Chapter 9 #2
"Of course they are. I've known Megan and Nora since college. We've been through everything together." I take a sip of wine, gathering courage. "I've barely seen them since I started working here. They're beginning to think I've fallen off the face of the earth."
He leans back in his chair, watching me with an expression I can't quite decipher. "You've been occupied with the installation. And with me." There's a possessive undercurrent to his words that sends a shiver through me—part desire, part warning.
"Yes," I agree, meeting his gaze directly. "And I've enjoyed every minute. But I need to maintain other relationships too."
"Need?" He picks up his wine glass, swirling the ruby liquid thoughtfully. "That's a strong word, Holly."
"It is," I confirm, my resolve strengthening. "These people are my support system. My chosen family."
He considers this for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
Then he rises from his chair with fluid grace, circling the table to stand behind me.
His hands settle on my shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the tense muscles at the base of my neck.
Despite my determination to stand firm, my body responds instantly to his touch, relaxing into his skilled fingers.
"I understand the importance of traditions," he says, his voice a low rumble above me as his thumbs work small circles that send pleasure radiating down my spine. "But I had plans for us this weekend, Holly. Important plans."
"The symphony?" I ask, trying to maintain my focus as his hands slide from my shoulders down my arms in a caress that's both soothing and arousing.
"The symphony was just the beginning," he murmurs, bending to speak directly into my ear, his breath warm against my skin.
"I've arranged for the east wing guest suite to be transformed into a winter wonderland, following the designs you created but never implemented for the Harriman estate last year. "
I turn in surprise, dislodging his hands. "How did you know about those designs? The Harrimans rejected them as too elaborate."
A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth.
"I have my sources. And unlike the Harrimans, I appreciate your vision in its fullest expression.
" He cups my cheek, thumb stroking across my cheekbone.
"I wanted to surprise you—to show you what your creativity looks like when budget is no constraint. "
The gesture is thoughtful, romantic even—and completely calculated to make declining difficult. I feel my resolve wavering in the face of his consideration, his apparent desire to celebrate my talent.
"That's incredibly sweet," I say honestly. "But I could see it on Sunday instead. The party is just one evening—"
"I had the chef planning a menu inspired by your favorite holiday foods," he continues, his hand sliding into my hair, cradling the back of my head in a touch that's both tender and controlling.
"The wine cellar opened for vintages that complement each course perfectly.
The bed strewn with winter roses. Every detail arranged specifically for you. "
His other hand settles on my waist, drawing me to my feet and against him in one smooth motion.
"Do you know how rarely I plan evenings focused entirely on someone else's pleasure, Holly?
" His voice drops lower, taking on that edge that never fails to send heat pooling in my abdomen.
"How unprecedented it is for me to design experiences around another person's desires rather than my own? "
Put that way, it does seem significant—this powerful man who controls empires, arranging his home, his staff, his resources to create something special for me.
My body responds to his proximity, to the possessive yet caring touch of his hands, even as my mind rebels against the manipulation beneath the romance.
"I appreciate the thought," I say, placing my hands on his chest, neither pushing him away nor pulling him closer. "Truly. But my friends are expecting me. I've already told Megan I'll be there."
His expression shifts, the warmth cooling several degrees. "I see. So your decision was made before our discussion." There's a dangerous softness to his tone now. "You weren't asking permission or considering my feelings—you were merely informing me of your plans."
"Permission?" I repeat, taking a step back, his hands falling away from my body. "Dominic, I don't need permission to see my friends."
"Of course not," he agrees smoothly, though his eyes remain cold. "You're free to make your own choices, Holly."
Despite his words, there's something in his tone that suggests my choice is disappointing, perhaps even a betrayal of sorts. He moves back to his chair, picking up his tablet again—a clear dismissal.
"We could compromise," I offer, hating the conciliatory tone that creeps into my voice. "I could go to the party for a couple of hours and then meet you afterward for a late symphony performance."
"The tickets are for the eight o'clock seating," he says without looking up. "The same time as your party, I believe."
The temperature in the room seems to drop further. I stand awkwardly beside my chair, caught between frustration at his passive-aggressive response and guilt for disrupting his plans.
"I'm sorry about the surprise you planned," I say finally. "It sounds wonderful, and I'm touched that you would go to such trouble for me. But these friends are important, and I need to—"
"Maintain your relationships," he finishes for me, finally looking up. Something shifts in his expression, the coldness giving way to a more calculated look that I'm beginning to recognize—the strategist reassessing his approach. "You're right, of course. Those connections are valuable to you."
His sudden agreement catches me off guard. "Thank you for understanding," I say cautiously.
Dominic rises again, approaching me with that predatory grace that never fails to make my heart race.
"I do understand, Holly. Better than you might think.
" He circles me slowly, his presence making me acutely aware of my body, my breathing.
"You value loyalty. Constancy. Connections formed over time. "
"Yes," I agree, turning to keep him in my sight as he moves around me.
He stops directly behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat from his body, though he doesn't touch me. "Admirable qualities," he murmurs, his breath stirring the hair at my nape. "Qualities I value as well. Perhaps more than you realize."
His hands settle on my shoulders again, this time with firmer pressure.
"Do you know what I thought when I first saw you in my collection room?
" he asks, his thumbs tracing my collarbones through the thin fabric of my blouse.
"I thought: finally. Something I didn't know I was searching for until I found it. "
The echo of words he's said before still affects me, still sends a flutter of pleasure through my chest. His hands slide down my arms, then around my waist, drawing me back against him.
"I've never felt this connection with anyone before," he continues, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below my ear. "This immediate recognition of something essential. Have you?"
"No," I admit, the truth slipping out before I can consider whether honesty serves me in this moment.
His arms tighten around me, one hand splaying across my stomach, the other rising to tilt my chin up and to the side so he can see my profile. "Then perhaps you understand why I'm reluctant to share even a single evening of our limited time together."
His mouth traces a line down my neck, teeth grazing my skin in a way that draws an involuntary gasp from me.
"The installation will be complete in less than two weeks," he reminds me.
"The holiday will pass. Your contract will end.
" His hand slips beneath the hem of my blouse, finding bare skin.
"These moments are precious, Holly. Finite. "
My body betrays me, melting back against him as his skilled fingers trace patterns on my skin. "The party is just one evening," I manage, though my voice lacks conviction.
"One evening I wanted to spend showing you how much you've come to mean to me," he counters, turning me in his arms to face him. His blue eyes burn with an intensity that's hard to withstand. "One evening devoted entirely to your pleasure."
His hand cups my face, thumb brushing across my lower lip. "But if your friends are more important right now, I understand." The words are reasonable, but the underlying message is clear—I'm choosing others over him, and he's disappointed.
"That's not fair," I protest weakly. "It's not a competition."
"Life is competition, Holly." His thumb continues its maddening caress of my lip. "Time is limited. Choices must be made. Priorities established."
He bends to replace his thumb with his mouth, kissing me with a thoroughness that makes my knees weak. When he pulls back, I'm breathless, clinging to his shoulders for support.
"Go to your party," he says, his voice low and controlled again. "Enjoy your friends. I'll make other arrangements for Saturday evening."
The reasonable words are belied by the cold finality in his tone. This isn't acceptance—it's retreat. The Dominic Sterling I've come to know doesn't concede; he strategizes. This apparent surrender feels more threatening than his earlier attempts at persuasion.
"What will you do instead?" I ask, dreading the answer yet needing to know.
A slight smile curves his mouth, not reaching his eyes. "I'm sure I can find suitable entertainment for the evening. Perhaps Alessandra is still in town."
The casual mention of the woman he spoke of at breakfast our first morning together hits its target with precision. Jealousy flares, hot and immediate, just as he intended.
"That's manipulative," I say, stepping back from his embrace, anger finally cutting through the haze of desire he so skillfully created.