Knight's Mistress Read online

  ‘Thank you,’ he said crisply, and punched in another number.

  A number that rang and rang and rang. Frowning, he dropped the phone on the table, picked up the folder and strode to the main bathroom in the four-thousand-square-foot suite. Twenty minutes later, showered, shaved and dressed, he was on the phone again. This time the call was answered and a man he’d dealt with many times before wished him a good morning in Mandarin.

  Dominic replied in the same language, and apologized for calling so early. He politely inquired about the man’s family, expressed interest when the man told him of his son’s imminent graduation from UCLA, offered help with a position if the boy wanted to stay in the States and gave him Max’s number. With the amenities dispatched, he quickly dictated a list of items he wanted. ‘I need them delivered immediately,’ he said. ‘Can you get someone out early this morning? Good. Excellent. No, not the garden retreat. Send everything to my house. Yes, that’s right – my house.’

  Dominic turned and saw Kate standing in the doorway. ‘Ah, you’re finished.’ Abruptly ending his call with his thumb, he smiled at her. ‘You look lovely, but then you always do’ – his brows flickered – ‘dressed or undressed. Is that Greta’s? I like the colour.’ Kate wore a simple, long-sleeved wool dress in a pale shade of lilac.

  ‘Who else’s would it be?’

  ‘I like the buttons down the front. Handy.’

  ‘I thought you might like that.’

  He smiled. ‘Do I detect a more accommodating stance on your wardrobe this morning?’

  ‘I’m not completely averse to being obliging.’

  ‘I like the sound of that word “obliging”.’

  ‘I wasn’t unobliging last night, was I?’

  ‘No, you were quite, shall we say, amenable. I expect your breasts are tender this morning.’

  ‘Perhaps a little. My nipples particularly. But this dress is lined in silk so it’s not so very uncomfortable.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I should apologize.’

  ‘Don’t. I could have said no.’

  And if she had, I would have stopped. ‘Just to be clear, you can always say no. It’s only a game.’

  She smiled. ‘A very pleasurable one – awesome in fact. Like everything about you.’ She made a small moue. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t be dressed yet.’ He wore dark slacks and a dove-grey V-neck sweater, the sleeves pushed up, his wet hair slicked back. He was barefoot.

  ‘I’m afraid we have to leave right after breakfast.’ He’d rearranged his schedule to allow him six days with Miss Hart and he had some pressing business matters to wind down this morning. ‘I wish we didn’t. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’

  ‘When?’

  What a charming little fretful pout. His cock twitched in recognition of Miss Hart’s insatiable appetite for sex. A quick glance at his watch; there should be time before Mrs Hawthorne arrived. ‘Say in two hours?’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling shyly.

  He smiled an altogether different smile. ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘Thank you again. I seem to be addicted – to constant orgasms, to the phenomenal bliss.’ Another smile. ‘I blame you.’

  ‘I willingly take responsibility. And I’m more than happy to take care of your every desire.’

  That simple promise simply stated shouldn’t make her body open in welcome but it did. Instantly. As if he’d flicked a switch and every shameless nerve breathlessly responded. She could feel the flutter of arousal in the pit of her stomach, the damp, melting heat, the small ache of longing.

  He gave her a knowing, half smile. ‘Are you getting wet?’

  She nodded, embarrassed and flustered. Not sure how to answer.

  He crooked his index finger. ‘Come. I can see your nipples swelling from here.’ His voice took on a cool briskness. ‘Come, Miss Hart. Now.’

  ‘Be nice,’ she whispered, struggling to maintain some independence against his rough authority.

  ‘Oblige me, Miss Hart,’ he said gently, in response to her small rebellion, ‘and I’ll unbutton that nice row of buttons on your dress and suck on your nipples. Would you like that?’

  With a satisfied smile, he watched her capitulate. And a few moments later, when she came to a stop before him, his voice was hushed. ‘Very obedient. I like that.’ He slid his fingers down the row of jewelled buttons on the bodice of her dress. ‘But then you want sex again, don’t you?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Not even an hour since you came last. We’re going to have to teach you some restraint.’

  ‘Don’t,’ she whispered.

  ‘Don’t what?’

  ‘Do this to me. Play this game with me.’

  Something in her voice gained his attention, her earnestness perhaps or maybe the wistfulness. Both rare in his world. He softly sighed. ‘I don’t mean to be difficult,’ he said, when in fact he had been, ‘but we have very little time. Our breakfast will be here in ten minutes.’

  ‘Postpone breakfast. Please, Dominic?’

  She’d not used his Christian name before. It startled him. Disarmed him. ‘If I do,’ he said, a smile beginning to warm his eyes, ‘you owe me.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ She dipped her head. ‘Anything.’

  His cock surged at the possibilities. But his tight schedule didn’t allow him to act on impulse. ‘I can’t postpone breakfast,’ he said, his voice subdued. ‘I have a dozen calls to make, people waiting to hear from me.’ Before I disappear for six days. ‘But I don’t have to open the door right away. How would that be?’ He slid his finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. ‘Would that do?’

  No, she wanted to say. But not yet lost to all reason, she nodded.

  Competent and perhaps more familiar with expeditious sex than most, he rapidly unbuttoned her bodice, and gently cupped her breasts in his hands. ‘A quick orgasm to take the edge off?’ With her eyes shut and her breathing rapid, he didn’t wait for an answer. Bending his head, he drew a nipple into his mouth.

  She gasped, went rigid.

  ‘Should I stop?’ he asked, raising his head. ‘I should,’ he said, after taking one look at her.

  ‘No, no, don’t.’ She met his gaze, exhaled slowly. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘We should wait until there’s more time, other options.’

  ‘Please, no, it doesn’t hurt that much.’

  Softly swearing, he swiftly moved to plan B, shoving her skirt up with his left hand. No panties. A pleasant surprise. His cock immediately took notice. A very short internal debate occupied his thoughts before he dismissed impractical considerations. They were pressed for time. His satisfaction would have to wait.

  Sliding his right hand between her legs, he slipped two fingers up her hot, slick sex with a technical flair that focused on her G-spot and heard a different kind of gasp. A good one. At which point, capable of working blindly, he let her skirt drop, deftly located the holy grail with his left index finger and knew this wouldn’t take long. Her engorged clit was hard as a baseball bat.

  As a matter of fact, Miss Hart probably would have broken the Guinness Book of Records for orgasms if one existed. He barely had time to slide in another finger before she climaxed like some wind-up sex doll. Seriously, she was going to kill him before the six days were over. Although fucking himself to death wasn’t a bad way to go.

  When her tremors ceased along with her soft moans, he withdrew his fingers, and grabbed two napkins from the table – one to wipe his fingers, the other to put between her legs. Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her, soothed and satisfied, to the table. Depositing her gently in a chair, he brushed her cheek with a kiss before seating himself to her right at the head of the table.

  Lounging back in his chair, he put his fingers to his nose, softly inhaled and smiled. Jasmine soap and Miss Hart’s fragrant scent, redolent of horniness and lust. Pouring himself a glass of water from a bottle on the table, he dipped his fingers in it, wiped them with a napkin and fondly regarded the flushed, over-sexed beaut
y who was going to amuse him for the next six days. He expected she’d give him a great deal of pleasure – once he’d cleared the press of events from his calendar. One of which, was getting out of here. He glanced at his watch. ‘Five minutes before breakfast, Miss Hart,’ he softly warned.

  Eyes shut, her head thrown back, she nodded.

  Her dress was still unbuttoned, her full breasts attractively framed by lilac wool, her soft, pale flesh a lush counterpoint to the pastel fabric, the amethyst buttons a glittering flourish to the succulent display. He’d have to thank Greta again for so quickly assembling a wardrobe. And Miss Hart for so picturesquely showcasing Greta’s designs. He was tempted to take a photo but neither he nor Miss Hart could afford such carelessness. A shame. She was definitely a tantalizing sight.

  A brisk knock on the door curtailed his scrutiny.

  ‘Button up, Miss Hart,’ he said briskly, coming to his feet. ‘The servers are here. I don’t want them ogling my tits,’ he added only half in jest.

  He was suddenly looking into snappish green eyes.

  ‘They’re my tits.’

  He smiled. ‘We’ll have to see about that. Five minutes ago, you promised me anything. Those might be on my list.’ His eyes took on a quixotic, edgy look for a moment. ‘Button up,’ he said curtly, disturbed on so many levels by Miss Hart’s capacity to fuck up his life and schedule. Then he walked away.

  Kate’s fingers were shaking as she buttoned the front of her dress, and it wasn’t from fear.

  A moment later, Dominic opened the suite door and stepped aside to let in three servers pushing large silver-domed carts. ‘Put everything on the table,’ he said in a colloquial Chinese, his accent pure Hong Kong. ‘We’ll manage after that. The lady’s not feeling well, so if you’d work quickly, I’d appreciate it.’

  Following them in, he stood like a stern sentry at the back of Kate’s chair while they laid out the food. Then accompanying them back to the door, he tipped them generously and returned to the table. Taking his seat, he reached for the coffee pot, nodded at Kate’s buttons and smiled. ‘Thank you. Very modest.’ He picked up the chased silver coffee pot. ‘Coffee, right? Black?’

  ‘Yes, please. You intimidated those men.’

  ‘I doubt it. I just told them I was in a hurry.’ He poured them both a cup of coffee, slid Kate’s towards her, added milk and sugar to his, and waved at the array of food. ‘Bacon sandwiches, as ordered, Miss Hart. And the fruit in Asia is excellent.’

  ‘I don’t need instructions. I eat fruit.’

  ‘Good.’ He passed the plate of sandwiches to Kate. ‘Did you take your pill?’

  She set down the plate. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Your birth control pill.’ He was piling herbed scrambled eggs on his plate. ‘Did you take it? It’s a simple question.’

  ‘You’re over-stepping. That’s my simple answer. It’s none of your business.’

  ‘Actually, it is at the moment.’ He set down the platter of eggs and reached for a colourful aspic of salmon that could have passed for artwork.

  ‘I see. Would you like to take charge of them for me? Is that one of your countless rules and directives? Would you like to know when I take a pill for a headache too or what kind of shampoo I use in the shower or whether I put my shoes on my left foot or my right foot first?’

  He looked up, his hand momentarily arrested mid-air, as he calmly waited for her to finish. ‘You forgot to take it, I gather.’ Dropping his hand, he drew the plate of salmon closer.

  ‘I might have taken it.’

  ‘Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’ He shot her a look. ‘I came in you a dozen times last night. It might be a good idea not to skip one.’ He sliced off a portion of salmon with a fish fork.

  ‘A good idea for you, you mean,’ she muttered.

  The fish fork hit the platter with a clang and he turned to her, his expression incredulous. ‘You’re not actually telling me you want a child, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  He softly exhaled, bit back the vulgarity on his tongue and kept his voice level. ‘Then I don’t see why we’re fighting. I want you to take it, you want to take it. Simple.’

  ‘I just don’t like orders.’

  ‘No shit.’ He gave her a vicious look. ‘Keep it up, Miss Hart, and you might get the spanking you deserve.’

  ‘Promises, promises,’ she purred, derisive and mocking.

  She could practically see the switch click on in his brain.

  ‘I didn’t mean it,’ she quickly said. ‘I didn’t. Don’t even think it.’

  ‘Then don’t tempt me.’ He stood so abruptly she flinched. ‘Relax. I haven’t spanked a woman in a long time. I’m just going to get your birth control pills.’

  ‘You don’t know where they are.’

  ‘I’ll find them,’ he said, flatly. ‘Eat your breakfast.’

  He came back five minutes later with the case in hand. Returning to his seat, he opened the container, took out a pill, handed it to her and slipped the blue plastic pod into his trouser pocket.

  ‘I didn’t say you could do that.’

  ‘Trust me. I’m more responsible.’ He jabbed his finger at the pill in her hand. ‘Take it.’

  ‘That sounds like an “or else”.’

  ‘You’re catching on, Miss Hart. Now take the fucking pill.’

  There were fights you could win and those you couldn’t. She took the pill.

  ‘Thank you. I appreciate your understanding.’

  His voice was well-mannered and gracious, his smile couldn’t be improved on for boyish charm and when he softly added, ‘I don’t want you anxious about anything afterwards, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re right.’ He was, of course. And truthfully, she had forgotten. ‘I shouldn’t be so temperamental,’ she murmured. ‘But I’m having trouble with all your orders.’

  He wasn’t about to plunge into another argument about how she responded to his orders last night with a wild intensity that was pure anarchy and incredibly beautiful. How she knocked him for a loop and fucked with his head in ways he’d never felt before. Instead, he cleared his throat, a muscle at the back of his jaw jumped, then he spoke in a voice that was quiet and cool. ‘I know my shortcomings. As you’ve mentioned, control freak, is one of them. Why don’t I try to be better. Would that help?’

  Jesus, he could melt her heart with that polished charm. She wasn’t foolish enough to accept it completely at face value. But it was nice of him to try. ‘I’ll be less confrontational as well. Nana always said I should mind my manners. As you see, I haven’t listened very well.’

  ‘It’s one of your many charms. Don’t worry about it. I can hold my own in a fight.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘The understatement of the century. I’ll never forget those two grown men collapsing in their chairs in Singapore.’

  ‘Speaking of Nana, have you called your grandmother lately?’ he asked, preferring some other subject, grateful to be beyond personal issues he’d rather not think about.

  ‘I already texted her this morning.’

  ‘You should talk to her.’ He checked his watch. ‘It’s two o’clock her time.’

  ‘And say what? I’m sleeping with the boss? I’d rather not.’

  ‘Tell her you’re busy working. Tell her you went for dinner with some business colleagues in Hong Kong. Tell her you have a nice view from your hotel room.’ He lifted one brow. ‘Do you want me to write it down? You haven’t talked to her for two days.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  Since he didn’t want to start another fight, he said, ‘Just a guess.’

  Kate sighed. ‘Fine, I’ll call her.’

  ‘There, that wasn’t so hard.’

  ‘Jesus, you can be troublesome.’

  ‘Speaking of troublesome, I recall a young lady who had to come even though we were really pressed for time.’

  She threw her hands up. ‘You win.’ She grinned. ‘And I thank you from the
bottom of my heart for coming to my assistance.’

  His smile was genuine this time, all roguish grace and charm. ‘Anytime, Miss Hart. We’re here to please. Now be a good girl and eat your breakfast because we have to be at the house by ten thirty. I have an appointment.’ There was no point in telling her with whom. Time enough for that at ten twenty-nine when she had less opportunity to throw a tantrum.

  CHAPTER 12

  Ten-foot-high ornate wrought iron gates with the original escutcheons still in place slowly rolled open as their car approached and what could only be called an estate was unveiled. Manicured lawns left and right, the occasional border garden, ancient trees lining the drive, in the distance a huge Victorian mansion cum palace in grey stone.

  Kate’s eyes were wide. ‘Wow. I’m impressed.’ The mansion stood at the end of a long drive, three storeys of bays, wings, loggias, miles of windows and, as advertised, a soaring turret complete with a crenellated battlement.

  ‘It’s typical Victorian overkill,’ Dominic said of the eclectic mishmash of architectural styles. ‘But I like it.’ He could have been saying ‘hold the mayo’, so unaffected was his tone.

  ‘Palo Alto and this. You don’t like modern, do you?’

  ‘I prefer a house with a past. It reminds me of all those who lived before me. That life’s short. And overweening hubris is for fools.’ He turned to her with a smile. ‘So that makes me pretty conservative when it comes to business decisions.’

  She snorted. ‘Like your space rocket? Your pet project takes up five pages in the Knight Enterprises’ prospectus.’

  He shrugged. ‘Someone has to pay for exploration. And there’s always financial rewards eventually.’ He gave her a teasing look. ‘You’ve heard of Columbus?’

  ‘And your rocket’s just as dicey a gamble.’

  ‘Perhaps. Or a gamble I might win. Are you interested in rockets?’

  ‘I should say yes, with that gleam of excitement in your eyes, but I know next to nothing about rockets.’

  Her honesty always surprised him. Most women would have feigned interest. ‘If you like I could run through the fundamentals for you some time.’