Knight's Game (3 page)

As their first courses were whisked away and their glasses refilled, Vicky leaned forward to better display her impressive cleavage, beautifully framed by the deep V of her white angora-knit dress. ‘You seem moody.’ Her voice softened. ‘All dark and dangerous. I like that,’ she whispered.

If she mentioned whips, he feared he might lose it. ‘I’m just a little tired. Long day at work.’ He smiled tightly and wondered if he was being punished for all the inequities in his past, whether some malevolent gods had placed Vicky on the Île Saint-Louis at the exact moment he’d alighted from his car to torture him. ‘Guillaume’s blanquette de veau is amazing,’ he said, as if she’d not mentioned the word
dangerous
, interested only in changing the subject. ‘You’ll enjoy it.’ And reaching for his wine glass, he drained it, nodded at the waiter for a refill and drank down the next glass without tasting it.

Two bottles later, he was marginally relaxed
or
mildly anaesthetized. The food was superb as usual, the veal spectacular, the wine cellar excellent, the waiter alert to his glances for more wine, the low buzz of conversation tranquillizing. Vicky was persistently flirtatious, doing her best to lure him in.

Unfortunately, he was unaffected by her overtures.

She was obviously planning on staying the night.

There was a time when he had been just like her: a fuck was a fuck. But each minute that passed, each perfumed remark directed his way, each seductive smile left him not only indifferent but also seriously demoralized by his apathy. Since when had he become a eunuch?
Don’t answer that
, he quickly warned the insinuating little voice in his head.

His unprecedented feelings aside, what he really needed was a way out. But his escape mechanisms were rusty from long neglect – he couldn’t remember when he’d last turned down a woman. Calling for another bottle, he hoped alcohol would quash his aversion to fucking Vicky.

Sadly, it only made him more averse.

Long before dinner was over, he knew that there was no way he was bringing Vicky back to his apartment. He ordered a rare port to prolong the meal, then another for tasting, at which point Guillaume came out to the table and politely
said, ‘I have two of those bottles left in the cellar. Come, Dominic, you decide which you prefer.’

Dominic experienced such a feeling of deliverance, he was momentarily touched by a flash of religiosity. But his voice was calm as he came to his feet. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Vicky, I’ll be right back.’

Dominic shot a glance at Guillaume as they entered the back hallway. ‘How the hell did you know I needed rescuing?’

‘You don’t normally drink so much. Bertrand noticed and told me.’

‘Bertrand must be the mother I never had,’ Dominic said with a grin. ‘I’ve been trying to think of some way to end this dinner date. Vicky’s lovely but I’m not in the mood for more of her tonight.’ Smiling, Dominic shook his head when he saw Guillaume’s quizzical look. ‘Don’t look at me like that – I haven’t a clue why either.’ The men had partied together in Nice and Paris; they both liked women. ‘I need an escape plan she won’t find insulting. Although, if necessary, I’ll go with insulting.’

‘Are you unwell, mon ami?’ Guillaume looked at Dominic with male understanding. ‘I know a good doctor; he doesn’t mind if I call day or night. He’s a friend from Nice.’

Dominic smiled. ‘Thanks for the concern, but I don’t need any penicillin. Although maybe I should mention I do. That would put a damper on Vicky’s plans.’

Guillaume spoke over his shoulder as he started down the basement stairs. ‘It’s not like you to turn it down. If you’re not temporarily
hors de combat
’ – a Gallic lift of his
shoulder that was both query and commiseration – ‘why not just politely decline?’

‘Because Vicky doesn’t understand the words
politely decline
when it comes to sex. Or even the word
decline
in general. She’s a taker. So help me out. What the fuck can I say to her that’s semi-polite?’

Guillaume came through with flying colours. Five minutes after Dominic returned to the table with his bottle of port, Guillaume brought over his newly pregnant wife and asked Dominic if he’d accompany her to the hospital. It wasn’t serious, he said, but she’d been instructed to come in the next time her pulse rate accelerated so they could check her on a monitor.

‘I don’t want to ask Guillaume to leave the kitchen when the restaurant is so busy,’ Amélie said with a smile for Dominic, then an affectionate one for her husband. ‘He would I know, but—’

‘Why should he when I can help,’ Dominic said. ‘I’m sorry, Vicky,’ Dominic gently added with what he hoped was tangible regret. ‘I’ll have my driver take you home. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

After some minor resistance, Vicky was placed in his car, his driver quietly instructed to
not
, under any circumstances, take her to Dominic’s apartment, and Dominic watched the car drive away with a profound sense of relief. It didn’t bear close scrutiny.

Nor did he give it any.

When it came to his sex life, he wasn’t introspective.

He was, however, careful to stay out of sight. Moving into the kitchen with his port, Dominic sat down and poured himself a glass.

Guillaume’s wife, Amélie, gave Dominic a kiss on the cheek before she started back upstairs. ‘I never thought I’d see the day,’ she said with a twitch of a smile, her pretty face tipped slightly, her dark gaze assessing. ‘You uninterested?’

‘I’m as surprised as you.’ Dominic glanced up, a touch of amusement in his eyes. ‘Must be old age.’

‘Hardly. Is there something you’d like to tell us?’ Her female intuition was working overtime because she’d seen Dominic with the same blonde beauty in Nice two years ago and he hadn’t been running away.

‘I wasn’t going to mention it yet, but I’ll buy you a bigger restaurant if you name the baby after me.’

She sniffed, gave a little toss of her head. ‘Keep your deep, dark secrets then. But the lady was angry. She’ll make you pay.’

‘She’d have to find me first.’

Amélie lightly tapped his cheek. ‘Don’t forget, I met your little Vicky. She might find you after all.’

Dominic groaned.

‘You’ll have to leave town,’ Guillaume said, looking up from the roux he was stirring. ‘You’ve done that before.’

‘I can’t. I’m here for a meeting. I’ll have to go with Plan B.’

Which turned out to be a suite at the George V. Upon registering, Dominic asked for privacy. Assured that his presence there was completely confidential, Dominic settled
into the Presidential Suite until the rescheduled meeting with the investors interested in his rare earth mining project in Greenland. The first meeting in Hong Kong had abruptly ended when Katherine had seen some licentious and personal photos on his laptop. He’d immediately cleared the room, tried to make amends to her, and failed.

Because the photos that had popped up on his email alert had been captioned: Christmas pictures. And the three nude women in Dominic’s bed – the same one he and Kate had shared – had been engaged in kinky sex play; the tai chi studio photos in the file had been even more lewd.

That unfortunate mishap had ended their holiday in Hong Kong.

And he hadn’t seen Katherine since.

In the intervening days, he immersed himself in company business, desperate for a distraction from his own chaffing discontent. Each day he read a dozen proposals for new speculative ventures, discussed the undertakings with the various Knight Enterprise personnel involved, responded to his constant barrage of emails, and limited himself to a bottle of single malt a night to avoid calling Katherine and saying something he shouldn’t.

The fact that he didn’t choose to call any of the other women he knew in Paris or pay a visit to one of the private sex clubs he used to frequent didn’t bear reflection. It was too unnerving to contemplate the extraordinary changes in his life. Like Kate, he resorted to masturbation. But unlike Kate, he had a photo to inspire him.

Actually, two photos: the ones he’d taken of Kate sleeping in his bed just before he left Hong Kong. He’d had the cell phone photos enhanced and edited at a commercial lab in Paris, printed into 10x8s and framed in a folding titanium case he could carry with him when he travelled. He didn’t question his unusual behaviour. But then he rarely questioned any of his actions. Particularly when his personal pleasure was involved, as it was in this case.

He’d settled into an evening routine that began with dinner in front of the TV in the suite’s living room, followed by half a bottle of any of the single malts on hand in the liquor cabinet. Or vice versa, depending on his mood. Although the hotel’s famous chef was beginning to question his skills when many of his dinners went untouched.

Dominic had tried watching porn in an effort to distract his thoughts from the continuous images of Katherine looping through his brain. To no avail. His body’s total lack of response gave him pause – but only briefly because he had no trouble getting hard when he thought of Katherine.

Inevitably, he’d take the half-drunk bottle to bed, flick on the TV, mute the sound, direct his gaze to the photos of Katherine opened like a book on a table at the foot of the bed and slowly begin masturbating. He always took his time, remembering only the pleasure they’d shared, not the ruinous end – when they’d both reached a point of no return. But neither his mind nor his body could forget the inexpressible wonder of their time in Hong Kong and, particularly at night, when he was alone, rational practicalities failed him. And Katherine fully occupied his thoughts.

While Dominic was staring at the muted TV, enduring another sleepless night, waiting for the sun to come up in Paris, Kate was tossing down a tequila shooter in Meg’s kitchen, wondering if there was enough liquor in the world to make her hook up with the really sweet pre-med/rodeo cowboy who was telling her how beautiful she was. The ear-blasting music from the ad hoc band playing in the living room was only a few decibels quieter in the kitchen and tall, handsome, blond, blue-eyed Ben had his mouth near her ear so she could hear him.

‘Let’s find a little quiet. That OK with you?’

‘Sure.’ Because she was here for a reason tonight, because she’d silently picked Ben out of Meg’s line-up and there was no point in putting off her rebound sex.

Grabbing the tequila bottle, Ben took her hand and led her through the kitchen and down the hall to the bedroom. He knocked, said with a grin, ‘Just in case. Or we could go to my place if you like.’

She smiled. ‘Here’s good.’

‘Hey, we lucked out.’ He shoved the door open.

Or Meg had warned everyone else off, Kate thought, but was too tipsy to give it much thought. Because, bottom line, this was about her leaving the past behind. This was the night she erased Dominic Knight from her memory.

Ben pulled her into the bedroom, shut the door, walked to the bed where he placed the bottle on the bedside table, sat down and drew Kate down on his lap. ‘You should stay in Missoula for a while,’ he whispered, kissing her lightly. ‘You could stay with me. I’ll show you how to ride.’

‘Maybe,’ she murmured, because it was easier than explaining why she couldn’t. And reaching out, she took his face in her hands and kissed him hard, shoved her tongue down his throat, wanting to
feel
something. She felt something all right, but it was his erection swelling against her bottom. Nothing for her. Not a scintilla of emotion. She might as well have been kissing the mirror. Christ, she could see a future devoid of sex stretching before her and she knew where the blame lay – with Dominic’s goddamn charismatic beauty and unforgettable sexual skills. She reached for the tequila bottle. ‘Want some?’ She held it out.

‘Nah. I’m good.’ Ben smiled. ‘Take your time.’

Tipping the bottle to her mouth, she smiled back. ‘You’re way nice.’

‘I’m not in a rush.’

Jeez, he was really nice. Although a guy with his looks wouldn’t be hard up for women to fuck. Swallowing, she
took another quick shot, then put the bottle back and wrapped her arms around Ben’s neck. ‘There. Sometimes I’m real small-town. Sorry about that.’

‘Not a problem. Everyone in Montana’s from a small town.’ He dipped his head and brushed her lips with his. ‘I can relate.’

In an effort to overcome her body’s stunning indifference to Ben’s delicate kiss and huge erection, Kate moved her bottom in a gentle undulation over his rigid dick.

With a low groan, he fell backwards, taking her with him, and stretched out on the bed – cowboy boots and all. Shifting her slightly on his lean, muscled frame to accommodate the hard swell of his erection, he cupped the back of her head and pulled her closer for a kiss. ‘We’ll take it easy,’ he said, his smile only inches away. ‘Small-town easy.’

Maybe that was the problem. Ben was too polite. Dominic often wasn’t: he was demanding, occasionally coercive, always in control. Jeez, did that make her some kind of masochist? Did normal sex leave her cold? But then she remembered their days on
The Glory Girl
when Dominic had been all tenderness and affection, when he’d made plans for their future, when he’d not said no to her even once. And suddenly her eyes filled with tears and she was choked with grief. ‘I can’t do this,’ she said on a suffocated sob, shoving herself upright. ‘I’m sorry.’ Her tears spilled over and, sniffling and snivelling, she said in a cracking voice, ‘I just broke up with someone. I’m a basket case.’

‘I know. I’m not here to push you.’

Her eyes flared wide. ‘You know!’

‘Luke told me. Hey, it’s no big deal.’

‘Oh, God,’ she groaned, the shock at least drying up her tears. ‘How pathetic is that?’

‘Hey, babe.’ He slid his finger over her bottom lip. ‘I’d take on any guy out there, or anywhere, to have you. OK?’

‘I don’t suppose this has ever happened to you? Only women cry about this shit.’

‘Everyone’s gone through a break-up.’ He smiled. ‘I didn’t cry, but I know what you mean.’

The way he said it, she doubted his world had gone as dark as hers. And for a second she debated shutting her eyes and going through with it. She sighed. ‘I guess I’m too much of a wuss.’ And rolling off him, she sat on the edge of the bed.