Knight's Mistress (19 page)

He suddenly went silent and she vowed not to bring up his mother again. It wasn’t a topic that brought a smile to his face. Nor was she going to ask any questions about his wife after that curt conversation between mother and son. Even though she’d really, really like to. But just because she’d had sex with Dominic Knight didn’t make them tell-me-your-deepest-feelings friends. In fact, it didn’t make them friends at all.

She was available, that’s all. Dominic Knight’s favourite kind of woman.

So she remained silent on their passage down a long hallway brightly carpeted in a red oriental rug, past dozens of gold-framed seascapes lining the cream brocade walls
that reminded her of the yachting photos in the Palo Alto office. Obviously, he had a passion for the sea.

When they reached the end of the hall, Dominic opened a heavy oak door, waved her in, shut the door behind him and locked it. ‘Don’t be alarmed. I just don’t want’ – he blew out a breath – ‘any company.’

‘Are there really papers from Max?’

It took him a moment to respond. ‘No – I had to say something. We’ll go somewhere else after lunch. Please, sit down. I could have coffee brought in if you’d like,’ he said, his courtesy automatic despite his air of distraction.

‘I’m fine. I’ll just enjoy the view,’ she said, moving towards a bank of French doors that offered another spectacular ocean vista. The house was on a headland with sweeping sight lines.

A hushed silence descended.

Her back to the huge room, she heard him drop into one of the leather chairs in a silken whoosh of air, heard his soft sigh and a muted expletive.

‘I apologize for my mother,’ he said into the stillness. ‘And knowing her, I’ll apologize again after lunch.’

Kate turned and smiled faintly. ‘I don’t think she likes me.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I don’t think she likes me either.’ He grimaced, then rose from his chair and strode to a liquor table behind his desk. ‘Would you like a drink?’ he said over his shoulder.

‘It’s a little early for me.’

His laugh was acrid. ‘It’s never too early when you’re dealing with my mother.’

‘Do we have to do lunch?’

He turned to face her, a bottle in one hand, a glass in the other. ‘We only have to last an hour. I’ll have Leo come in with some emergency. I try not to openly war with my mother. Long story. I won’t bore you with the details.’ He held up the bottle. ‘Sure?’

She grinned. ‘It might not be wise. You know how mouthy I can be. I wouldn’t want to shock your mother.’

A little dip of his head, a sideways glance. ‘I might pay to see that.’

‘Don’t tempt me. You’ve never seen Nana in action. I’ve learned from a pro.’

His laugh this time was warm with humour. ‘You’re a cheeky little thing. Come.’ He set down the bottle. ‘I’ll show you my first editions.’

‘Are you trying to seduce me? Etchings, first editions?’

He lifted his glass to her and gave her a look that fired up all her erogenous zones. ‘Sorry. Not until she leaves.’

But his mother left late for her shopping, almost too late. Generally nerveless, Dominic was restive. With an apology to Kate, he booted up his computer and redirected his focus on his emails, dealing exclusively with those that didn’t require more than a yes or no answer. With his thoughts in tumult, he needed a simple task. Glancing at his watch, he realized Mrs Hawthorne would arrive soon and he sighed. The prospect of Mrs Hawthorne
meeting his mother was particularly unnerving. Not for him. He couldn’t care less what anyone thought, including his mother. But Miss Hart’s reputation was another matter entirely. He felt responsible.

A knock on the door and Leo’s announcement, ‘She’s gone,’ brought a smile to Dominic’s face. He called out his thanks, then glanced at the clock. Ten twenty. Just under the wire.

Moving from behind his desk, he walked towards Kate who was seated by the windows, engrossed in one of his first editions.

Looking up at the soft creak of leather as he’d come to his feet, she watched him cross the room with lithe, athletic grace and thought him too beautiful for his own good. Or more to the point, hers. He was stunningly handsome and blatantly male: hard, lean, disturbingly powerful in every sense of the word, physically, professionally, sexually – his virility like a living force. ‘May the force be with you’ wasn’t just a line from a movie when it came to Dominic Knight’s unrestrained libido. He was like a fucking machine that never wound down. Oh, God, she was starting to get wet just thinking about last night.

‘I have a request,’ he said, stopping before her.

She smiled. ‘I think I have the same one.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s something else.’ His voice was restrained, his gaze too cool.

‘That sounds ominous.’

‘No, not at all.’ A very faint smile. ‘It’s just a small challenge.’

‘If it’s about your mother, I won’t embarrass you. I’ll behave.’

‘No, it has nothing to do with my mother. She’s a problem, but nothing to concern us.’

His voice was softly dismissive when he spoke of his mother, the same tone he’d used in Singapore before he scared the shit out of those men. And glory, hallelujah, he’d said ‘us’.
So how bad could it be?
‘Well, tell me about this request. I’m listening.’

He softly exhaled. ‘Promise to hear me out before you get all indignant.’

She groaned, the ache between her legs gaining strength. ‘Don’t say you’re not going to keep your promise. You said two hours and—’

‘God, no. Of course I’ll keep my promise. But first I want you to do something for me.’

Her gaze narrowed. ‘I don’t want to be whipped.’

‘Christ, I wish you’d never seen that website.’

‘Don’t forget, I saw the Amsterdam show too.’

‘That wasn’t
my
idea.’ He glanced at his wristwatch and, pressed for time, hoped he was choosing the right words. ‘What I’m asking of you is perfectly innocuous.’

‘Then why all the build-up?’

A roll of his eyes. ‘Because you fly off the handle over nothing.’

‘Your nothing and my nothing are usually different,’
she replied with a lift of her brows. ‘So what’s this
innocuous
request?’

It took him a fraction of a second to answer, a surprise for a man who could strong-arm an opponent without a qualm. ‘First, I’d really like you to do this for me. And second, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. I have someone coming over with some lingerie for you.’

She groaned. ‘Really? Is this one of your stupid rules?’

‘No. But Mrs Hawthorne comes highly recommended. You might like some of her lingerie. And if you do this for me, I’ll do something for you in return. Just tell me what you want.’ He held up a finger. ‘So long as it doesn’t interfere with our six days.’

‘You’re crazy.’

A roguish smile. ‘Define crazy.’

‘All this dressing me up stuff,’ she muttered. ‘I wonder what a therapist would say about that?’

‘Maybe he’ – Dominic smiled – ‘or
she
would tell you to relax. It’s just a gift.’

‘A really expensive one,’ she grumbled.

‘Not for me.’

‘So this is like a pack of gum for you.’

‘Pretty much.’

She slid down in her chair, looked up at him, then said, ‘It’s not some weird lingerie, is it?’

‘No, it’s perfectly normal lingerie. Tell me what you want to do this for me. I have vast resources at my disposal. There isn’t much I can’t give you.’

‘Jesus, you don’t have to buy me. In fact, the whole notion pisses me off. What the hell’s wrong with you?’

‘My detractors have a long list. My mother does too, although I’m less inclined to give credence to hers. Look, I’m sorry if I offended you.’

‘That’s a really sweet smile. Does it always work?’

He laughed. ‘Barring a couple family members, yes, always.’

‘For your information it still does. But I don’t need gifts to stay here. Clear?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he murmured. ‘Perfectly clear. Does that mean you’ll stay if I give you something?’ he said with a twitch of a smile.

A sulky scowl. ‘You never give up, do you?’

‘Not usually, no.’

‘And I’m locked in here,’ she said, her scowl deepening.

‘You’re not and you know it.’ He gestured behind him. ‘The key’s in the door.’

‘So I could leave.’

‘Of course.’ A slow drawl, an easy smile. ‘So long as you go back to the hotel. Six days, Miss Hart. They’re not going away.’

‘Oh fine, then.’ Her sulky look gave way to a speculative squint as she weighed her options. Perhaps the most pleasing option was standing before her in all his scorching sexiness. That his trouser fly was at eye level and it was clear he preferred his dick on the left, may have affected her decision. ‘You’re sure now, that it’s average, everyday lingerie.’

His smile could have brought a corpse back to life. ‘I’m sure,’ he said, all cool and composed.

She sighed, then sighed again. ‘Oh, God … you’re so annoying.’
And don’t forget kick-ass hot
, her could-we-please-get-laid little voice pointed out.

‘It shouldn’t take long,’ Dominic offered, gracious and conciliatory. ‘A half hour, I’d guess.’

‘You’re not going to be there, are you? Because that would be
fucking
embarrassing.’

‘I won’t be there. Tell me what you want in order to do this for me. I insist.’

She grimaced. ‘Don’t say
insist
.’

‘I apologize. I would be
grateful
if you told me what you wanted.’

She suddenly grinned. ‘God damn, are you kissing my ass?’

‘Don’t push your luck, Miss Hart.’

But he looked amused – and handsome as sin and so awesomely sexy standing there that maybe pushing her luck wouldn’t be a whole lot of fun. Her belly did a little flutter of anticipation just thinking about it. ‘OK, give me a ride on one of those fantastic Chinese junks and we’re even,’ she said, refusing to ask for
things
.

‘Done. I have one. We’ll go for a sail tonight. That’s not enough though. Ask for something else.’ In his world, everything had a large price tag.

She gave him a look from under her lashes. ‘You understand I came here for sex.’

‘Absolutely. There’s no question in my mind.’

‘OK, then. A ride on your boat and sex.’

This wasn’t the time to explain the difference between his full-rigged, beautifully restored nineteenth-century sailing vessel and a boat. Nor was it worth further argument about degrees of gift-giving. ‘You have yourself a deal, Miss Hart,’ he warmly said. Leaning forward, he took the book from her lap, set it on a nearby table and pulled her to her feet. ‘I’ll show you my dressing room.’

By the time he returned downstairs, Mrs Hawthorne had been ushered into the green sitting room, her car had been emptied of boxes and she was having a cup of tea.

‘Thank you for coming on such short notice,’ Dominic said, as he walked into the large reception room with sweeping views of the harbour. The formal furniture was original to the house, gilded, brocaded, some fine eighteenth-century pieces. Dominic had brought in a decorator to temper the ceremonial pomp and Mrs Hawthorne was seated on one of the more comfortable sofas. ‘Leo tells me everything was unloaded. The boxes are being taken upstairs. You didn’t have any trouble finding the place?’

‘No. None at all.’

‘I’m Dominic Knight,’ he said, taking a seat opposite her. He smiled at the well-dressed, slender woman of indeterminate age. ‘Call me Dominic, please.’

‘Elizabeth, then,’ she said with an answering smile, surprised to find him so young and informally dressed.
He didn’t conform to the image of a wealthy oligarch in his sweater and slacks, although the clothes were expensive, as were his custom glove-leather shoes. His dark hair was slightly long and in disarray, as though he’d recently run his hands through it. And he was much more start-lingly handsome in person than in his photographs – his bone structure superb. The kind of arrestingly beautiful man that in her younger days would have generated thoughts of a gratifying afternoon of sex in some discreet hotel room.

He leaned forwards slightly, curtailing her illicit thoughts.

‘I wanted to speak to you first,’ he said, resting his elbows on the oatmeal linen of the chair arms, his voice courteous and soft-spoken. ‘The lady you will be fitting is – ah’ – he briefly opened his palms in a considering gesture – ‘let’s say,
independent
in nature. So I wanted to warn you that a certain amount of tact might be required.’ He dipped his head faintly. ‘I apologize in advance.’

‘You needn’t concern yourself, Mr Knight.’ She found it difficult to address him casually despite his suggestion. ‘Tact is a requisite in my business. You might even say the essence of my business.’

She may or may not have smiled, he wasn’t certain. Her mouth barely moved. But then she added, ‘Telling a woman who’s thirty pounds overweight that she might like to consider a sturdier undergarment requires a great deal of tact.’

His smile was instant, like a ray of sunshine. ‘Thank you. I’m relieved. My friend and I had a minor disagreement about the suitability of this situation, event, occasion – whatever best describes it. She was concerned that some of the – er – garments might be … I believe her word was “weird”. I assured her they should be perfectly normal lingerie. I hope that’s the case.’

‘Yes, of course. My stock is of the finest quality, most of it hand-made, some one-of-a-kind. I’m sure she’ll be pleased.’

He came to his feet. ‘We can only hope. If you
should
need my help,’ he said, his tone deliberately bland, ‘I’ll be next door in my study. It’s the first door on your left as you leave the bedroom.’

In the course of their journey up the broad staircase and down the hushed upper hall, Dominic conversed pleasantly about local matters, asking Mrs Hawthorne about Hong Kong’s massive rebuilding projects, whether she found the increased traffic congestion a deterrent to her business, if she was often called from her shop for fittings.

She found him very American, casual in speech and manner, cordial and friendly, unlike most men of great fortune when dealing with a small business owner. She wondered what this woman found to resent in such an attractive man.