The Romantic Dominant

by Maggie Carpenter

  Being bound, gagged and blindfolded as she was, meant she could escape into her dreams about her Romantic Dominant, a man who had set her pulse racing from the moment they’d met, a man she was convinced would soon be riding to her rescue.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Whatever is being prepared in your kitchen smells divine,” Heather declared. “Your place is stunning Zander. It’s sleek and modern but very inviting, and that view, wow. That is definitely a million dollar view.”

  “I do enjoy it,” Zander replied. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Are we having wine with dinner?” she asked, moving closer to the windows.

  “I was planning on it but it’s not mandatory,” he grinned.

  “Whatever you’re serving with our meal will be fine,” she laughed.

  “We’re having Dover sole, so, chardonnay.”

  “Sounds perfect,” she replied, still staring out the windows.

  Zander walked to the bar and opened the white wine that had been chilling in its ice bucket, and moments later the chef’s assistant appeared from the kitchen carrying a platter of bite sized appetizers; thin strips of white toast hosting dollops of caviar with sour cream, and round rice wafers with salmon and cream cheese.

  “Put it on the table please,” Zander directed. “I’ve always disliked attempting to hold hors d’oeuvres in one hand, and a drink in the other.”

  “I agree,” Heather grinned, turning away from the windows and walking towards him. “Someone needs to invent something that would allow us to manage these things, maybe trays like the ones the cigarette girls use to have. That would leave our hands free.”

  “A widget that leaves our hands free?” he winked. “That I’d be interested in.”

  Heather shook her head.

  “Zander Davis, really!” she scolded. “I know exactly where your mind just went.”

  “I have no control over my mind. It does what it wants, doesn’t listen to me at all,” he declared. “Would you care to indulge?”

  “Thank you, I most definitely would,” she replied, and sitting on the couch next to him she accepted the glass of wine and took a sip before reaching for one of the tempting treats.

  They chatted and laughed, and a short time later dinner was served on the terrace, the cool night air warmed by overhead, outdoor heaters. Zander had requested the caterers set up small hurricane lamps, one of his favorite lighting effects for outside dining.

  A young, attractive waitress served their main course, and as Zander had promised it was Dover Sole. With great aplomb she described in detail how the dish had been prepared, and not surprisingly it was light and delicious, the champagne sauce enhancing the flavor without overpowering the delicacy of the mild fish.

  Baked Alaska was the dramatic dessert, and as the flames enveloped the meringue, Heather leaned back in her chair and shook her head.

  “Zander, this is absolutely the most delightful dinner I’ve had in a very long time. I really appreciate the effort you made.”

  She was feeling a little buzzed from the wine and Zander had grown even more attractive to her; his demeanor had been relaxed and easy, and his sense of humor completely endearing.

  “It’s my pleasure. I really enjoy creating special occasions out of the mundane, and besides that I can’t cook.”

  He could see the waitress was doing her best to suppress a giggle as she served the decadent dessert.

  “It’s okay, Susie, you can laugh,” he chuckled. “I find it somewhat laughable myself, a man my age that can barely boil water.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Davis, but chef would have my head.”

  “We can’t have that,” he quipped. “Your head is much too pretty.”

  “You’re very kind, Mr. Davis, thank you,” the young woman blushed. “Coffee and a selection of teas will be waiting inside on the table in the living room. If you require nothing further, we will be cleaning up and leaving shortly.”

  “Heather, do you want anything else?” Zander asked.

  “No, this was completely divine,” she sighed.

  “I think that’s it. Please tell chef I’ll call him tomorrow sometime.”

  “Yes, Mr. Davis. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  They watched her walk back inside, and as Zander took a mouthful of the crisp meringue and rich ice cream he rolled his eyes.

  “Man that’s good,” he declared.

  “Aren’t they going to clear the table?” Heather asked.

  “No, I told them to leave after serving dessert. I’ll take the dishes in myself and leave them for the housekeeper. She’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “You live very well,” Heather remarked.

  “I’ve been fortunate, and I do enjoy my life. I have only one complaint,” Zander replied. “I don’t have a special someone to share it with.”

  “You do tonight,” Heather softly suggested.

  “I do?”

  “Yes, if you want to.”

  Her brown eyes were staring at him warmly, and there was no mistaking her sensuous invitation.

  “I think I’d like that very much,” he smiled, and walking to her chair he helped her to her feet, “and I think I’d like to take our Baked Alaska into the bedroom.”

  “Eat it in bed?” she whispered, her eyebrows rising in surprise.

  He didn’t answer, but picked up her plate, and continuing to hold her hand he led her back inside towards the hallway to his bedroom. The sounds of the catering staff in the kitchen echoed in the air, and she paused.

  “Shouldn’t we wait until they’ve gone?”

  “If you’d be more comfortable,” he answered.

  “I think I would, sorry,” she replied.

  Turning around they walked back into the living room settling on the couch, and he placed the dessert on the table.

  “I think I’d like some coffee,” she said, picking up the large French Press and pouring herself a cup. “Would you, Zander?”

  “Sure.”

  She sipped it thoughtfully, and as much as Zander wished he was able to preserve the feeling that had permeated the last few moments of their dinner, he could feel it slipping away.

  “Sorry,” she said softly, sensing the change in his mood, “I just felt a bit weird.”

  “That’s okay,” he smiled. “Tell me about your business. Is it working out for you? How long have you been there, three or four months now?”

  “Believe it or not, five months. The time has gone by so fast.”

  “It’s working for you then?”

  “Yes, but it could work better,” she sighed.

  “Really? How exactly?”

  They could hear the sounds of the caterer wrapping things up, and moments later saw them discreetly leave.

  “They’re gone,” she remarked.

  “They are,” he smiled.

  Leaning forward, she placed her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek.

  “Zander,” she breathed, “would you like to take that dessert into the bedroom now?”

  He stared down at the puddle in the plate. The ice cream had melted, and though he didn’t know why he sensed it was a harbinger of things to come. Dropping her arms away she wrapped her fingers around his hand.

  “What was it you were saying about your business?” he asked casually, as they stood up and started toward the hallway.

  “You want to hear about my business now?” she laughed.

  “Yes,” he said, opening the bedroom door.

  “My gosh, Zander, this is quite a room,” she declared.

  Walking forward she stared around the room, surprised by the white fluffy bedspread and the white candle stands that stood tall and proud in the corners.

  “Quite a room good, or quite a room bad?” he asked, touching the tablet to start the fire.

  “Um, quite a room romantic,” she smiled, moving towards the windows. “It’s very, um, what’s the word, embracing?”

  “How about, inviting?” he suggested wat
ching her.

  “Yes, inviting,” she agreed.

  He switched off the lights, allowing the fire’s glow to fill the room, then walked up behind her. As she began to turn he placed his hands on her shoulders.

  “No, stay just where you are,” he whispered, and moving her hair from the side of her neck pressed his lips against her skin.

  “Mmmm, that feels so good,” she crooned.

  “Close your eyes, I’m going to undress you.”

  He heard a heavy sigh, and began to travel his hands across her body, lightly touching, feeling the bra cups holding her gloriously full breasts, then sliding his fingers to her hips, fondled her proud, round seat.

  I really want to spank you. I want to lift this dress and spank you as you stand there, just as you are.

  Deciding it was time to test the waters, he rested one hand on her backside and brought the other up to circle her waist.

  “Tell me, how could your shop do better?” he whispered.

  “What?” she breathed.

  “Just tell me,” he pressed, squeezing her bottom.

  “I fall behind with my book work, tracking orders, that kind of thing,” she admitted, her voice low.

  Taking a deep breath, he threw the pitch.

  “I could motivate you to do better,” he suggested softly.

  “How, and why are we talking about this right now?” she asked, and though her voice was soft, he could sense the frown creasing her brow.

  “I could spank your beautiful backside.”

  Her reaction was immediate and strong, the negative energy hitting him as he felt her body tense, and dropping his arm from her waist he stepped backwards; at the mere suggestion she had recoiled.

  “You’re not serious,” she exclaimed, turning quickly to face him, her voice strained.

  “I am,” he replied, feeling his semi-erection shrivel and die. “Some women enjoy being spanked, either romantically or as a kind of motivation, many times both.”

  “I’m not one of them,” she said brusquely, standing tall and running her fingers through her hair. “I know there’s this crazy thing going around now, all because of some book, but I’m a strong independent woman and I don’t need a man telling me what to do. I certainly don’t want or need one to smack me around.”

  “I would never, ever, smack you around,” he retorted. “I would never hit a woman. Never. I cherish the women in my life.”

  “You just said you wanted to spank me. What’s that if it’s not hitting?”

  Zander sighed heavily, and dropping his shoulders he moved to his nightstand to turn on the light.

  “I’m very sorry if I offended you, or frightened you, or caused you any discomfort. Please accept my apologies.”

  “So, that’s it?” she huffed.

  “Yes, I’m afraid, that’s it,” he said somberly.

  “I don’t understand any of this,” she stammered, her righteous indignation floating around her like an invisible aura.

  “I know you don’t and it’s entirely my fault. Again, I’m sorry.”

  “Just so I’m clear, if you can’t, uh, do uh, things like that to me, you’re simply not interested?”

  “Heather, there’s no way to explain how I feel, it’s impossible, so I won’t even try. Let’s just say we’re not compatible and leave it at that, no hard feelings at all. None.”

  She stood, unmoving, staring at him.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Will you answer a question for me?”

  “I can try.”

  “Is it very common, this, uh, thing? I mean, is it something that’s happening because it’s the flavor of the month, or is it, I don’t know, has it been around a long time.”

  “First, let’s call it by it’s name, Dominance and submission,” Zander said slowly. “Second, it’s inherent, it’s not a choice. For people like me it’s very difficult to have a relationship without it.”

  “But, why?”

  “Why are some men born attracted to other men? They don’t choose their sexual orientation. It’s the same thing. I have been a Dominant for as long as I can remember. It’s not a choice. It’s how I was born.”

  “So, you can’t have a normal relationship?”

  Zander was losing his patience. He didn’t blame her and he wanted to help her understand, but the last question was a fist in his gut.

  “I think it’s time we parted company,” he said soberly, controlling his frustration. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  “I’m just interested, that’s all.”

  “I can’t tell you anymore than I already have,” he finished.

  Heather moved forward, passing him as she entered the hallway, and he followed her into the living room, retrieving her coat from the closet.

  “Normal is a relative term,” he said quietly, holding it as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

  “Yes, I know,” she quipped.

  “Quite frankly I think I’m the normal one. I don’t understand how you can live such a bland existence. For me, that’s not normal.”

  She turned and faced him, a puzzled frown crossing her brow.

  “I don’t see it as bland,” she said, shaking her head, “at least, not with the right partner. I guess we’re just different,” she sighed. “For what it’s worth, you’re the first man that’s held my interest in a long time.”

  “If you change your mind and you’d like to experiment a bit, call me,” he offered tenderly.

  She had become warmer, softer, and he could feel her defenses dropping.

  “I can’t imagine it but thank you, Zander. I’ll remember that.”

  And she was gone.

  That’s it. That’s my last attempt in the vanilla world. It always ends the same and I’m not doing it anymore.

  Walking out on to the terrace he picked up the dishes from the table and carried them into the kitchen. As he closed the sliding glass doors he remembered that Abigail had left him a voice mail, and moving to the desk in his study he picked up his cell phone, immediately noticing that there was a second message from a number that rang a vague bell, but wasn’t instantly recognizable.

  “Hi Zander, it’s me, Abigail. I’m so excited, I meeting a Dom for lunch at Marigolds. He’s really cool, I really like him. I’ll call you later.”

  Marigolds. Nice place. I wonder how it went. I’ll call her tomorrow.

  Touching the screen to listen to the voicemail from the unidentified number, he was surprised to hear her voice a second time.

  “Hi Zander, it’s me again. Anyway, I met him, and oh my gosh, you wouldn’t believe it. He lives in this really big, gorgeous house, and we spent the afternoon together, and I’m going to spend the weekend with him really soon. I think he’s kind of famous, you might even know him. His name is Connor Matthews. He’s very strict but you know I need strict. I’m in heaven. In case you don’t remember my cell doesn’t work very well in my apartment, so the number showing up is my home landline. If you want to call me back use this number. Talk to you later. Bye.”

  Right, of course, her home phone. I should have recognized it. Well, well, Connor Matthews. Interesting. I’m not surprised he’s a Dom.

  Turning off his phone he placed it on the charger, thinking about the Connor Matthews he knew of but had never met. He was a successful architect and held in high regard; Abigail could do worse.

  He was about to head out when he saw his wallet. Pulling Gabriela’s card from behind his license he stared at her name, and for reasons he didn’t quite know he carried it with him into his bedroom. Stripping quickly he slipped between his sheets, turned out the lights, and left the fireplace dancing its flames.

  Gabriela, where are you? I just know something’s not right. Call me crazy but I swear I can feel you thinking about me.

  He stared out at the city for a moment before picking up his tablet and touching the button that closed the drapes. With the card still firmly in his grasp he closed his eyes, but sleep did
not come easily. Restlessly he shifted positions, and as he finally began to drift away he saw her.

  I’m here, please find me. Please, Zander, I need you.

  Her voice was a thick echo, and though she was hidden by a dense cloud her emerald eyes were piercing the fog. He ran towards them, calling her name, and her hand unexpectedly thrust out to grab his. Pushing through the murky grey he stretched out his arm, reaching for her, but it disappeared like a hand sinking into the ocean depths.

  Bolting upright, sweating and panting, he blinked his eyes open. His heart was pounding, and as he scanned the still, silent room, he tried to come to terms with the dream.

  Switching on his bedside lamp he took several deep breaths, then rolled from his bed and padded into the bathroom. Running a hand towel under the cold water, he wiped it across his face, staring at his reflection.

  “You have to do something. I don’t know what, but something. You won’t have any peace until you find out where she is and why she disappeared on you.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Gabriela finished loading the dishwasher and stared out the window at the manicured backyard. Rose bushes, olive trees, and a green lawn that sat majestically like a rich, verdant carpet, made for an engaging picture. At the far end sat the storage shed where the gardeners kept their equipment. It looked innocent enough, but behind a false wall was the cage.

  She had spotted the tiny spy camera the first time he’d thrown her in there, and knowing she was being monitored she’d immediately feigned comfort and ease. He’d left her for three hours, and in the dim red light she had hummed for a while, then sung Brazilian love songs in her native Portuguese before yawning and laying down for a nap.

  Though Gabriela had been suffering, she would have appeared completely calm. Her ruse had worked, and he’d never put her in the cage again.