

I snapped my compact shut and stepped back out into
the hotel lobby. CityZen Restaurant was just a few steps away, but
I took my time getting there. I didn’t want to risk being the first
to arrive. Keeping Rodney Doyle waiting would just make my plan for
seduction that much easier. It would give me the opportunity to
make a grand entrance, to milk my brand-new, red-hot fuck-me look
for everything that it was worth.

It would also give me some time to figure out what
the hell I was supposed to be doing, because I honestly had no
idea.

My encounter with Rhonda back at Nordstrom’s had
done quite a bit to open me up, but even the sweet juices that
Rhonda had gotten flowing with her expert fingers were a drop in
the bucket compared to the gallons and gallons of nectar my pussy
had failed to secrete during my two years-plus of total celibacy.
It had been so long since I’d done the horizontal bop that I could
hardly remember what having sex with penises felt like. Hell, I
barely remembered what penises
looked
like. If it hadn’t
been for Rhonda’s little introduction to lesbianism earlier in the
day, I’d have practically qualified for Born-Again Virgin
status.

Given all that, how could I possibly seduce the
sexiest man in Washington? The very notion of me—the
least
sexually-adept, unmarried PR staffer on the Hill—using sex to pull
off a reversal of fortune in the midst of the worst Congressional
scandal of the past twenty years was ridiculous.

I was doomed to failure before I’d even begun.

Still, it wasn’t as if I had anything to lose at
that point. My boss was still languishing in jail, the press was
moving in for the kill, and I was about three seconds away from
total career destruction. It was either this, or pack up my bags
and head back to my parents’ wheat farm in North Dakota.

I decided then and there to give it my best
shot.

I strutted over to the CityZen entrance, doing my
best to ooze sensuality from every pore
.
The imposing,
impeccably uniformed
maître’d
blocked the entrance.

“Do you have a reservation?” he barked.

“Hello. I’m Jasmine Rand. I’m here to meet Rodney
Doyle at eight.”

The snooty
maître’d
scanned his register.
“Hmm. I don’t see either name here.”

I tried not to panic. “What about
The Beltway
Times?
Is there a reservation under that?”

“I’m afraid not.”

I bit my lip, smearing my cherry-flavor lip gloss.
“Ummm, okay—what about Senator Grayle? Any listing under that?”

The
maître’d
clucked. “I certainly hope not.
CityZen is a respectable restaurant, and as such, we don’t allow
anyone accused of sex crimes inside.”

Okay, so maybe mentioning my boss was a bad move. In
desperation, I made one last attempt to save face. “Would it be all
right if I just took a quick peek inside the dining room to see if
my dinner partner is here?”

The
maître’d
looked down his aquiline nose at
me. “I’m afraid that’s against our policy. But I can let you sit at
the bar if you like. This way, please.”

The
maître’d
escorted me to the bar. I
noticed he took care to keep his distance. I didn’t know if that
was in deference to the cloud of sex musk that surrounded me, or
just snobbery. “Wait here,” he sneered, pointing to an empty
barstool. “I’ll see if anyone in the dining room is waiting for a
guest.”

I had just enough time to order a Cosmopolitan (the
sexiest-looking drink I knew of) before the
maître’d
reappeared. “Apparently there
is
someone waiting for you,”
he said, obviously disappointed. “Right this way.”

I followed the uniformed snob into the dining room,
where Rodney Doyle was seated at a secluded table for two in the
farthest corner of the dining room. He was dressed in a different
custom-tailored suit than he’d had on that afternoon, and he’d
loosened his collar and removed his tie. But he looked just as
gorgeous, if not more so. He was nursing a highball of what I
figured was probably the most expensive scotch the restaurant had
to offer.

“Your dinner partner, sir,” the
maître’d
chirped. He gave me yet another look of disapproval and
disappeared.

“Ah. I see you finally made it,” Rodney said,
checking his watch. I was fifteen minutes late for our appointment,
no thanks to him. “I’m sorry if the
maître’d
gave you any
trouble.”

I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “He
didn’t seem to like me very much.”

“He doesn’t seem to like anybody. Don’t take it
personally.” Rodney finished his drink and motioned to the chair
across from him, but not before he made a point to give me a
self-satisfied smirk. “Please, sit, Ms. Rand.”

I did. And try as I might to remain civil, it was
getting hard for me to ignore the fact that I’d been deliberately
set up. “You kept our names off the register on purpose to
embarrass me, didn’t you?”

Rodney chuckled. “I
did
keep our names off
the register, but not to embarrass you per se. I did it to keep
from embarrassing myself. I can hardly make it known publicly that
I’m having a romantic dinner alone with Senator Grayle’s PR
staffer. If word got out, it would be all over the tabloids
tomorrow. The tabloids that I
don’t
edit, that is. There are
still a few of them left.”

“So you find
me
embarrassing,” I seethed.
“Well, that’s even better.”

Rodney held up his hand. “Don’t take things the
wrong way. Truth be told, I prefer to remain
incognito
whenever and wherever possible, so I always use an alias when I’m
dining in restaurants or staying in hotels. I tend to use the names
of my favorite literary characters when I’m out and about.”

“I see,” I said, gingerly sipping my Cosmo. “And
who, pray tell, are you today?”

“Today, I’m David Copperfield,” Rodney replied.
“Tomorrow, I plan to be Nicholas Nickleby.”

“So you’re a Dickens fan.”

“I’m a fan of all good books,” Rodney said. “I know
it might be hard for you to believe since I’m a sleazy tabloid
proprietor, but I am an ardent admirer of excellent
literature.”

My eyebrows raised slightly. “I suppose everyone
needs a hobby.”

“You’re not a fan of books yourself, I take it?”
Rodney seemed disappointed.

“It’s not that,” I said, trying to recover. “I like
to read. That is, I used to. I just don’t have time for it anymore,
with my career and whatnot.”

Rodney flagged the waiter for another round of
drinks and our dinner menus. “It seems to me that if things don’t
change for you career-wise very soon, you’ll have plenty of time to
read all the books you want.”

I didn’t answer. I just drained my Cosmo and hoped
the waiter hurried up with another.

“You know Ms. Rand—pardon me,
Jasmine
—sometimes what we think of in the short term as a
horrible crisis turns out to be a welcome opportunity,” Rodney
said, his tone softening quite a bit. I didn’t know if his relaxed
demeanor was from the liquor or out of genuine concern for me, but
somehow I doubted the latter was possible—at least this early in
the game. “You could always look at what’s happened with Grayle
that way. It would probably be healthiest for all involved if you
did.”

I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over
my chest. “I thought the purpose of this dinner meeting was for you
and I to discuss how you and your paper could help repair the
damage to Grayle’s public image, not give me personal career
advice.”

“I’m just looking out for you, Jasmine.”

I scoffed. “Somehow I find that hard to believe. You
don’t do anything unless there’s something in it for you. You said
so yourself. After all, this is Washington, not the Peace
Corps.”

Rodney fiddled with his napkin. “Normally, that
would be true. But I like you, Jasmine. I like you a lot. I don’t
usually take to people—especially women—right off the cuff the way
I’ve taken to you. I can’t quite explain why, but it seems I’m
smitten with you.”

Smitten?
Now that was a word I hadn’t heard
in a long time. And I’d hardly expected to hear it from the likes
of a womanizing barracuda like Rodney Doyle. “If this is your idea
of a cheap pickup line, I’m not biting.”

“Funny, I thought you and I had already agreed to
engage in a little amorous favor-exchange this afternoon. This
dinner was merely a formality.”

I felt bile rise in the back of my throat. “Now
you’re just toying with me.” I was furious. How could I allow this
man to bat me around with coy words like a plaything? I was better
than that. Here I was, dressed to kill, trying to seduce the
sexiest man in Washington—making my best effort to bend him to
my
own whim and will—and instead, Rodney was playing me like
an eight-track tape.
He
was calling all the shots, and
I
was failing miserably.

Still, I couldn’t help but be intrigued. Just
feeling Rodney’s gaze upon my body was enough to get my crotch
buzzing. “All right,” I said, delicately licking the tip of my
finger and running it along the top of my empty martini glass.
“Let’s just say, theoretically, that you and I decide to
become—ahem—intimately involved, preferably this evening. What
would you do for me in return?”

Rodney smiled. “Nothing.”

I choked. “What do you mean,
nothing?
”

Rodney reached across the table and took my hand in
his. “Jasmine, I already tried to tell you. My feelings for you
aren’t driven by mere lust. I’m quite taken with you. More so than
I’ve been towards any woman in a long time—perhaps ever. And as
such, it’s my plan to behave like a gentleman towards you, not as a
sleazy cad. And only a sleazy, slippery cad would use sex as a tool
in exchange for political favors.”