“Thank you.” Her cheeks turned a beautiful shade of pink, like the inside of a seashell. But, just as quickly, all color drained, and her lips pursed. Her hand went to her temple, and she massaged a small circle next to her scar.
“Are you feeling alright?” he asked. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, you didn’t. Just a little headache.”
“Give me your hand.” Jonathan tugged her even closer to him across the leather seat. Her bare thigh rested alongside his leg. She didn’t pull back at the connection. He pulled one of her slender, warm hands to his lap, palm up. He pressed his finger into the soft fleshy pad below her thumb.
“Acupressure,” he said.
Jonathan had learned how to stave off headaches arising during meetings and hearings. Popping a pill in front of colleagues would be a sign of weakness and used against him.
Christiana’s arm rested across his thigh. He stroked her delicate palm and then pulled on each finger. She took a sharp intake of breath as her delicate tendons stretched under his larger fingers. He tried to be gentle.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
Jonathan massaged her whole hand, kneading and rubbing until her fingers fell open, splayed out wide, fully receiving his touch.
He pulled her other hand across his leg, and her blue eyes opened. He held her eyes with his own as his hands engulfed both her wrists. The tightness around her mouth released. His eyes fell to his lap, where his index fingers and thumbs grasped her pale wrists. He rubbed his thumbs across the sensitive thin skin, and she shuddered. She likes having her hands held captive.
“I’d like to take you to dinner. This weekend.”
Christiana raised her head from the headrest and blinked. “You want to take me to dinner.” Her voice held astonishment.
“A gentleman never asks a beautiful woman for a Saturday and expects her to be free,” he said. “But, you’ll find out, I’m not much of a gentleman.” He released her hands. “I know a little place about an hour outside of Washington. The drive will give us a chance to talk. And I promise not to keep you out too late.”
“No, I—”
“No?”
“No, I mean, don’t worry about being late.”
Jonathan smiled. “I have an offer I’d like to discuss.”
Though he had sufficient discipline to pass on this woman if need be, he believed in helping people. He could at least show an interest in her life and help her better navigate the obviously overwhelming situation with her father and the brat socialite. Like a mentor, a voice whispered in his brain. The brain in his pants responded, yeah, right. Who are you kidding?
The car slowed as it pulled up outside her house.
“Feel better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The color had returned to her cheeks. Jonathan thought of how pink he could turn other parts of her anatomy. His groin ached.
Mark opened the door and offered his hand to help Christiana from the car.
“I’ve got this, Mark,” he said. The momentary blow of jealousy caused by the thought of Mark touching her startled him.
He eased himself from the car and placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her over the cracked and uneven concrete.
He laid a chaste kiss on the back of her hand. “Saturday night. I’ll pick you up at six.” He waited for her to unlock the front door and step inside before walking back to his car.
Jonathan slipped into the back seat and took a few deep breaths. Mark eased the car away from the curb, and the privacy screen lowered in a muffled whine.
“Where to, sir?”
“Home. The Oak’s not a good idea tonight.”
“Very good, sir.” The screen rose to separate them.
As they entered the parkway, the traffic sounds quieted. Jonathan’s daydreams took advantage of the renewed silence. Christiana proved irresistible, a delicious smorgasbord of opportunities for pleasure.
So why am I fighting this? She’s of legal age, a girl on the cusp of womanhood. How could I resist her? She’s catnip in a den of lions.
At the reception, he’d seen how the men gawked at her. There were a few in particular he definitely didn’t trust. Her response to his kiss showed how ripe she was for surrender to a Dominant will. If he was right about her submissive nature—and he hadn’t been wrong yet—he’d ensure it was his will.
8
Gas lamps illuminated the pine-wooded drive up to the exclusive Lodge at the Point restaurant. Jonathan said the food would be worth the hour drive from Washington. Christiana didn’t care. She would have driven to Texas to have dinner with him.
On the fifty-minute ride over, Christiana listened to him dictate legal language over the phone. It seemed his work never ended. She didn’t mind. She’d listen to him recite the periodic table so long as she could be close enough to take in his scent and the energy that seemed to radiate from his body.
For days she’d thought of nothing but the touch of his hand, kneading away her headache in his car. No guy before had ever sparked such hunger in her. She had trouble keeping her legs still. It was like she’d morphed into a trollop who wanted nothing more than to straddle Jonathan’s lap.
A valet hustled over to take custody of Jonathan’s keys while another helped Christiana step from his BMW convertible into the unseasonably cool air. Christiana was thankful he’d put the top up for the ride over—her dress was backless but for a few straps. She’d rooted through the recesses of her father’s closet earlier that day and found her mother’s favorite little black dress. She’d hoped he kept it since nothing hanging in her own closet seemed right.
Christiana stood next to Jonathan in his elegant charcoal grey suit and blue foulard tie that screamed old money and hoped she didn’t look like what she was—a girl wearing her mother’s outdated dress and pearls.
Jonathan placed his warm hand on her back and guided her up the limestone entranceway shrouded in shadows of massive evergreens. The maître d’ intercepted them at the door.
“Ah, Congressman, so good of you to join us this evening. Mademoiselle.” Her shoulders relaxed a little under the older man’s unforced courtesy.
Jonathan held her hand as they passed antique oils of pheasants in nature settings and foxhunting scenes hung on the faded wallpaper. She hoped he touched her often tonight. She hoped he’d do a lot of things tonight, like kiss her.
The maître d’ smiled as he pushed open an unmarked white door. They entered the cleanest, most elegant kitchen Christiana had ever seen. Fading sunlight streamed through a bay window over two long Carrera marble counters and bounced off twin stainless steel refrigerators. A bored-looking, lanky man swirled a spatula in a gigantic copper pot.
They stopped in a small alcove housing an intimate table set for two before a pale stone fireplace. “Mademoiselle.” The maître d’ pulled out her seat. Christiana settled into the antique farmhouse chair.
She’d entered a fairytale. She hoped she’d never wake up. If she did, she might go back to wondering why a man in his position, with his looks, who could have his pick of beauty queens and trendsetters, had chosen to dine with her.
Two servers materialized from behind the maître d’ and laid crisp, white linen squares in Christiana and Jonathan’s laps. She liked being on the other side of service for once.
It did seem strange they’d gone so far away, however. Christiana didn’t know if she should be afraid of such privacy or thrilled they were dining alone. She chewed the inside of her cheek as uncertainty tainted her previous happiness.
Jonathan leaned closer. “Anything wrong?”
“Are we hiding?”
Surprise crossed his face but then comprehension. He chuckled. “Christiana, the kitchen table is the most coveted seat in the house. People wait months for a chance to dine with the chef.”
“He’s joining us?”
His grin widened, and her face heated at her gaffe.
“I certainly hop
e not. I don’t think I’d be good at sharing you. Which is why I apologize for forcing you to share my work on the ride over,” he said. “I told the office to hold my calls. But tell that to a nervous aide who thinks every call from a constituent is Armageddon. I’m turning this off for the rest of the evening.” Jonathan tucked his cell phone in his inner jacket pocket.
A man in chef’s whites emerged from behind a screen and nearly ran to the table.
Jonathan rose to shake his hand. “Chef Georges, please meet my date, Miss Christiana Snow.” Christiana’s stomach backflipped at his words. He called me a date!
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Snow.” He held a hand across his middle and bowed. Then he clicked a small remote. Gas flames flickered around the ‘logs’ in the fireplace at their elbows.
Jonathan sat down and snapped his napkin back into place. “What delicacies do you have planned for us this evening?”
Chef Georges rubbed his hands together. “The loin of lamb with sauce Béarnaise is excellent. The filet of beef, superb! Vichyssoise and deviled scallops, and, of course, fresh lavender ice cream, your favorite. But, first, a cocktail, some wine?”
“Champagne. The ninety-seven Bollinger Blanc de Noirs.” Jonathan looked over at Christiana.
“Ah, celebrating, I see! Excellent.” The chef turned away immediately.
“Feel better?” Jonathan placed his hand over Christiana’s.
Her insides warmed at his obvious attention to her comfort. Her feminine parts grew downright hot. “Sorry. I’m new to all this.”
“Never apologize for what you haven’t done yet, Christiana. I am honored to introduce you to a new experience. It reminds me not to be so cynical and jaded.”
A man in black tie set a sweating silver ice bucket on a tall stand next to their table. After ceremoniously uncaging the cork of the chilled champagne bottle, he opened it with a muffled pop.
“Wonderful sound, isn’t it?” Jonathan asked. Christiana smiled at his implication that she was familiar with the sound of champagne being uncorked. She could tell he was trying to make her feel more worldly than she was.
After the server filled two flutes, Jonathan handed Christiana a stem of shimmering bubbles. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I’m about to violate the alcohol laws. But they like me here.” Jonathan winked.
Christiana touched her flute to his, held out for a toast. She took a small sip and wrinkled her nose in delight at the effervescence.
“You, uh, said you’d met with my dad. How was the interview?”
“Nothing too interesting. In my line of work, one cannot be too careful, even around seemingly insignificant conversations.” He reached over to the champagne bucket, holding his tie with the other hand. “I would rather talk about you. What do you plan on majoring in at UVA?” He refilled her glass to the brim.
“I don’t know yet. I figure I’d explore. Try a little bit of everything.” Her hair started to prickle her back, so Christiana pulled it over her shoulder to one side of her neck.
“Discovery is always a good idea.” Jonathan twirled the stem of his champagne flute and stared at her shoulder. “I’m glad you wore your hair down, Christiana. It’s beautiful that way.”
“Ah, thank you.” Her legs quivered at the sexual tension his innuendo brought.
His eyes searched her face. Could he see her vision of his fingers trailing down her spine to dip into the crevice between her butt cheeks? How she’d pleasured herself to the sound of his voice? She ducked her head slightly, worried he could read her thoughts.
“I’m surprised I haven’t run into you at The Oak Room.”
Oh, if he only knew how they almost ran into one another. An ache grew in her crotch at the memory of a silky voice followed by sharp slaps to skin and delighted moans in the Jefferson Suite.
“You work long hours. Is it because it’s such a nice place?” he asked with a playful glint in his eye.
“No, it’s because college is so expensive,” she teased back. It helped take her mind off where she wanted his hands. Well, it did for about two seconds.
“When you’re not working or studying, what do you enjoy doing?”
Daydreaming about you. “I read, watch movies, go to the pool, the usual stuff. What about you?”
“I sail. I have a thirty-two foot schooner docked at the Washington Marina. I’ll have to take you out on it some weekend.”
“I’m a little afraid of deep water. But Dad and I used to go down to the Potomac on July Fourth to see the fireworks reflected off the river.”
“Seeing them from the deck of a boat is a spectacle not to be missed.”
“You don’t get cinders dropped on you?”
“Hasn’t happened yet.” He laughed.
Renewed warmth spread across her chest. Jesus, she might as well wear a sign that cried “naïve ignoramus.” At least he seemed amused.
A small beef filet surrounded by a creamy shallot sauce arrived, and a server opened a bottle of wine.
“This cabernet pairs nicely with the beef,” Jonathan said. “And I trust you like medium rare.” Christiana placed a small bit of tender filet in her mouth. “Well?”
“I’ve never tasted anything so delicious.”
“Good. It’s important to me to know what pleases you.”
His words darted between her legs. He wanted to please her? He already pleased her. If what she had heard in the Jefferson Suite was an indication of what he required, she wasn’t sure she could return the favor.
He ate in silence, keeping his eyes on her face. The movement of his mouth around the fork as he ate the savory beef in the rich sauce only fed more salacious imaginings of what his lips and tongue might do.
What had he done to make Mrs. DeCord so needy? In her mind, black straps wrapped around the woman’s ankles, keeping her legs parted while Jonathan licked juices from her most intimate parts.
She took a swallow of red wine and winced at its acidic tang. It was much better than the chardonnay from the fundraiser, and it helped clear her dirty mind—a little.
Finally Christiana finished her last bite of beef. A small cocoa soufflé centered in a pool of darker melted chocolate replaced her empty plate. Her stomach complained in fullness. Yet she couldn’t let good chocolate go to waste, so she took a small dollop.
“Christiana. Put down your spoon.”
She slowly set her spoon on the rim of the plate and raised her gaze to meet his emerald eyes. Kitchen noises faded into the background as she stared into his eyes. The intensity of his stare and the thundering of blood in her ears drowned everything around her.
He leaned forward and rested his hand on her wrist. “I want to spend time with you. This summer.”
“Spend time with me? I want to make sure I understand. Are you offering me an internship?”
“No.” He chuckled.
She swallowed. “You want to date me?”
“Not exactly. More wine?” He filled her empty glass without waiting for her answer. “You don’t have a boyfriend.”
“No.”
“How many relationships have you had, Christiana?”
Her mind raced for an acceptable answer. She didn’t want to admit to the truth. She couldn’t bear to even remember that night in Jeffrey Daniels’ dorm room. She dropped her attention to her hands, wrapping her pearls around her index finger. “Not many.”
“You don’t need to be shy. Look at me.”
She lifted her eyes.
“I realize this may seem unorthodox. But, I’m going to lay my cards on the table.” He paused. “I enjoy the company of beautiful women. In every aspect of my life. And I’d like exclusive rights to your company until you leave for school. Late August, correct?”
Fragments of an unnamed emotion surfaced. His was no ordinary offer. This was a proposition—for sex, for the whole summer. She teetered on a cliff, where fear wanted to push her over and desire begged her to jump. Either feeling, she wanted to go over.
; He held her hand, and his fingers played on her palm. She prayed that when she stood, the moisture dampening her panties didn’t breach the lace.
“I’ll take you to Charlottesville next weekend. I have a house there, and it will give us a private place to discuss our arrangement. Of course, I’ll book a room for you at the Hilton near campus in case you’d rather—”
“No, that’s okay.” What did she just say?
His lips twitched into a grin but then dropped back into a relaxed expression. “Of course, there is the matter of your father.” He released her hand and leaned back in his chair. “Your father cannot know. Or your friend, Miss Churchill.”
She looked up at the stern warning in Jonathan’s voice. “I won’t tell them.”
Avery would murder her, and if her father found out she had gone away with Jonathan Brond, regardless what happened, he would try to use her to spy. Her father hadn’t been home when Jonathan had picked her up. He’d said he had a meeting with an important legislative assistant. Had Jonathan arranged her father’s absence?
“Um . . . .” She didn’t know how to ask what she needed to know.
“I can’t tell you details right now, but it will be a private, exclusive arrangement between us. I just need to know if you are interested.”
“Yes, I am, but . . . Congressman Brond, what aren’t you telling me?” Is this real? What do you want with me? What did you do with Mrs. DeCord? Am I hearing you right? Sex, with me? Will it mean anything to you? Why me?
His green eyes examined her face with rueful appreciation. “Smart, as well as beautiful. You have questions, fair enough. But, I need to show you. I promise you’re safe with me. I’ll never force you to do anything.”
“Is it okay if I get back to you? About this weekend, I mean. I have to check with work.” Her cheeks burned hot with embarrassment. How lame was that? She doubted Congressman Brond had ever waited for a woman’s answer based on her work schedule. And who was she kidding, really? She’d trade every big-tip shift this summer if it meant she could get next weekend off.
“Of course. But, now, I need to get you home. I promised not to keep you out too late.” He rose, and Christiana followed suit. His hand pressed against her back, steering her forward.
Elite (Elite Doms of Washington Book 1) Page 7