He smiled again. The sparkle in her eye hadn't been his imagination.
"Then you know that means I pick you up. Are you still at The Four Seasons?"
"Yes."
"I'll be there at seven-thirty. We could have a cocktail before dinner at the TY. Have you eaten at Daniel's?"
"No, but I've wanted to ever since I arrived. Can you get in?"
"Of course."
"I'm suitably impressed. Thank you, James. I'll see you on Saturday."
"Yes, you will," he replied, and after a brief pause, he'd added, "Have a good rest of your week, and try to behave."
There was a momentary pause before she mumbled her goodbye and ended the call, but he sensed a slight something. He was sure he'd not only touched a nerve, but her icy facade had begun to melt.
He'd booked a town car for the night, and it dropped him at the curb at precisely 7:25 p.m. Striding through the lobby and into the inviting cocktail lounge, he found a table and had just sat down when he spied her walking casually into the room. The dark power suit had been replaced with a soft blue dress that floated around her body. Her hair, which had always been tied in a bun at the back of her head, was flowing around her shoulders, and the very tall heels had been replaced with stylish pumps of normal height. She looked surprisingly feminine.
"Amelia, you look lovely," he said warmly as she'd approached. "It's good to see you dressed in something other than black."
"Thank you, James, and it's nice to see you out of a pinstriped suit."
"Touché," he said with a grin. "Please, sit down. What would you like to drink?"
"Champagne cocktail, please."
He thought they'd start their evening by sharing stories of corporate intrigue, but she was cool and reserved. When they'd moved on to dinner at the famous restaurant, he struggled to keep the conversation going, and by the time the plates were cleared, he'd reached the conclusion Amelia simply didn't like him.
It was then she dropped the bomb. Leaning across the table, she touched his arm.
"James, will you please take me back to your place?"
"My place?" he repeated, wondering if he'd misheard.
"Do you mind?"
Did she want him to take her home and do the naughty? He couldn't think of any other reason she'd asked the question, but she hadn't exactly oozed seductive sensuality across the table.
"Amelia, what is it you're asking?"
"To see your place."
"You mean, for coffee, or…?"
"James, I've only been in restaurants, offices, and the hotel since I arrived. I need to sit down on a couch in someone's home. Would you mind? Does that make sense?"
It had made all the sense in the world, and it occurred to him she might not have been bored after all, just unhappy.
"I wouldn't mind a bit," he assured her. "I have some terrific Italian coffee, and I think I might even have some cheesecake left. I buy it at this incredible bakery close to where I live. It's an indulgence of mine. Don't tell anyone."
"I promise I'll keep your secret, and thanks, I'd like that very much."
She remained reserved in the car as they drove through the busy streets, but when they stopped outside his building, she was unable to hide her surprise.
"I don't go for the whole, modern high-rise with a doorman thing," he explained as the driver opened the car door.
"Really? Doesn't that worry you? I mean, anyone can buzz and get in."
"When you see my place you'll understand, and no, it doesn't bother me at all."
He ushered her inside, and when she walked into his apartment she scanned her surroundings and nodded approvingly.
"Yes, I do understand why you're here. It's not a square box. I love this place."
"Make yourself at home. I'll get the coffee going."
"Thanks," she said softly as she slipped off her coat, and laying it over a nearby chair, she moved slowly across to the sofa.
When he returned with the tray and placed it on the table in front of her, she smiled up at him gratefully. It was the first genuine smile he'd seen since they'd met in the conference room over a month before. As they drank the rich coffee and devoured the delicious cheesecake, they'd chatted about London, and he sensed she was lowering her guard.
"I had a lovely evening, James," she said warmly as the evening began to wind down. "Thank you for bringing me here."
"It was my pleasure. Are you sure you don't want me to ride back with you? I don't mind."
"I do know how to sit in the backseat of a car!"
"Careful," he grinned, and spontaneously deciding to poke his toe in the water, he wagged his finger at her and added, "Cheeky girls often find themselves over my knee."
She stared at him with the wide-eyed, deer-in-headlights expression he'd seen a thousand times, then a warm blush moved over her face and she actually giggled. He'd guessed right. She was that kind of woman. She was also brilliant and very beautiful. What made Amelia Campbell tick? James had no idea, but he wanted to find out.
It was just two nights later she arrived at his door.
CHAPTER FIVE
The morning after Amelia's startling nocturnal visit, she was the first call James made when he settled behind his desk. He was ready for anything. Expect the unexpected, he told himself as her secretary put him on hold. He'd met unpredictable women before, but none could hold a candle to Amelia. Her talent for dropping bombs was unprecedented.
"Hello, James."
"Hello, Amelia. How are you?"
"Very well, and you?"
"A bit tired."
"Why? Did you have a late night?"
Was Amelia being coy? It seemed out of character, but he had to admit he really had no idea what her character was.
"More like an early morning wake-up call," he joked, wondering if it would garner a response.
"International, was it? Those can be such a pain."
He paused. Did she not want to talk about her bizarre visit? Perhaps her office door was open. There was any number of reasons for her refusal to engage him in conversation about their decadent play in the dark hours of the morning.
"Are you free for lunch?" he asked, hoping she'd be more conversational in person.
"If it's late, around one-thirty."
"That's perfect. Why don't we meet at Luigi's? It's a short walk for us both Do you know it?"
"Doesn't everyone?"
"I suppose they do. I'll call and make reservations."
The hours he spent in his office generally flew by, but the morning was a slow crawl. Finally striding down the street, he turned up his collar as a chilly wind signaled the onslaught of winter, and reaching the restaurant he was grateful for the welcoming warmth. Spying Amelia in a booth at the far end of the dining room, he moved quickly toward her, expecting to be greeted with a kiss on the cheek or a quick hug, but she remained seated and offered only a smile as he approached.
"Thanks again for the other evening," she said as he sat down. "It really was very nice."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it," he replied, wanting to add, and what about last night? Was getting your lovely backside spanked very nice as well?
"Daniel's was amazing, and being in your place was lovely," she continued. "In spite of all the people here, New York can be a lonely place."
"You're right, and there's a comfort in spending time with someone who hails from the same stomping grounds. Familiarity in a sea of strangeness."
"Well said, and yes there is. I must tell you, James, I always looked forward to what you had to say during the negotiations. I wanted to hear your voice. It was like a touch of home."
"I felt the same," he replied, realizing it was true. "When are you going back to London, or do you plan on staying here a while?"
"I've been asked to consult on a couple of other projects, but I have some interesting irons in the fire back home. Things are definitely up in the air. I don't have the security of a silly money deal like you."
"How do yo
u know mine is a silly money deal?"
"You're a Londoner. It's written all over you. It would have to be a silly money offer for you to give up the pubs and the rain and your weekends in the country."
"This is all true, though I didn't have as many weekends in the country as I would have liked."
"James, I don't mean to repeat myself, but it really was wonderful to be in your home. Thank you again. I hope it wasn't an inconvenience."
James was at a loss. Was she waiting for him to bring up the subject of her spontaneous visit and subsequent spanking?
"Not at all," James assured her, and deciding to push the envelope, he added, "How would you feel about coming over for dinner tomorrow night?"
"I'd be delighted, thank you."
He took a breath. Her unhesitating acceptance was spurring him to raise the extraordinarily large elephant sitting on the table, and he decided to take the plunge.
"Amelia, I have to ask," he began, lowering his voice. "About last night…"
"Last night? Did something happen last night I don't know about?"
The innocence in her voice, and the confused look in her eyes, suggested she had no idea what he was talking about, but he decided to press on.
"When you came over, you know, wearing nothing but the coat. And the boots of course. Those amazing boots."
A red flush crawled mercilessly over her face, and dropping her gaze she reached for her water glass. He was searching for something reassuring to say when the unwritten, irritating, and universal restaurant law came into play—waiters must arrive at your table at the most inauspicious times.
"Have you had a chance to look at the menus? Would you like a drink?"
"Vanilla vodka, a shot," Amelia said quickly. "If you don't have vanilla, regular will do."
"I'll have a beer, whatever's on tap," James said, now deeply concerned.
"Thank you, I'll be right back," the waiter said cheerily, and dropping his pad in his apron, he strode away.
"Amelia, it's okay. Really it's, okay," James assured her. "It's better than okay. It was great, honestly."
She still wasn't looking at him and her poise had completely fallen away. His natural inclination was to say something like—You don't need to be embarrassed, it was a wonderful surprise—but he bit his tongue. His earlier suspicion that she had no memory of their erotic interlude was gaining ground, but how was that possible?
"Thank you for saying so," she began, "but I…uh…"
"Your drinks," the waiter proclaimed, continuing to follow the unwritten rule. "Vanilla vodka and a beer."
"Thanks, and we're fine for now," James declared, giving him a look that said—Don't come back until I signal.
The waiter hurried away, and James watched as Amelia grabbed her glass and downed the shot, then let out a heavy sigh.
"You were interrupted, Amelia. What was it you wanted to tell me?" James asked, wondering if she was just embarrassed, or really didn't remember, which would be weird. Really weird.
"Sometimes I can be a bit, uh, overly spontaneous."
"Overly spontaneous?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows. "Is there such a thing?"
"I was hoping we could pretend it didn't happen."
"That won't be easy," he said warmly. "When you asked me to spank you, I was delighted, but how did you guess that was my thing? Was it the hint I dropped when I put you in the car the other evening? Silly question, it must have been."
"Yes," she murmured, finally raising her eyes, "but now I feel strange about it."
"You mustn't. I thought it was a fabulous surprise, one of the best I've ever had."
"Thanks," she said awkwardly, "and thanks for asking me to dinner at your place tomorrow. I, uh, might not be able to stay over though. I mean…uh…"
"No problem."
He understood exactly what she was trying to say, but she had confirmed what he'd been thinking.
The force to be reckoned with, the woman who had been brilliant and cool across a conference table, had just melted in front of him, and he was convinced she didn't remember a bloody thing.
CHAPTER SIX
James returned to his office, but he found his mind wandering through the remainder of the afternoon. The conversation over lunch and Amelia's apparent amnesia was truly bewildering. He needed answers, and though it was late evening in London, he placed a call to a close friend, Jeremy Whittle. Jeremy was a Harley Street psychiatrist and fellow dominant.
"Jeremy, it's James. Please forgive the intrusion. I know it's getting late there."
"James, what a surprise. It's good to hear your voice. I trust everything's all right. How's the Big Apple?"
"I'm loving it here, but I've stumbled into something a bit, well, confounding. I'm hoping you can help."
"You confounded? I'm intrigued."
"I had dinner with a woman I met through work, and a couple of nights later she showed up at my apartment around two-thirty in the morning, literally begging me to spank her. I did, we had sex, then she left. I just had lunch with her, and I'm fairly sure she doesn't remember anything."
"Nothing?"
"I don't think so."
"Describe her behavior when she arrived in the middle of the night."
"She spoke very little, just said what she wanted, and I obliged. It was all a bit weird. I should probably mention she arrived naked under her coat."
"And you're sure she doesn't remember?"
"That was definitely my impression."
"There is a condition called Sexsomnia, though leaving the safety of her home and making her way to your place is extreme."
"What the bloody hell is Sexsomnia?"
"I'll give you the simplistic answer. A sexsomniac is a person who sleepwalks and seeks out sex. Apparently, this woman chose you, but as I said, leaving the safety of her home is remarkable."
"Are you saying Amelia, that's her name, was able to arrange for a car, give the driver my address, have sex with me, go home, and do it all while she was asleep? That's impossible."
"It does appear to be an extreme case, but it's not impossible."
"I think I'm more confounded now than I was before. This is unbelievable."
"I can understand why you would feel that way, but I can assure you Sexsomnia does exist."
"So she could knock on my door again?"
"She probably will," Jeremy said solemnly.
"Good grief. What should I do if she does?"
"Obviously if she's sleepwalking around New York in the middle of the night, she's putting herself in serious danger."
"No kidding."
"Persuade her to stay, then try to lull her back into a regular sleep."
"Assuming I'm successful, how do I handle her in the morning?"
"That's a very important question. She'll wake with no recall, or possibly a vague recall, and when you broach what happened she'll be upset. You must be calm and reassuring. When the opportunity presents itself suggest she see a qualified psychiatrist who specializes in sleep disorders."
"This is a lot to take in," James said grimly. "She's such a self-possessed, brilliant woman. It's bizarre to think of her being so out of control."
"I can't make an accurate assessment without seeing her in person, but perhaps the pressure of her life is putting her in a state of excessive stress. She probably has other sleep issues as well. I'll do some research and get back to you, but you must encourage her to seek help."
"Thanks, Jeremy. Bloody hell. This is one for the books. Sorry for the interruption."
"Don't apologize. Professionally it's fascinating. I wish you were in London. I'd be very pleased to treat her. Call anytime, don't hesitate."
"I appreciate that, thank you. I'm definitely feeling in over my head. Speak to you later."
"Cheerio, James."
Ending the call, James turned his chair to face the window, and staring out at the Manhattan skyline, he pondered the astounding information Jeremy had just offered.
"Sexs
omnia. How bizarre is that?"
As he'd mumbled the words, he was convinced Jeremy's diagnosis had been correct. Did that mean Amelia was a submissive aching for a Dominant? It seemed the most likely explanation.
With the question haunting him the rest of the day, he found it difficult to focus, and he was grateful when he was able to leave the office and return home. Following a shower and a quick bite to eat, he poured himself a glass of wine, settled on the couch, and opened up his laptop. Entering the word Sexsomnia in the search engine, he found many articles. They confirmed what Jeremy had told him; it was a real condition, but it was rare. When he finally closed his computer and ambled down the hall to slip into bed, he was consumed with thoughts of the beautiful woman and her condition. A few minutes later, lying in the dark, he wondered if offering her what she craved when she was awake would stop her nighttime wanderings?
"This is very complex," he mumbled, "and how involved do I want to become?"
His work was demanding, and a relationship, especially a complicated one, wasn't exactly on his list of top ten things he wanted, but a heavy yawn swept over him and he closed his eyes.
"Please don't buzz my door tonight," he muttered. "I don't think I could oblige even if you did."
CHAPTER SEVEN
To James' great relief he slept through the night, but as he went about his busy day the many questions concerning Amelia stayed with him. When he called her late in the afternoon to confirm dinner at his place, she sounded like the woman he'd come to know across the conference table. Clipped speech and somewhat removed. He was almost pleased she wasn't warm and fuzzy.
On his way home, he bought wild-caught salmon, a package of rice pilaf and asparagus spears. Following a shower he set the table, then decided to start cooking after Amelia's arrival. It would give them a chance to relax and share a bottle of wine while he prepared the dinner, but when seven o'clock became seven-fifteen he began to worry. Had she changed her mind? He couldn't imagine a woman like Amelia getting cold feet about anything, but he'd never thought she'd appear at his apartment in the middle of the night pleading to be spanked either. At seven-thirty he called her, fully expecting her voicemail, but predictable in her unpredictability she answered the call.
DESIRE UNLEASHED: Sexsomnia: A Psychological Romance Page 2