Knight's Mistress

by C. C. Gibbs

  He dominated the room. He was larger, younger, stronger, more handsome – but then he was all that with most everyone. In a group like the one around the table, she couldn’t say he was more expensively dressed, but he was certainly more beautifully dressed, his dark, double-breasted, Savile Row suit tailored to perfection. He was lounging back in his chair, assured, commanding, one hand resting on the table, his strong wrist and vintage Cartier aviator watch visible below his crisp white shirt cuff.

  She quickly looked away because all she could think about was how much she wanted him.

  When he finished his presentation, he opened the discussion to questions, his answers succinct and technologically astute. He was civil to the witless, courteous to the venal and was in the process of offering everyone a tour of the drill sites when Kate gasped.

  He and everyone else looked at her.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she murmured, and dropping her gaze, refocused on the picture on her laptop screen, her sudden paleness matching the ivory wool of her suit.

  But Dominic had seen the tears in her eyes when she’d looked up. Quickly shoving his hand into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone, glanced at the display. ‘Sorry, gentlemen, I have to take this call.’ He nodded at Max. ‘Max will reschedule the meeting.’ He scanned the men at the table, smiled tightly. ‘It’s the Pentagon, gentlemen. I can’t keep them waiting.’

  The moment the door closed on eight irate billionaires, Dominic dropped his phone, surged to his feet, closed the distance between himself and Kate and spun the laptop around.

  ‘Fuck.’ He dragged in air through his teeth, exhaled in a great rasp, kept his voice deliberately mild when he spoke. ‘It has nothing to do with you, with us. Nothing at all.’

  ‘I wish I hadn’t looked,’ she whispered. An email alert had come through while she was composing her idiotic list of demands and a window had popped up.

  And there it suddenly was: another glossy beauty like the Principessa, spreadeagled on the red lacquer bed in the bedroom of the Garden House – nude, blindfolded, intricately tied in some bizarre rope pattern, clearly aroused; two other splendidly naked women were stroking her body, one with a feather fan, the other with the trailing ends of a silk braided whip. The email read: Thought you might like to see the Christmas pictures.

  ‘Pictures’ plural – several more had been taken in what Kate recognized – by the floor – as Dominic’s tai chi studio. Clearly the room had other uses; various apparatuses were featured in the photos. All with women bound to them.

  ‘I hadn’t met you then. I’m sorry you saw those.’ He slowly exhaled. ‘That’s over now. I mean it. It was a distraction, nothing more – utterly meaningless.’ He wanted to grab her, crush her to him, tell her he was wrong then and she was now. But he knew better. He stopped himself by clenching his fingers so hard, his nails drew blood. ‘I’ll change my email address so they can’t reach me. Break off any contact. Jesus, don’t cry. Please.’

  She wouldn’t look at him. ‘I’m not crying,’ she said, hiccupy and defensive, tears running down her cheeks.

  Max stuck his head into the room, started to speak.

  ‘Out,’ Dominic barked.

  ‘I need a minute, Nick.’ Max’s voice was as abrasive as Dominic’s.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Dominic spat. ‘Can’t you see I’m busy?’

  ‘It’s important, Nick. Kate, would you mind?’

  She kept her head down. ‘Go,’ she hissed.

  ‘Don’t leave,’ Dominic whispered.

  She looked up then, her eyes chips of green ice. ‘Where the hell would I go?’

  He felt an instant calm; he had time. ‘I’ll be right back. And turn that damned thing off.’ He started to touch her, jerked his hand back. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

  ‘Let’s take this somewhere else,’ Dominic muttered as he entered the adjacent anteroom, glancing at the two wide-eyed secretaries who were new since he was here last. New or not, they’d heard whatever his angry colleagues had said.

  A few moments later, the two men were in an office with a view of the harbour, the door shut.

  ‘Say what you have to say,’ Dominic rapped out, wiping his palms with his handkerchief. ‘Make it brief.’

  ‘You’re the company, Nick. It doesn’t run without you. You don’t delegate or deputize anything major, there’s no board of directors. Knight Enterprises is your baby. And you just jeopardized a thirty billion dollar deal for a piece of ass … don’t scowl. You would have called it the same thing two weeks ago.’

  ‘But it’s not two weeks ago, this is different, so fucking different that I don’t care about thirty billion. He wanted to say how dare you question me? But Max was more than an employee, he was a friend. So Dominic got a grip on his temper, unclenched his jaw and kept his voice level. ‘Katherine makes me happy, Max, and I’d given up on the feeling. I know that sounds trite, but maybe you’d understand if I said she has the power to heal. As for taking time off, I’ve done that before. Climbing, skiing, sailing, trekking in the jungle. Almost dying in the jungles of Borneo. I was in the hospital for two weeks that time.’ He glanced at his lacerated palms, crumpled the handkerchief, shoved it in his pocket.

  ‘But you were still focused, Nick, on the phone right up until they wheeled you into surgery. And right after. Roscoe said you were even running things from your yacht that year you were sailing around the world. Not like now. Call it what you will –’ Max wasn’t buying the hearts and flowers bullshit after having watched Dominic with women the last five years, ‘ – you’re acting like some horny kid, willing to throw away everything for –‘ he lifted his chin in the direction of the conference room ‘– her.’

  ‘Her name’s Katherine,’ Dominic said in quiet rebuff.

  ‘I’m just saying. Think about it.’

  ‘I will, thank you. We lost Ricci, I assume. Anyone else?’

  ‘I’m not sure. You’re lucky this is such a lucrative deal. Maybe none of them will punt away a chance at billions.’

  Dominic smiled. ‘Good. Then it might not be such an expensive piece of ass after all. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some apologizing to do. A helluva lot of apologizing. Give me a week at least before you reschedule. Katherine is agitated,’ he grimaced, ‘and with good reason. I’m going to need a few days to calm her down.’

  CHAPTER 21

  An unmistakable pall lay over the evening, even though Dominic had abjectly apologized, Kate had politely accepted his apology and they’d dined in the turret room on An’s very best efforts. Seven courses, an appropriate wine for each course, two chocolate desserts for Kate and nothing but charming conversation from Dominic.

  She’d taken off her jacket and shoes, he his jacket and tie, his shirt was open at the neck, the sleeves rolled up. But a tension hummed beneath the casualness of the scene and the well-mannered conversation.

  After dinner, as they shared a priceless Napoleonic brandy, Dominic showed her the model of his rocket, offered her the short course in rocketry if she was interested.

  She was. Because she liked to see him so animated and engaged, she liked to watch him, his fine mouth, the electric blue of his eyes, his long, slender hands as he ran through the stages of lift-off, his broad-shouldered body as he leaned forward in his chair translating physics into simple terms.

  Without a speck of pride she loved him even if he was the most shameless, amoral person in the world. Even if he’d only bring her grief. And she wanted him to touch her so much, she felt faint with longing.

  ‘You’re tired,’ he suddenly said, sitting back, smiling at her. ‘I get carried away. You should have stopped me.’

  ‘I like to hear you talk.’ She didn’t mean for it to come out a whisper. Her face flushed.

  He understood. ‘May I touch you?’ He’d never asked that of a woman before, he’d never had to. When she didn’t answer, he said, ‘Forgive me, I shouldn’t have asked.’

  ‘I want more than just … sex. I want to know your th
oughts, your feelings, how you—’

  ‘I know. You can have whatever you want. Ask me and I’ll tell you.’

  ‘Can you give up all … that? The women, the—’

  ‘Yes, of course. I said I would. It’s not a problem.’

  She held out her hand, her eyes wet with unshed tears. ‘Hold me.’

  He was out of his chair in a flash, she was in his arms a second later and a second after that, he kissed her gently, in apology and gratitude.

  In joy.

  But much later that night, after they’d made love, after Kate had fallen asleep, gratified and content, Dominic lay awake – restless, something tight and urgent nudging the back of his brain, stealing his sleep.

  He finally left the bed, walked next door to his study and stood at the window, silhouetted against the glow of the city, his powerfully built gladiator’s body, tense, coiled for battle. The full moon was like a tangerine-coloured mirror in the sky, the brightly lit city laid out at his feet, the silence so complete that the vague premonition that had been hovering at the back of his mind like some prophetic bird of prey broke cover.

  Bleak and black and terrifying.

  He wasn’t surprised. Or not very surprised. Perhaps he’d always known the question lay ahead.

  Could he share his life?

  Had he ever?

  Even with Julia, he’d never let her into all the hidden rooms, the dark corners of his soul. Her death had come too soon; he’d never quite reached that deluded point before he’d been plunged back into the vast, anonymous world.

  A world that wasn’t tepid or grey or equivocal. It was black or white, yes or no, win or lose. It was the only world he’d ever known.

  And now he faced a different future – perhaps even children and real Christmases and acceptable emotions – nothing too raw or barbed or insulting. This brave new world had arrived after seven days, or eight depending how he counted the virginal hours and dislocating shock waves.

  And now he found himself close to panic, feeling as though he had a target on his back and someone was about to pull the trigger.

  He took a deep breath, exhaled, took another.

  Then he abruptly turned from the window, quietly walked back into the bedroom, picked up his cell phone from the bedside table, entered his dressing room and threw on some clothes.

  Dominic wasn’t in the bedroom when Kate woke in the morning. She was relieved. She had a letter to write and needed privacy. Sitting down at a small writing table set in front of one of the windows, she pulled out a sheet of monogrammed paper from a red leather tray, picked up an expensive pen from a red leather canister and began to pour out her heart to a man who might not even have a heart. Or if he did it was numbed by cold indifference. Or perhaps placed with loving care in his wife’s coffin. And what was left behind was an unblinking enigma of a man, ruthless, without borderlines, slippery as mist, beautiful, passionate, remote. And totally and irredeemably loveable.

  It took her some time to decide on a salutation. Personal? Impersonal? Oozing her life’s blood? She finally settled on something short and sweet and true.

  Dear Dominic,

  First, I want you to know that I love you. Right or wrong, deep down I do.

  But I can’t stay.

  If I did, you’d take over my life – even if you didn’t mean to. Or more likely, because you did mean to. I can’t lose myself completely – my will, my wits, my reason – because of you. Because of how you make me feel.

  It’s wonderful, beautiful, a hot-house fantasy come to life.

  But in the end, it’s madness. An exhausting, fighting back all the time over every trivial thing. I’d die a little each day if I stayed. I wouldn’t be the woman you want. And ultimately, you’d leave me anyway because that’s what you do. How’s that for cowardly? Knowing you, you’d stay and fight. I wish I were that brave. We both knew it was complicated. But you don’t give away anything; you’re mysterious and unattainable and selfishly, I want more.

  So, much as I adore you, I’m not the one to melt your frozen heart.

  She just signed her name because she’d already handed over her heart on the page. Sliding the letter into a monogrammed envelope, she sealed it, put it into her messenger bag and went downstairs to find Dominic. She’d wait to give it to him. She wanted a last breakfast with him … so she could fill her memory bank against her melancholy future. She didn’t kid herself that leaving him wouldn’t break her heart.

  Leo met her in the entrance to the breakfast room. ‘Good morning, Miss Hart.’

  ‘I’m looking for Dominic.’ She scanned the set table. ‘He hasn’t been down for breakfast? Is he in his office?’ The awkward pause should have been a clue, but she was so intent on her own revelation that she didn’t immediately take notice.

  ‘Dominic left Hong Kong early this morning, Miss Hart. He said you were welcome to stay here as long as you wish.’

  She suddenly felt faint, her ribcage was pressing all the air out of her lungs. ‘Is he coming … back?’

  ‘He didn’t say, Miss. Please’ – Leo quickly pulled up a chair – ‘sit for a moment.’

  She sat, took a deep breath, looked up. Leo’s face was expressionless, his gaze studiously blank, the perfect emissary. ‘When did Dominic leave?’ She wished she hadn’t sounded so plaintive.

  ‘Shortly after three. He left a plane at your disposal when and if you chose to go back to the States. May I get you something to drink?’ She was ashen. ‘Or some breakfast?’

  ‘Thank you, no. I’ll just sit for a moment.’

  He tactfully withdrew.

  It all made sense now, Kate sadly thought. Dominic had been incredibly tender last night, gentle, considerate, obliging her in all things, offering her pleasure in such full measure she felt as though she was lit from within, glowing with lust and love. He’d never once said, ‘No’, or ‘Wait’, or ‘Not just yet’. He’d given her everything she wanted, needed. Until she’d finally panted, ‘No, no more … I can’t.’

  And all the time he’d been making love, he’d been leaving her.

  Max’s phone call came through as Dominic’s plane was taxiing into Qatar for refuelling.

  ‘You made the right decision, Nick.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Dominic said curtly. ‘I’m in a fucking lousy mood.’

  ‘Are we still on for Paris next week?’

  ‘Of course. Reschedule yesterday’s meeting for next week in the Paris office. I’ll be staying at the apartment in Paris for the foreseeable future. See that Liv gets a cheque for the philharmonic. That’s it.’ Dominic ended the call, held up his empty glass, waited impatiently for the steward to refill it and once it was returned, drank down half the whisky in one long swallow. Then he leaned his head back on the seat, shut his eyes, swore, instantly opened them again.

  She was always there, in his brain, on his retinas, the taste of her on his tongue. He had no expectation of sleep in the coming weeks; if he shut his eyes she was smiling at him, tempting him, making him reckless, making him heedless of everything that mattered in his life. He’d been willing to jeopardize his company, or at least a good part of it, because of her. He’d almost gone off the deep end because of her. Missed meetings, pissed off people, hadn’t looked at his email in three days. Apologized more times than he’d ever apologized in his life. Fuck it.

  He wasn’t meant to have a normal life.

  He didn’t know what normal was.

  But denials and disclaimers aside, he took out his phone a hundred times between Hong Kong and Paris, pulled up two photos and stared at them, thinking each time he should stop punishing himself and delete them. But he never did.

  He’d taken a photo from the doorway of his bedroom before he left, wanting a memory of Katherine in his house, his bed.

  The second photo was a zoomed-in close-up, the detail so good he wanted to touch her each time he looked at it.

  Jesus Christ, life was complicated.

&nb
sp; And fucking miserable.

  Within the hour, Kate came back downstairs, carrying her overnight bag, and handed Leo the letter she’d written. ‘Please see that Dominic gets this. I think there’s a cab outside for me.’ She left Hong Kong soon after, having paid an outrageous price for a non-stop ticket to New York which was the closest she could get to Boston on short notice. She wouldn’t have flown on Dominic’s plane if the apocalypse was imminent and his plane was the last one on earth, after the shock of his leaving without so much as a goodbye. Or even a handshake. That forced her to smile, the thought of parting with a handshake after days of practically non-stop sex.

  And he’d been good for something other than sex too – the salary he’d paid her was enough to keep her in comfort for a year. She’d earned it; she had no compunction taking it. But she deliberately left everything else behind: the clothes, the jewels, the matching shoes in every colour of the rainbow, the lingerie, the sex toys he must buy in bulk.

  It wasn’t as though she hadn’t always known what kind of man he was. She’d gone in eyes wide open. He was never going to hand her his heart; she wasn’t sure he had one. And why should he commit to her when he could have any woman he wanted?

  It would be convenient if she could hate him for leaving her before she could leave him. It would be even more useful if she didn’t love him. But then, life wasn’t perfect; it sucked you in or threw a curve or stacked the deck when you were naively admiring its perfection. Or, in her case, ignoring reality with a man who could make you forget the entire world when he was making love to you.

  She fought back tears constantly on her journey home. Dominic was always in her thoughts, her memory, her pitifully beating heart. He was a constant presence, an unflagging fantasy, a forlorn desire. One could be practical about whether or not a relationship would work, but that didn’t mean your decision made you happy. Or even slightly happy. Or even in the same planet as happy.