The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel

by M. F. Sinclair

  I drank my champagne and continued to survey the room. Familiar faces filled every corner of the rather large reception area. Some people smiled at me and I smiled back. Some guests were already on the dance floor, swinging their hips to the jazzy sounds of Michael Bublé. I glanced over at the entrance, my stomach churning with fear and anticipation.

  Where the hell is Seton?!

  “Look at you!” Jeremy said, sitting on the empty chair next to me and giving me a soft kiss on the cheek. I was now sandwiched between him and Alfred. “My God, you look just like Audrey Hepburn! Simply fabulous.”

  I made an inelegant snorting sound and grabbed another champagne flute from a waiter. “Honey, you flatter me, always trying to make me seem more appealing than I really am.”

  “Nonsense, hon, you’ve always reminded me of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. You’re my Holly Golightly.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I’m a screwed-up social-climbing prostitute?”

  “Maybe not a prostitute, and definitely not a social climber, but you are pretty screwed up.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said dryly.

  “Don’t mention it, Miss Golightly.”

  “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be sitting next to Magda?”

  I waved at Magda, who sat next to her husband. She smiled her pretty dimpled smile and mouthed, “You look beautiful.” I mouthed back a thank you and added, “So do you.” She really looked adorable in a simple dress that matched the color of her ivory skin to perfection. A pearl necklace decorated her neck. I smiled to myself. It was nice to see Magda in something other than a polo shirt, a pair of khaki pants and penny loafers—her usual attire.

  “Yeah, I am,” Jeremy said. “But there are two extra seats at this table. Besides, Magda’s designer impostor perfume was making my eyes water.”

  I smacked him in the arm. “Don’t be a jerk!” I warned.

  He rubbed his arm. “Ow! Well, it’s true. Isn’t it, Magda girl?”

  I cast a worried glance at Magda. She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and gave me a helpless, what-ya-gonna-do shrug. What a strange friendship those two had. It seemed that their constant bickering had reached a point where insults were no longer insulting.

  At that moment, I heard a commotion coming from somewhere in the vicinity of the main entrance. Heads swiveled to see what all the fuss was about. I peered over to see what was going on, but there were so many people gathered around the main walkway that I couldn’t see a damn thing. My knees trembled underneath the table when I finally spotted the object of everyone’s attention. David J. Seton had arrived, looking absolutely delicious in a formal black suit as he strode into the reception hall. His short, wavy hair was styled in that mousy, carefully disheveled look that was so fashionable among thirty-ish men these days. Before him, people parted as if he were a king headed to his thrown. My breath caught in my chest as he gracefully made his way toward his designated table—my table. Alfred, Samantha and a few others quickly crossed over to him. Jeremy, Magda, Tom and I remained seated.

  “Oh, look, our meal ticket has arrived,” Jeremy muttered derisively. “Guess who’s going to steal the spotlight away from poor Samantha?”

  I ignored Jeremy and tried to keep my heart from beating its way out of my chest at the sight of the very man who was slowly stripping away my sanity. I took one last swig of my champagne and signaled a passing waiter for more. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jeremy giving me a quizzical look.

  “You okay, hon?” he asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I said nothing and noticed that Magda was staring at me too. I tore my gaze away from my friends’ puzzled frowns and concentrated on the man who was now shouldering away from Alfred and the other guests and walking up to our table. Two empty chairs stood right across from me. Seton was about to sit in one of them. I tried to focus on something other than the fact that I was going to be face to face with Seton after spending one very hot night with him at an anonymous fetish club in Albany, but I couldn’t. I mentally prepared myself for his cold greeting—if he bothered to acknowledge my presence at all. I suddenly felt light-headed, and I doubted it had anything to do with the three glasses of champagne I had already consumed.

  Everyone at the table stood up as Seton, Alfred, Samantha and Claude approached us. Seton glanced and smiled at everyone but me.

  “Mr. Seton, meet some of our talented editors. This is Jeremy Walters, Magda Jones and her husband Tom, Celia Dane, George O’Donnell, Barry Conrad and his lovely wife Meredith.”

  Alfred paused while Seton shook hands and murmured a “nice to meet you” to each of them. Seton was all formality and politeness, a side of him I hadn’t seen until now.

  Alfred continued. “And of course, you know Miss Marjorie Fordham, your editor.” Alfred smiled and winked at me. “We hope.”

  Seton let out a polite chuckle before his piercing green eyes finally met mine. I clutched at my empty chair with one hand and ran shaky fingers through my loose curls with the other. Then I smoothed down my dress, my gaze fixed on my ministrations. Sighing inwardly, I turned my attention back to Seton to get the amenities out of the way. Lustful admiration flickered in his beautiful eyes just moments before his expression became blank. It happened so quickly I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it.

  Seton gave me a curt nod and said, “How do you do, Miss Fordham?”

  “I’m well, thank you,” I said in a polite tone that mimicked his.

  “You look quite lovely this evening.” He smiled slowly. “Kind of like Elizabeth Taylor in her younger days.”

  I smiled back and gave him a grateful nod, not wanting him or anyone else to notice that I wasn’t breathing, that I hadn’t been breathing since he came here. Everyone sat down. I blew out my breath the moment I sank into my chair. A waiter carrying a large tray with drinks strolled by. I waved him over, grabbed a flute with bubbly and drank it as if my life depended on it.

  Conversations flowed around me. Seton spoke amiably to everyone at the table but me. I, in turn, did the same. Seton was charm personified. He was all smiles and politeness. He even had the grace to blush when Samantha complimented him on his “luminous eyes.” He talked about England and his plans to stay in Northampton indefinitely to work in his art gallery, which he hoped would be open for business by autumn. He spoke with both eloquence and wit, cracking self-deprecating jokes about his early years as a “starving writer.” I noticed that he changed the subject when Samantha enquired about his family. Huh. Interesting.

  Everyone at the table adored him—all except for Jeremy, who laughed dryly and muttered biting remarks that only I could hear. I had a suspicion he was doing it for my benefit. A conspiratorial wink from him confirmed it.

  I looked at him, puzzled. Why did he think I needed his support? It wasn’t like he knew about Seton and me. At least, I hoped he didn’t!

  Seton continued to chatter away with the others. It amazed me to see a side of him I hadn’t encountered before. He was always so mysterious, so aloof when he was with me, and yet there he was now—Mr. Dimples and Smiles, Mr. Boy Next Door. Who was that charming, friendly person sitting across the table? Where was the arrogant, imperious man I’d met six days ago?

  “So, what do you think of our Marjorie?” Alfred asked Seton as he flashed me a fatherly grin. “I hope she’s been a fine example of what we have to offer.”

  I saw a smile touch Seton’s handsome face as he considered Alfred’s question. He ran an index finger slowly over the rim of his champagne flute and I felt a flutter of sexual awareness stir within me as I remembered what he did to me with that same exact finger just the night before.

  “Miss Fordham is quite efficient at what she does,” Seton drawled as he continued to toy with his drink. “She has been very accommodating, I assure you.” Smoldering green eyes gazed at me as he spoke the last sentence.

  The double entendre and the sexually-charged lilt in his voice were not lost on me. I felt my cheeks fl
ushing pink as I cast a worried glance across the table. I didn’t want Seton to ignore me, but I didn’t want him to make our affair public either. Fortunately, no one noticed anything unusual, for they either smiled at me or nodded in approval. Jeremy, on the other hand, watched me and Seton with narrowed eyes.

  Alfred grinned heartily at me and gave me a gentle pat in the back before making his excuses and leaving the table, grumbling something about stupid banquet halls and their no-smoking rules.

  “Now, if you please,” Seton said with one hand over his chest. “I appreciate your kindness in welcoming me and making me feel at home, but we’re here to celebrate Ms. Minou’s new book. She is, after all, the star of the evening.”

  Samantha smiled at him, charmed.

  I sighed with relief, sending Seton a silent thank you for changing the subject.

  Jeremy snorted softly next to me. “He damn well knows Sam isn’t the star anymore,” he muttered nastily.

  I shot him an annoyed look while I finished my champagne.

  “How many of those have you had tonight?” he asked, indicating the empty flute.

  “Lost count,” I muttered and signaled the waiter for more.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he asked quietly, frowning as he watched me start in on another round of delicious bubbly. “So far, I’ve seen you either fidgeting or drinking yourself to an early grave.”

  I downed the champagne and shrugged. “It’s been a tough week for me, okay? I just wanna unwind a little.”

  He pursed his lips and said nothing. Good. I was getting tired of his constant meddling and eye-narrowing. It was sweet of him to care, but sometimes I wished he would just mind his own friggin’ business for once.

  My head felt fuzzy, a welcoming sensation. I needed to forget about all of the confusion inside my head and, more important, forget about the man sitting right across from me. I drank more champagne and shot Jeremy a daring, say-something-and-you’ll-live-to-regret-it look. He swore under his breath as he got up and walked away. Finally, I thought bitterly. Now I can be drunk and miserable in peace.

  I didn’t know how much time had passed or how much more alcohol I’d consumed, but I knew that Samantha’s book had already been introduced and that she had already spoken to the press. Dinner had been served, and a band now played very loud jazz music on the stage. I knew David J. Seton was still at the table, still ignoring me, and still endearing himself to all of the guests. I also knew that a woman had joined our party—a tall, gorgeous, voluptuous redhead in a little black figure-revealing dress and matching calf-length boots. (The only reason I had noticed the boots was because I’d glanced down at her feet, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of a twinkling ankle bracelet and toe-ring set identical to mine.) I gaped at the vision that now occupied the seat next to Seton’s. She had yellow-green cat eyes and lips so lusciously full Angelina Jolie would’ve been envious. She was a little in the heavyset side, but the extra weight suited her, made her look all the more inviting. Seton had introduced the stunning redhead as Karen York, his agent. My stomach sank.

  That’s his agent?!

  “Hello everyone,” she’d greeted curtly. She had one of those annoyingly shrilly voices made popular by simpering heroines in BBC period dramas. “Sorry I’m late. Train arrived just a few minutes ago.”

  She was polite and conversational enough to everyone at the table, but most of her attention was focused on Seton. They spoke softly and in earnest, eyes on no one but each other. She made a lot of gestures with her slender hands while she spoke. I caught glimpses of her smoothing a strand of hair away from Seton’s forehead and whispering things in his ear, things that made him laugh. The gesture reminded me of the blonde bombshell I saw him with yesterday and wondered if Karen was another one in his long string of lovers. I toyed with my drink in doleful silence. Karen and the blonde were gorgeous. They were also tall, bodacious and glamorous—everything I was not.

  “You all right, sweetie?” Magda asked me, concern written all over her pretty round face.

  I smiled and nodded. “Just tired.”

  The sounds of Seton and Karen laughing and flirting from across the table were impossible to ignore. The jazzy music coming from the band playing on the stage wasn’t loud enough to drown out their voices. I had to get away from them.

  Pushing to my feet, I made my excuses to Magda and Tom and dashed across the room to talk with the other guests. Clusters of people were gathered in small circles wherever I went. Alfred and Samantha were chatting up a storm with several authors and colleagues in a faraway corner of the room. I was staggering my way to them when someone caught my wrist and spun me over. The sudden movement made me dizzy.

  “Just answer me one thing,” Jeremy said as he held me steady with both hands. “Is Seton the reason why you’re behaving this way?”

  I frowned, pressing a hand against my forehead. “Behaving how?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Like a deer caught in headlights. Like a…needy chick.”

  Disbelief swirled within me. A needy chick? Me? Suddenly angry, I pushed Jeremy back forcibly with both hands. He barely moved. I, on the other hand, staggered backwards from the effort it took me to push him and almost fell on my ass, but Jeremy grabbed me and steadied me, his hands curled tightly around my elbows. He made sure I was standing straight before letting go. I closed my eyes briefly and sighed wearily.

  “So?” he asked with an expectant look on his face that puzzled me.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He sighed and gave me a rueful look. “I’ve known you for a very long time, Margie. I know you like I know my own right hand.”

  “I don’t think you know anyone as much as you know your right hand,” I responded with a suggestive smile.

  He didn’t laugh. “This isn’t like you, hon. I’ve never seen you behave this way. You’re one of the most self-possessed people I know, and seeing you like this is…it’s unsettling, is all.” He sighed again and wrapped a warm hand around the back of my neck, giving me a gentle squeeze. “Tell me what’s wrong, sweetie. Is it Seton? Has he done something to upset you?”

  I blinked several times at him. “No! Why would you think that?”

  He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Look, just answer me this. Do you like him?” He raised his eyebrows and flashed me a meaningful look, making it clear what he’d meant by “like him.”

  I shrugged, tears forming in my eyes brought on by his well-intentioned meddling. But I held them back. “He’s…tolerable—”

  “But not handsome enough to tempt you?”

  I smiled at his quip. Pride and Prejudice was one of my all-time favorite novels and Jeremy and I often incorporated passages and quotes into our daily conversations, just for fun. It was nice of him to try to cheer me up by doing that now.

  I stood up straight, chin up, and with a snooty voice said, “You’d better return to your friends and enjoy their smiles. You’re wasting your time with me.”

  He stared at me for a few seconds, then laughed and brushed a brotherly kiss across my forehead. “I’m here for you, to help you. I just want you to be happy. You know that, right?”

  I nodded and punched him good-naturedly on his shoulder as I turned to leave.

  He grabbed my elbow. “Here, let me walk—”

  “No, really, I’m fine,” I protested lightly, pulling away. “The champagne went straight to my head, but it’s no big deal. I still have my faculties. Forget about me and have some fun.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes! Now go and do some cruising. Those poets at the bar are cute and I’d hate to see you lose an opportunity to get laid.”

  We exchanged smiles before I turned my back to him and walked back to the table as steadily as I possibly could. Jeremy called out something after me, but I ignored him. It was nice of him to worry about me, but he didn’t have to. I was fine. I didn’t need him to
hold my hand.

  I slipped into my chair and made a signal to a passing waiter. This time I asked for water. I’d had enough champagne for one night.

  Drinking the water, I glanced over at Seton and Karen to see what they were doing and found him watching me with a look of naked lust so hot I almost choked. Heat rose up my neck and into my cheeks as I finished the water and tried to calm my now shaking hands. I turned my gaze to Karen York. She was busily tapping away on her BlackBerry.

  I looked back at Seton and saw that he’d gotten up and was now approaching me. My heart skipped a beat when he stopped in front of me, offering me a hand. “Fancy a dance with me, Miss Fordham?”

  He grabbed my hand and pulled me up before I had a chance to respond.

  I walked—more like floated—to the dance floor, Seton behind me, his large hand on the small of my back. His palm felt so warm against me that I had to fight the urge to move away from his scintillating touch.

  We reached the dance floor, where it was dark, save for the harsh glare of a moving spotlight. Five couples were already dancing, eyes on no one but the person facing them.

  Seton slid one arm around my waist and pulled me against his hard body. Then he took my hand in his and brought it to his lips. He brushed feather-light kisses across my fingers, trailing tiny sparks of heat as he moved from one fingertip to the next. I blew out a faint breath as desire shimmered to life within me.

  A mixture of amusement and mischief crinkled in his eyes. “You look beautiful tonight, my pet,” he murmured playfully into my hand, a teasing little smile touching the corners of his mouth.

  The roguish lilt in his velvety-smooth voice sent a rush of excitement through me. Now that was the Seton I knew—the dark and infuriatingly sexy Dom that made me all hot and tingly with just a few words or a simple touch—not that coldly civil stranger I came across with earlier.