Caught: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (His Domination Book 2) (3 page)

“Oh, I think I will,” Monica said to the doorman. “Thank you. I’ll be going now.”

Henry met her at the bottom of the front steps, taking her by the arm and escorting her to his car.
I want to kiss him.
Right there in front of God and Château. That would give the girls spying on them from the second floor windows something to gossip about over dinner.

Monica refrained. She would unleash what she had to offer later.

“Beautiful day for a joyride.” Henry opened the passenger side door and motioned for Monica to enter. The door shut behind her. Yet the window was down, and Henry Warren folded his arms on top of the door and peered through the empty space.
I can smell his aftershave.
Memories of their one night together flooded Monica’s head. She was not surprised when Henry picked up her suitcase and instantly frowned. “What did you pack in here?”

Monica smiled sweetly. “You’ll find out later.”

This time the grin she got was laced in nothing but naughtiness.

A minute later they were pulling out of the driveway, Henry’s hands on the wheel and out the window as he let the fresh air weave in and out of his fingers. Monica followed his example, sticking out her arm and watching the shaded trees breeze by them. The cool air invigorated her senses until she thought her face would burst from the smile splitting it in two.

She had to yank her arm back into the car when they reached the main road and Henry gunned the gas. With a shriek louder than anything she had uttered in years, Monica held herself to the passenger seat and made sure her seatbelt was fastened.

The car was too loud for them to converse. For the duration of their afternoon drive, Monica took pleasure in the tingles wallowing in her skin, in the fresh air whipping through the car, and in the touches of Henry’s fingers every time he reached over to caress her hand or arm.
Is this how my girls feel when they’re being spoiled by patrons?
Monica wasn’t as young as them, but she could imagine this kind of rush becoming addictive.

“So how’s the carriage?” Henry shouted over the roar of his motor. “Is your great escape everything you ever wanted?”

Monica couldn’t raise her voice as loud as his. Instead she laughed, showing him her mirth in the only way she knew how.

The Warren Estate wasn’t just in another county, but it was in another state. Monica thought it would be too far for them to travel in one day, but Henry proved her wrong when he got them there in as few as four hours. One moment they were speeding on the highway, and then the next he whipped into a hidden driveway, taking them beneath towering oaks and along a small river that was as pristine as his eyes.

The house – well, mansion – was in the shape of a horseshoe, with the east and west wings jutting toward the front gardens while the main house sat in the back. The circular driveway meant Monica got a grand view of both towering wings as Henry pulled up to the front steps and flagged down the nearest man he could find. Monica was too distracted by the Baroque-inspired architecture that matched Henry’s personality to the point she would believe he had this place built instead of inheriting it from his parents. Nevertheless, her handsome chaperone led her out of the car and up the steps into the grand foyer.

“This is the Premier House,” he said, helping her remove her coat and gloves. Henry handed them to a butler who stood silently behind them. “Staff live here, as well every common area to be shared between household and guests. I live in the East Wing. My sister lives in the West. Perhaps you’ll meet her later.”

“I would like that.”

He introduced her to the primary staff who came up to greet them, welcome Henry home, and take their coats and bags. Everyone was polite and discreet to a fault, as Monica had come to expect from the people who worked in such places.
Even in Jackson’s homes.
Those people could be brutish, however. They had to be in order to put up with what went on in that household.
They knew what he was doing to me. They saw it all.
Jackson liked to…
No, no.
Monica couldn’t put herself down that path. She was here to have a getaway with Henry, the new man in her life. She wanted to get to know him, to enjoy what he had to offer, and maybe escape into their world of pleasure they were beginning to build.

“Is this your parents’ house?” Monica asked as she admired the gild work on the nearest banister. “I know they live in Montana now, but I’m guessing this is a family home.”

“My parents technically own it, but my sister and I are the only family residents here.” Henry put his hand on the small of her back, eliciting a smile. “My grandparents were the original owners of the house. Guess you could say it runs in our family.”

He had a habit of doing that – dropping hints that he was expected to continue his family line.
Or maybe I’m reading too much into it.
Monica followed him up the stairs into the East Wing. A man had already taken her bags up there after Henry told him that she was to stay there for the next few days.
Which means these people know I’m sleeping with him.
She hoped he paid them well enough to stay out of his business.

“Does your sister have any children?” Monica had no idea why she asked that.
Yes I do.
When she was with Jackson, there was no idea that they would have children.
Perhaps in another life where he didn’t turn out that way.
Monica was not opposed to the idea of being a mother one day, but she wasn’t about to get tangled up with a man who would eventually leave her because she wasn’t good enough to birth heirs.

Henry stopped in front of a door and looked at her over his shoulder. “No, she doesn’t. Honestly, the idea seems so preposterous.”

“Does she not want any?”

He opened the door. “You’ll see what I mean if she decides to join us for dinner.”

The master quarters of the East Wing were simple yet elegant in design. A receiving room boasted ample seating space and an entertainment center that spoke of intimate nights watching movies in front of the fireplace. Attached to the receiving room was a small kitchenette with a microwave, mini-fridge, and advanced hot plate that looked more sophisticated than the common oven.

Of course, that did not compare to the master en suite, with its jetted tub, high-tech shower, his-and-her vanities and enough storage space to hide Monica’s wardrobe if she were the type of woman to shove it in the bathroom. Henry showed it to her out of propriety, since, “I’m sure you’ll have to use it at some point.”

While nice, Monica only really cared about the bedroom. Especially when Henry opened a pair of double doors and carried her luggage through, gesturing to the four-poster bed bedecked in a soft blue comforter and white Egyptian cotton sheets.

All told, the common man would not imagine that Henry Warren was a Dom. But Monica was not the common man. She felt the sturdiness of the posts, saw the hooks hanging from the headboard, and caught a whiff of romantic candles that mixed calming vanilla with exciting cinnamon. It was a smell she could get used to.

Since they arrived so late, Henry informed her that dinner would be ready in less than a half hour. He excused himself to tend to house matters, leaving his guest to change into a loose cotton dress that hugged her chest but merely flirted with her hips. She thought about letting her hair down, but chose to sit in front of Henry’s vanity and coif it on top of her head into a tight bun. The finishing touch, which she completed the moment Henry stepped in to tell her dinner was served, was a string of pearls around the bun. They nestled nicely in her fine chestnut hair.

Dinner was indeed served by the time they reached the dining room in the Premier House. Henry pulled out a chair for Monica to sit in, to the right of the head. Naturally, Henry sat there, his posture perfect as he pulled a silk handkerchief into his lap and pulled roast off a platter. Monica lifted her hand to either serve him or herself, but Henry insisted on “spoiling” her.
When do I get to spoil you?

Not anytime soon. A loud voice echoed in the dining room, feminine, yet full of bite.

“Henry!” A woman dressed in a Givenchy suit strutted into the room, her five-inch heels clacking on marble and her jewelry jingling on her wrists and neck. At first Monica thought the woman also had her dark blond hair pulled into a bun, but on second glance she realized it was a short, choppy pixie cut above the ears and the nape of the neck. The bold and dark makeup on the woman’s slim face made her look like the type to waltz into an office and grab a man’s balls. “Where have you
been
all day?”

“Monica Graham,” Henry said, pushing back in his chair, “I’d like you to meet my sister, Evangeline Warren.”

“Please. Eva.” She pulled out the chair on Henry’s other side and sat down, although she did not face dinner, nor did she act like she was going to eat any of it soon. “Evangeline is some other woman I don’t know.”

“I admit I don’t know an Evangeline either.” Henry put his utensils down and regarded his sister with a mixture of contempt and affection. “And I was out. I told you that I would have a guest this week. I had to go pick her up.”

Finally, Eva looked at Monica, a smile cracking on her face.
That’s not a happy smile.
Monica concentrated on her most political countenance, refusing to show Eva Warren that she was at all intimidated by her.
I’m not intimidated.
For one, Monica knew she was older than Henry’s sister. Not that Eva was a “kid” by any stretch of the imagination.
She doesn’t seem to like me.
Monica was usually good at determining whether someone wanted anything to do with her or not.

“Yes. Your guest.” Eva stared straight at Monica, her heavy eye shadow making her look like a supermodel from a high-fashion magazine. One long, slender leg crossed over the other as Eva took out a large smart phone and looked something up. “There’s your message from this morning. I must have forgotten to check them.”

“Would you like to join us for dinner?” Henry pushed a glass toward his sister and offered to fill it with wine. “Surely you haven’t had anything to eat yet this evening.”

“Afraid I can’t. I’m meeting someone later and wouldn’t want to ruin my appetite.”

“Who are you meeting?”

Eva pulled her fingers across her lips as if she were closing a zipper. “Last time I told you there was that whole fifth degree thing. Remember? Because I sure do.”

“Ah, so it’s a date.”

“Now I regret telling you. At least you’re on a date of your own.” Eva flashed Monica another look. “What did you say your name was?”

“Monica.” She said it before Henry had the chance. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“No, but I’ve definitely heard of you.” Eva accepted some wine and downed half of it in one gulp. “I guess my brother has… eclectic tastes.”

“Eva…”

“Now, now, I didn’t mean to be rude.” Yet Eva would still not look her in the eye, as if Monica would give her a terrible affliction from a glance alone. “You have to understand. My brother has a habit of bringing in women I tend to recognize. Small circles, you know.”

“I see.”

“Isn’t it about time you got ready for this date of yours? Don’t you have some
homework
to do?”

Eva stood up without finishing her drink. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Henry.” She patted her brother on the shoulder and sashayed out of the dining room. “Especially with that lovely lady!” Her voice echoed, loud and melodic.

It took a few moments before Henry or Monica could pick up a fork again. “Please pardon my sister. My parents let her get away with murder growing up. Truly the spoiled one.”

Monica finished chewing before responding. “She seems lovely. I can see the resemblance between you two.” Not just the hair, but the way they confidently carried themselves through the room as if everyone should be in awe of them.
I would say it’s a Warren trait, but I’ve been around enough rich people by now to know it’s every last one of them.
Sometimes they expressed it in different ways. “Don’t worry about her, Henry. I sensed no malice in her words.”

“That’s good, because I doubt she intended them.” Nevertheless, Henry looked back to where his sister walked. “A date, huh? I should see what kind of person it is…”

“She’s a grown woman.”

“You don’t understand. I’m not worried about her. I’m worried about her date.”

“Oh?”

Henry finished his sister’s wine. “Let’s say more than the hair runs in our family.”

“I see.” Monica contained her smile. If she didn’t know any better, she would say that Henry and Eva were twins. “So, does her bed have hoops and chains on it too?”

“I don’t want to know. It’s bad enough I heard an ex of hers go on about how she works a flogger. Oh, and you know that BDSM club in the city?”

“Of course I know it.” Monica had been there a time or two. Most recently to hire a girl for her Château – Judith, to be exact.

“I ran into her there once. I don’t think I had ever vacated a place as quickly as I vacated that one.” Henry sighed. “From then on, we had to come up with a code word for it. ‘I’m going on vacation tonight.’ That way the other one knows not to go and we don’t embarrass ourselves. Some things still stay sacred in this family.”