“Terribly sorry about that,” Simon said, looking across at her.
“Accidents happen,” she smiled, looking at his mortified face, and it suddenly hit her. He was just like anybody else! He may have more money than God, but he was still prone to foibles and accidents.
“It’s a relief to know you’re human like the rest of us,” she blurted out.
The instant the words came out of her mouth she regretted them, but to her surprise and relief she saw the beginnings of a grin, and he unexpectedly began to laugh. Cecil, standing at the buffet pouring the tea, turned in astonishment. He had never seen his employer act in such a loose and informal manner around a new business associate.
“Yes,” Simon chuckled. “I suppose I am.”
Belle felt an abrupt change in the air, and her feelings of intimidation and nervousness magically transformed into something else, though she wasn’t quite sure what. She laid the information sheets on the table in front of him
“Well–since I seem to have your attention,” she declared, the cheekiness in her voice reflected in her eyes, “do any of these appeal to you?”
Her tone was not lost on him and he caught her eye, shooting her a slightly reprimanding glance, but rather than being met with a blush and lowering of her gaze, she stared steadily back at him, then, to his complete astonishment she winked.
Belle’s cheeky impulsive streak had immersed her in a considerable amount of trouble over the years, and she was instantly worried it was about happen again. Her pulse quickened as she waited. Would he wink back? Scold her? Ignore it?
Simon was completely taken aback, but his cock bobbed happily. He had no idea how to respond and was utterly lost for words. The only thing he could think to do was reach forward and drink some tea, but Cecil had not yet brought him a fresh cup. Absently he picked up a piece of toast and took a bite.
Goodness! You need another spanking, he thought, the words clattering around in his head, bottom bared over my knee, but he did his best to push them out of his mind and scanned the pictures in front of him.
“I want to see them all,” he declared, finally deciding to ignore the wink cheeky comment completely. “Please see what you can arrange for this afternoon.”
“Um–thank you, but I’m a bit confused,” she frowned, disappointed that he had not responded to the sexy, flirtatious gesture. “I was under the impression I was going to take you on a tour in the town car this afternoon and we–”
“Change of plans,” he interrupted.
There was no way he could sit in the back seat of a car with her for an entire afternoon. It would drive him mad.
“When you have finished with breakfast you can work from here and see what appointments you can make for this afternoon. I want to find something quickly,” he replied formally.
“Yes, Mr. Sinclair,” she answered, attempting to match the abrupt switch to his businesslike mood. “Whatever is your pleasure.”
Whatever is your pleasure? Where did that come from? she thought, feeling her face redden.
Simon sat back and watched her place the papers on the seat of the chair next to her. He was feeling surprisingly lighthearted, which was rare, insanely turned on, also rare, and though he’d attempted to return their conversation to a professional level, it hadn’t had any effect on his buoyant state of mind, or his surging manhood. A word popped into his head he’d not thought of since he was 17 years old.
Bewitched.
He had asked his father how he knew his mother was Miss Right when they had met. His father had smiled knowingly, and said, “I was always a bit nervous around her. On edge in an odd sort of way. I thought for quite a while I was bewitched.”
Are you bewitching me Belle Somers? he thought, as Cecil placed his fresh cup of tea in front of him.
He spooned in some sugar and stirred, and found his mind wandering to his collection of floggers, and which he might choose for her should he ever have the opportunity, then catching himself, tried to think about business. Other business. Boring business.
“If you won’t be needing me, Mr. Sinclair, I should like to return to my room and start my morning’s work,” Cecil said, clearing his plates from the table and placing them at the end of the buffet table.
“That’s fine, Cecil. Don’t forget to contact Norman Fielding at the Bank of England and confirm there is no more paperwork required to transfer the funds if we find the right house. He was going to check on it.”
“Yes, Mr. Sinclair. It will be my first order of business, though he won’t get the email until morning, with the time difference I mean.”
“That’s why I want you to do it now, so he’ll have it when he gets into the office, though knowing Norm his Blackberry will beep him awake the minute the email lands.”
“Good day, Ms. Somers. If you need me I’m at your service.”
“Thank you, Mr. Havers,” Belle replied, “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Just have to track people down.”
“See you later then,” he replied, and strutted his quick steps towards the door, leaving them alone.
Simon continued drinking his tea, wondering how long it would take her to speak. There was a much used adage in business negotiations, he who speaks first loses, and he held it to be true in personal matters as well. He couldn’t recall the last time he had lost, and in addition to waiting for her to break the awkward silence, it also afforded him time to settle down and regain his composure.
Why doesn’t he say something, Belle thought as she finished her granola, completely unaware of his strategy. The silence was becoming increasingly uncomfortable and she finally decided to break the ice.
“Mr. Sinclair,” she began, noticing he looked particularly pleased with himself as he stared back at her. “May I ask, are you planning to here, or is the house you plan to buy going to be a second home?”
“I don’t mind you asking. It will be a third house. I have a Villa in the Mediterranean. I intend to open a US office here. New York is more convenient travel wise, but I prefer Beverly Hills–for many reasons. And I also intend to use the house as a getaway for colleagues and deserving employees.”
“I see,” Belle nodded. “In that case, would it not be preferable to buy a house inclusive of furniture?”
Simon Sinclair tilted his head to one side. The thought hadn’t occurred to him and he was slightly embarrassed. He was the one who thought of everything.
“Ms. Somers,” he started, choosing his words carefully. “I think that is an excellent suggestion, though I would wish to buy my own mattress. I sleep only on Tempurpedics and–”
“Really? Me too!” she interjected, then immediately added, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
Simon took a long deep breath. In spite of the late night promise he had made to himself, he found the temptation to scold her too hard to resist.
“You have a natural exuberance that is endearing,” he replied, leaning forward across the table, dropping his voice, “but it is an exuberance that requires guidance and channeling.”
Belle felt the surge of heat between her legs, and the rose flush that had been sitting in wait, moved its well-worn path up her neck and across her face. He was holding her eyes, staring at her intently, and try as she might she could not sustain the gaze.
“Yes, Sir, I do tend to get a bit carried away sometimes,” she replied, her eyes downcast and her voice restrained.
“And I’m not at all sure the earlier flirtation, while flattering, was quite in order in front of my secretary.”
“Oh–yes, Sir. I can be impulsive,” she admitted, feeling completely foolish. “I apologize.”
“I think the added provision is entirely appropriate for such behavior,” he declared sternly.
“If you believe it necessary,” she agreed, demurely, and realized her breath had changed to a short, sharp panting, and she couldn’t stop wriggling in her chair.
“Make your calls and I shall consider what discipline might be in order
,” he replied, sitting back in his chair.
“Yes, Sir. Where would you like me to work?” she asked, picking up her briefcase with trembling hands. “At the desk here in the living room?”
“No. The second bedroom across the living room is unused and there is a desk in there as well. Please make yourself comfortable. Text me when you have something to report.”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied, and stuffing the photographs from the table into her case, knees weak, she turned and walked away.
Why is she wearing that ugly trouser suit? I shall insist on dresses or skirts, and make that perfectly clear while I’m spanking her.
The thought sent a fresh wave of energy into his cock, and grateful he was alone he walked quickly into his bedroom and locked the door. Stripping off his slacks and underwear, he laid on the bed and grabbed himself, thinking how luscious it would be to take her over his lap and spank her naked bottom with his bare hand.
He could imagine her cheeks turning crimson as his flattened palm smacked her. He would make the spanking unpredictable, landing the slaps slowly, then quickly, then slowly again.
He could already see her squirming, her squeals muffled by the cushion he would insist upon, and with her bottom so wonderfully exposed he would be able to view her sex...
...the energy of his climax was abruptly upon him. Rubbing vigorously he chased the moment, and when the explosion happened it did so with a force that shocked him.
Catching his breath, shaken by its intensity, he reached for the tissues on his bedside table. Sighing heavily he wiped himself clean. He had promised himself he would back away, yet here he was moving full steam ahead. Why couldn’t he stop himself? This wasn’t like him, not at all!
There was something special, something unique, about the way he felt when he was with her, and though he had no idea where they were headed, he was compelled to continue the journey.
She’s taking hold of me somehow, he pondered. Something is telling me not to stop...
In the guest-room, Belle studied the photographs laid out on the desk in front of her. They were blurring together into one big mélange, and try as she might she simply couldn’t focus, the pending discipline consuming her thoughts. Standing up, she wandered over to the large bay windows overlooking the private patio. A gentle wind tossing some wayward leaves caught her attention.
That’s what I am, she thought. Just a leaf being blown around by him.
She could feel the unpleasant threatening warmth of tears in her throat.
I can’t do this. I can’t. He’ll buy the house and I’ll be left behind with nothing but a broken heart to show for my trouble. Face it! He’s Simon Sinclair! There is absolutely no future here. Don’t be an idiot. Get out now, before it’s too late. Before your heart is broken into a billion Simon Sinclair pieces.
Clenching her fists, she suppressed her growing emotions, and forced herself to return to the desk and get to work. Picking up the phone she started calling the realtors who represented the properties he wanted to see. Of the five houses she was able to schedule four, but the last appointment worried her. Not because of the house but because of the agent involved. Sean Harrington.
“Of course! For you Belle, anything anytime, you know that,” he gushed into the phone.
“Sean, stop with the come-on,” she chided.
“Belle–baby–you know how I feel about you!” he declared, false indignation pouring through the line.
“Please!” she exclaimed. “You feel that way every girl you meet.”
“Not true! You have me all wrong.”
“Sean–it doesn’t matter. 3:30 at the house?”
“Of course. Can’t wait to see you.”
“Goodbye Sean!” she quipped, and clicked off the line.
The last appointment had been made, and she stared at her cell phone sitting innocently in front of her. Time to report the progress to Simon...and...tell him...she no longer...
Aarrggghhh. I know I just have to be brave and do this! If he tells me to take a hike, so be it, she thought, summoning her courage.
Taking a deep breath she picked up her phone and tapped out her text.
Four of five houses available for viewing this afternoon. Appointments made starting at 2 p.m. Must regret to inform you, the added provision regarding discipline no longer viable. My Yes has changed to a No. Do you wish me to stay here in the suite or meet you at 2 p.m. at the Valet station?
She stared at the screen, her finger hovering over the Send button.
Lord–I don’t want to do this–I really don’t–!
Finger trembling, she touched, and watched the little envelope spinning on the tiny screen, sending her message through the air to land in Simon Sinclair’s inbox.
You’ve made the right decision! A quickie submissive thing is not who you are!
It felt like forever as she waited for his response. Unable to stand it any longer she began clearing up the desk and organizing her papers. Anything to keep busy, to help pass the time. She wanted to run a background on each of the properties so she could give him a complete history when they viewed them, but didn’t see any point starting the job if she was about to be fired. When her cell phone chimed, announcing his text, a knot instantly tightened in her stomach. Almost afraid to look, she picked up her phone with trembling fingers.
Agreeing to the provision was always, and still is your choice. You may stay and relax here, finish whatever work you may have, or leave if you wish. If you need to be driven somewhere Parker is available, but please join me for lunch at 1 p.m.
Relief flooding through her, she quickly tapped her answer.
Thank you, Mr. Sinclair. There is additional work that needs doing so will remain here. May take a walk through the gardens when I’m finished but will meet you for lunch as requested.
Dropping her head into her arms, she surrendered to her tears. It had been an extremely difficult decision but a necessary one. She was absolutely convinced further personal involvement with the wealthy, charismatic, handsome man would end in nothing but misery and a dreadful heartache.
When her soft crying dried up, she walked into the bathroom and washed her face, then returned to her desk. Sad but relieved, she set to work. It would take some time to get all the information about each of the houses, and if she wanted to be done and still have time for a walk she had to get started.
In his bedroom Simon Sinclair was pacing in complete disbelief. She had changed her mind! He couldn’t recall the last time a woman had turned him down. He had been deciding in which chair he would sit when he put the lovely Belle across his knee, when the chime of his cell informed him he had a text.
His eyes had scanned her words in utter disbelief, and he had to read them a second time. For the briefest of moments he felt as though someone had knocked the wind out of him. It was a sensation he’d not experienced before.
It made absolutely no sense! She had loved being spanked by him. Clearly her submissive soul was alive and well. Why was she denying herself that which she truly needed and for which she ached? Had he spanked to her too hard? No, that couldn’t be it. The sparkle in her eye and the flush in her cheeks had made it very clear she had been totally aroused by the discipline, and the severity had been exactly right. He knew the frustration and disappointment felt by a submissive if they were dealt with too lightly, and he was sure the bathroom brush had provided just enough zing to give her the satisfaction she craved.
His first impulse was to stride across the suite and confront her, but thought better of it. Not only would it be undignified, it might well push her further away.
As least she had not offered her resignation, and for that he was grateful. He thoroughly enjoyed her company, and she was bright and knowledgeable and appeared to be very good at her job. As with any submissive, the choice to surrender was hers and hers alone. All he could do was accept her decision and move on, but he could certainly have lunch with her, and hopefully garner some glimmer of insight
why she’d changed her mind. He needed to get to the bottom of it, and as the thought traveled though his head, he had to grin at his own pun.
Even more disturbing than her rejection was the way it was making him feel. Through his busy years he’d had an endless supply of female company, and not just any female company. International models, famous actresses, high-powered business women, and even politicians. He’d spanked many and bedded even more. When any one of them declined his offer, he would be momentarily miffed and simply call another. Being ‘miffed’ was not how he was feeling, not even close. Belle had somehow crept into his heart and made a uniquely indelible impression.
Pulling himself together, he called Cecil, instructing him to order lunch for two in his room for 1 p.m., and have Parker ready with the car at 1:45.
“Ms. Somers and I will be busy touring houses until, probably 4 p.m. I’d guess, so only call me if it’s urgent. I trust you to handle things until I return.”
“Yes, Mr. Sinclair, of course.”
“I’m free to take calls now, and you may bring over any documents or paperwork that need my attention.”
“Ah–very good, thank you. I’ll be there shortly.”
Hanging up the phone, Simon wandered out on to the spacious private patio, ambling along the terrace, scanning the blue skies. Southern California was famous for its temperate climate and the day was no exception; the sun was shining and a soft breeze was wafting the fragrance of jasmine through the air. His peripheral vision caught sight of a movement and he turned, glancing through the bay windows, unaware they looked into the guest bedroom.
He caught his breath. It was Belle. She was standing, facing a large mirror hanging on a nearby wall. She was brushing her hair. He watched, transfixed, as her arm lifted in the air and her hips moved ever so slightly. She paused, and he realized she was gazing at his image reflected in the mirror, thought distorted by the paned windows. Slowly she turned and looked directly at him.
The British Billionaire Bachelor Page 5