The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel

by M. F. Sinclair

  A woman stood beside him. Their close proximity told me they were not strangers. A spark of jealousy blazed through me, but I immediately squashed it. He was a free man, always had been, and he could do with his life whatever he damn well pleased.

  The woman looked familiar though. Something about the elegant and seductive way in which she stood made me look at her more closely. Bile rose within me when I realized it was the busty blonde in red from Cajun Catfish.

  I looked away from them for a moment and took a deep breath. I felt worthless just looking at her. She was perfection, a glamazon from top to bottom. Even in casual clothes, the blonde looked as sleek and alluring as the last time I saw her. She wasn’t wearing a red dress and fuck-me stilettos now though. She wore a pretty white top with a pink miniskirt just shy of showing her high, perfect little buttocks. The skirt skimmed her thighs, showing off her silky-smooth skin to perfection. On her head rested a large pair of chic sunglasses, keeping her glossy, caramel-colored hair off her face. The bright sun brought out her salon-perfect blonde highlights to their best advantage. And—for the pièce de résistance—she was holding a cigarette languorously, sexily, in her manicured hand, flicking the butt to the side using graceful, rose-tipped fingers. I looked down at her feet, expecting to see an ankle bracelet and a toe ring, but she wore running shoes with pink socks that almost reached her calves.

  But I didn’t have to see the jewels. It was obvious that Seton and the blonde were involved. How could they not be? They were like cinnamon and apples—perfect together. They were gorgeous, stylish and worldly—flawlessly designed for one another. J. Crew models had nothing on those two! They were almost the same height too. The blonde was about three inches shy of reaching Seton’s six feet. She dwarfed me in every possible way.

  Grimacing, I glanced down at my unzipped blue windbreaker, white wife-beater t-shirt, blue capri pants and worn-out black Nikes (no socks). My hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. I looked like someone who grabbed the first thing she saw in her closet and then shrugged into it carelessly—which, coincidentally, was exactly what I did. The only expensive item on me was my Louis Vuitton shoulder bag. I blew out a disgusted breath. There was no contest. He would have never picked me over the vision in Prada hovering around him.

  I studied my unpolished nails, wished I smoked and swore blind that the next time I ran into Seton I would look nicer. I turned dubious eyes to the perfect couple and gasped. Intense green eyes stared up at me, darkening when I met their gaze.

  Shit! Shit, shit, shit!!

  Flustered, I shoved my magazine and half-empty bottle of Evian into my purse and slowly walked down the bleachers, trying to scoot out of the area as inconspicuously as humanly possible. Once down, my legs quivered when I tried to turn tail and run as if my life depended on it. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Seton and the woman rushing toward me.

  Fuuuuuck!

  I couldn’t run off now! How would that look? Taking a deep breath, I managed to stiffen my knees, then turned to face the perfect couple. I plastered a pleasant smile on my face and uttered a barely audible “Hello.”

  “Hello,” the woman replied. With her thick English accent, it sounded like she’d said “huh-low.”

  I licked dry lips and peered up at Seton. His beautiful face was expressionless, almost remote, but his eyes shimmered with a heat that stirred an answering fire deep within me.

  Standing so close to him, having those magnetic eyes of his stare down at me, stunned me for a moment, my smile frozen into place. I had to look away from him, even if it meant turning my attention to the blonde goddess next to him. My gaze drifted to the woman and I widened my smile. She reciprocated by curling her luscious lips into a warm, friendly grin. I stared at her, trying to pick up on any traces of smugness or mockery in her flawless face, but there was none. I let out an inner sigh. That’s right, I thought pettily. Act all nice and sweet so I won’t hate you.

  I zipped up my jacket and shoved my hands into the side pockets, trying not to look as uncomfortable as I felt. Why was she smiling at me? Why was she being so nice? She wasn’t supposed to be nice, wasn’t supposed to look at me with kind, friendly, lake-water green eyes framed with the longest, thickest eyelashes I had ever seen…

  Oh.

  “I’d like you to meet Dana Janice Seton,” Seton said tonelessly. “My sister.”

  “His twin sister,” Dana added, rolling her eyes at her brother. “He always forgets to mention that bit.”

  Shock coiled through me. His sister? His twin sister? I’d been jealous of his twin sister all this time? I’d tortured myself for endless days and nights over a blood relative? Ugh! And what about Karen York? What was she, his cousin? Oh, God, let them be related too!

  I swallowed hard, but it didn’t seem to ease the dryness in my throat. I looked back at Seton. He was still gazing down at me, his face impassive.

  “And this is Marjorie Fordham,” Seton continued, voice neutral, “editor at Bookends AtoZ. She was courting me for a while, wanted to edit my next book, but then she changed her mind.”

  Something unreadable flickered in his eyes as he uttered the last sentence. I felt my cheeks turning pink as I cast a cautious glance at Dana.

  “Lovely to meet you,” she said in a sing-song English lilt. “You know, I’m trying to convince David to join your publishing house. I think a nice, quaint little house is precisely what he needs. People who care about him, not just about the money he’ll make them.”

  Seton snorted derisively at that. “Such a place doesn’t exist.”

  “Seton!” someone shouted from the field. Our heads swiveled at the sound. It was Alfred. “Come over here! Let me introduce you to one of our bestsellers.”

  Seton swung back to us, mumbled a “be right back” and walked quickly away.

  Dana and I were alone. Nervous, I dug my hands deeper into the jacket pockets, unsure of what to do. She turned her lovely green eyes—eyes identical to those of her brother’s—to me and gave me a closemouthed grin.

  I returned her smile. It was impossible to resist her charm. I had only known her for five minutes and already she seemed so different from her brother. He was arrogant and imposing and brooding, whereas she seemed amiable and sweet and, I suspected, a bit on the shy side. I had to rethink my previous impression of her. Sure, she was gorgeous and glamorous, but she was also down to earth. Or at least she seemed that way. I felt bad for misjudging her so severely.

  “So,” she said, reaching into her Prada bag and removing a pack of Marlboro Lights, “you and my brother are shagging then?”

  My smile faded. Okay, so she wasn’t as sweet as she seemed.

  She let out a throaty little laugh that would have made her the perfect phone-sex operator. “My brother is right,” she said, lighting up a cigarette and perching on a bench next to the bleachers. “You are easy to wind up!”

  I said nothing, just stood there, feeling like a lump of clay as this English goddess made fun of me.

  She chuckled softly as she crossed one leg swiftly over the other and held up one hand, the cigarette balanced between her index and middle fingers. “You poor thing! You’ve no idea how Davy’s like, do you? He’s quite the rascal, I warn you, and when we team up…well, there’s no end to our mischief.”

  I thinned my lips and sat next to her. “Unfortunately, I already know just how bad he is.”

  Amusement flirted with her mouth as she took a seductive long drag on her cigarette. Oh, God. She knew, didn’t she? She knew about the arrangement and knew that Seton had been playing me for a fool. They were probably very close and told each other everything. He’d probably told her about our trysts. Ick!

  “What we did to you was quite awful,” she said, smiling. “But it was Davy’s idea. He saw you having lunch with two of your colleagues outside and thought he’d give you a bit of a shock.”

  My shoulders sagged as I stared ahead at the field. Seton was chatting away with Alfred and one of Bookends’
most successful authors. He cast a quick glance at us, face blank, and then turned back to his companions. I moved my hands from my pockets and wrapped my arms around my chest as a prickle of pain burned deep within me. So, he had been laughing at me! Our relationship was nothing but a joke to him. I sighed slightly to ease the ache inside of me and turned rueful eyes back to Dana.

  Her amusement fled. “He didn’t mean anything by it, Marjorie. May I call you Marjorie? That’s the way he is! He’s a total jokester and a hopeless tease. If you’re going to be with him, you will need thicker skin.”

  “Yes, you may call me Marjorie,” I said dolefully. “And I guess I do need thicker skin. So, the two of you pretended to be lovers just to make me jealous?”

  Dana nodded, amusement recoiling her eyes. “He wanted to see if you’d react in some way. You know,” she leaned forward, her voice smoothed into a conspiratorial whisper, “I think he fancies you.”

  I shifted restlessly on the bench. “He doesn’t like me.”

  She frowned and leaned back, smoothing back a strand of hair that had come out of her sunglasses. “Yes, he does, darling. He’s never done that before, trying to make a woman jealous.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. He and I are no longer involved.”

  Her frown deepened. “Really? He didn’t tell me that! I was under the impression that the two of you were still together.”

  “We were never together. It was just sex.”

  She made a face at me. “Well…whatever it was, I hope the two of you work things out. Davy’s quite taken with you, I’m sure of it. And I’m glad. My dear brother, he needs someone special in his life.” She peered at him, sisterly affection written all over her pretty face.

  “I’m not ‘someone special,’ ” I said irritably.

  “He needs someone who could make him happy,” she went on, ignoring my biting remark. “He’s had a…difficult life.” She turned her gaze back to me, face suddenly serious. “He’s a good bloke, Marjorie, once you get to know him. He can be difficult, even intimidating, but that’s just a front. I must warn you, however, that he’s sort of a control freak—likes to order people around. You’ll have to get used to that. God knows I’ve had to put up with it!”

  I relaxed a little and smiled to myself. If only Dana knew that his controlling nature was precisely what I liked about him. I sighed with relief. He hadn’t told her about our trysts. If she felt the need to warn me about him being a “control freak,” then she didn’t know that he was dominant in bed. She didn’t know about that side of him. Oh, how nice it was to know that they weren’t that close!

  I wondered what she’d meant when she said that Seton had had a difficult life. I bit my tongue lightly to keep myself from asking. She hadn’t elaborated, and I wasn’t about to pry. Still, I wished she had gone into more detail.

  Dana lowered her sunglasses, combed her glossy hair with her fingers, then looped it back perfectly with her glasses. Man, if only I were as classy as she was. If only my personality were as exuberant as hers. She was gorgeous and interesting, a female version of her brother—right down to his fickle, contradictory nature.

  She caught me staring at her as she adjusted her glasses. “They’re Cutler and Gross,” she informed me, “an eyeglass shop in London. Cost me quite a bundle.” She eyed my shoulder bag. “Louis Vuitton! Lovely! I love handbags too. Perhaps you’ll fancy going shopping with me some time?”

  “Designer purses are my only vice. I’m not what you would call a fashionista, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” I indicated my shabby clothes. “But thanks for the offer.”

  “You would look fabulous in designer duds.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t see the point. I’m not exactly prone to spending hours in front of a mirror. I look plain no matter what I wear.”

  “I see you’re not a poster girl for high self-esteem.”

  I glared down at the grass and shrugged again.

  “It’s all nonsense, you know. You’re gorgeous.”

  This coming from someone with perfect porcelain skin. “What do you do, by the way?” I asked, changing the subject.

  She flicked the ashes on her cigarette butt. “I’m an art dealer.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Really? Your brother’s an art dealer too.”

  “I know. I’m here to help him set up his gallery. The day you saw us walking out of that restaurant, we were actually meeting with some investors. I was there as mediator, someone who could give him an expert second opinion. Davy is quite new at this stuff, but he’s always had an exquisite eye for quality art. I’m glad he’s finally decided to open up his own shop.”

  “And where do you live?”

  “Right now? I’m staying at Davy’s, but I reside in London. I’ll be here for another fortnight or so. I’m seriously considering moving to New York City in the not-so-distant future though. I’d like to open up a gallery in Manhattan.” She pursed her lips and looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’m trying to convince this famous artist to work with me. He lives in New York. You ever heard of Quinn Armitage?”

  I smiled softly to myself. Quinn Armitage—a.k.a. the Marquis de Sade of the art world—the tall, dark and tortured artist-slash-fetish club owner with the mysterious silvery-blue eyes and husky Australian accent. How could I forget?

  “No, don’t think so,” I lied.

  “He’s a long-time friend of Davy’s. He’s also a gifted artist. I’ve met him a couple of times.” She wrinkled her nose prettily at me. “To be honest, I don’t like him, at least not as a person. He’s very intense and kind of creepy. But he’s a brilliant painter. His portraits are rather dark and…erotic.” She let out an involuntary shiver when she uttered the last word, her eyes turning pensive just moments before they crinkled into a tight smile. “Anyway, I shall work with him. And Davy’s going to help me do it.”

  I leaned back on the bench and frowned at the outfield. I didn’t think Seton would let his twin sister work with someone like Quinn Armitage. Quinn seemed so bleak and moody, and his paintings were so intricate and darkly sensual, that I’d be wary of letting him near my drop-dead gorgeous twin sister if I was him. Well, I wouldn’t let my sister, if I’d had one, make business deals with someone like Armitage, but who knew what went on in Seton’s mind? I sure as hell didn’t! For all I knew, he’d be thrilled to have his good friend work with Dana.

  I could have saved her the trouble of persuading Quinn by simply telling her that the man hadn’t touched a single paintbrush in over a year, but then I’d have to explain how I knew that, which would lead to my explaining where I’d met him, and that I would not do. That was the reason why I’d lied about knowing him in the first place.

  Dana interrupted my thoughts, startling me. “Northampton’s quite lovely,” she chirped happily, her head tipped to the side as if to study my face, having noticed that I’d been staring at Seton. “Reminds me of Notting Hill, where I live.”

  My gaze traveled over to where Seton was talking to Alfred and asked Dana something that had been on my mind for a while now. “Why did Seton move here? I mean, why this town and not someplace more obvious, like New York or Boston?”

  She glanced over at her brother and puffed on her cigarette. “His best friend from Cambridge lives in this town. He’s the one who advised Davy to open up his gallery here.”

  I shot Dana a surprised look. “He’s got a friend who lives here?”

  She nodded. “I’ve seen him a few times, but I don’t know the chap all that well. He’s American, and he moved back to the states right after graduating from Cambridge. I thought I saw him here earlier. Oh, here comes Davy!”

  Seton strode toward us, wiping sweat from his face with a muscular forearm, leaving a faint sheen of moisture across his forehead. He’d been standing under the burning sun for a while now and his skin looked slightly flushed. Even in his current feverish state, he moved with the elegance and grace of an aristocrat. I chuckled softly when I noticed his t-shirt had the
phrase “My Way or the Highway” written on it. He stopped several feet before us, his gaze meeting mine before turning to his sister.

  “Let’s go. We’re leaving,” he said to her.

  I watched with interest as Dana extinguished her cigarette, snatched up her handbag and crossed over to her brother like a trainee at a boot camp. It amazed me how people automatically responded to Seton’s commands. Dana hadn’t even noticed that she’d been ordered to leave. Maybe she was so used to her brother’s dominant ways that obeying him was second nature to her.

  She grabbed Seton by the elbow and smiled at him. “Davy, is your best mate from Cambridge here?” she asked enthusiastically. “I thought I saw him at the game earlier. Perhaps we should introduce him to Marjorie.”

  “We’re leaving,” Seton repeated briskly.

  Dana frowned but said nothing. Then she scooted over to me, her arms outstretched, offering me a hug. I pushed to my feet and stiffened a little when she wrapped her slender arms around me in a sisterly embrace. She smelled of vanilla and Chanel No. 5. “It was nice meeting you, Marjorie! Hope we can meet up some time, before I leave for London. In fact, we shall meet up soon. Perhaps we’ll go shopping together after all! That a deal?”

  I pulled away from her and smiled. Dana’s enthusiasm was infectious, but it also confused me. Aside from Jeremy and Magda, no one had ever treated me with such kindness before. I hardly knew the woman, and yet she treated me with a familiarity that made me slightly uneasy.

  “So?” she probed. “Is it a deal?”