Knight's Mistress by C. C. Gibbs

Author:C. C. Gibbs [Gibbs, C. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Contemporary
ISBN: 9781782062912
Goodreads: 17054826
Publisher: Quercus
Published: 2012-12-06T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

As the door closed on Dominic and Mrs Hawthorne, Kate questioned her sanity, or his, debated her options about whether to stay or go, reminded herself she’d come here for selfish reasons, which brought her back to the issue of her sanity. But she’d always had more self-confidence than she needed; maybe Dominic Knight was just another challenge. And of one thing she was certain: he was a sex dream come true. Speaking of …

The door opened and Dominic walked in.

‘That was quick.’

‘And you didn’t move.’ He leaned back against the door, his face impassive. ‘Would you like a reward?’

‘Depends on your mood.’

‘I didn’t word that properly. I meant I’m going to fuck you.’

‘Rather than whip me?’

His lazy smile was unrepentant. ‘Your choice.’

‘Great choices.’

‘Give me trouble and there’ll be no choice,’ he said, pushing away from the door and moving towards her.

‘I haven’t agreed to any of your rules yet. I have choices.’

‘I haven’t agreed either,’ he quietly said, stopping just short of where she stood. ‘So there aren’t any rules.’

He suddenly seemed very large. She took a step back. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’

‘It’s just damned tempting to whip you when you’re dressed like a – like that,’ he said in a soft rasp, an unguarded brutality in his gaze.

She flinched. ‘Don’t you dare touch me!’

He closed the small distance between them in one long stride, grabbed her hands in a bruising grip, shoved them behind her back and rammed his body into hers. ‘Don’t you dare touch me?’ he growled. ‘When you’re wearing that fuck-me number?’

‘It’s your fuck-me number,’ she snapped, staring him straight in the eye, her temper spiking at warp speed when he pushed this hard. ‘I didn’t ask for it. I’m fine with vanilla sex. Especially with your mother around.’

The transformation was instant, the bucket of cold water metaphor entirely apt. He even gave his head a shake as though coming up for air.

‘You’ve got a fucking nerve,’ he said with a hint of a smile. ‘I’ll give you that.’ But he didn’t move, his grip still harsh, his body still crushed against hers.

‘So I’ve been told.’

He remembered saying that to her at their first meeting. His brows lifted faintly. ‘Are you mocking me, Miss Hart?’

‘No, I’m pushing back. I said I would.’

He gave her a considering gaze for a brief moment, then quietly said, ‘We’ll see how that works out.’ He brought her arms around to her sides, smiled. ‘My mother won’t be around long, Miss Hart. You’re going to have to get more creative.’

‘There’s always no.’

He softly laughed. ‘That should tax my self-restraint.’

‘Or your integrity.’

He didn’t immediately respond. ‘You talk a lot,’ he said finally.

‘About things you don’t want to talk about.’

‘That I never think about.’

‘Because women never say no to you?’

He hesitated, then blew out a breath and said, ‘Right.’

He had small chinks in his armour, like now, when he would have preferred not answering and did. And this morning with his mother had been revealing, as was his easy rapport with Max.

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