The Romantic Dominant (3 page)

“That’s a good idea,” she replied, snuggling against him.

“I could have been an axe murderer. Did anyone know you were meeting me? My name? The address the car brought you to?”

“No. I guess that was kind of stupid,” she admitted.

“Yes, it was. If you don’t have a girlfriend to call, you call me, okay?”

“Oh, Zander, are you sure we’re not right for each other?” she asked wistfully.

“Yes, I’m sure. How do you feel? Are you okay?”

Pushing away from him she sat up and smiled.

“So much better than okay, except my butt really stings.”

“It should, and hopefully that spanking will hold you in good stead until you meet someone who can keep it red and hot on a regular basis,” he remarked.

“Thank you for caring about me,” she murmured, pecking him on the cheek. “Can I see your palm now?”

“Sure,” he chuckled, raising his hand and opening it up. “Here.”

She gazed down, tracing her forefinger across several areas, then sighed heavily.

“Well,” she said dramatically, “you’ve had a rough love life, which is sad because you have so much romance in your soul, and you’re nowhere near as tough as you pretend to be.”

“Is that so?” he answered, a little unnerved by the accurate description.

“Hmmm,” she mumbled, and “there seems to be a reunion of some kind. Yes, you’re going to meet up with someone from a while ago, but there are challenges involved.”

Zander found himself drawn into her story, and her voice had taken on a deeper tone; she sounded wise, almost like an old soul.

“It will be interesting. There is love there, or the potential for love, but only if you’re willing to take a leap of faith. There’s danger too. You must tread carefully.”

She paused, then sighed, then lifted her gaze, and for a brief moment he was spellbound, then he broke from her web and grinned.

“That was impressive,” he smiled, “thank you.”

Slightly rattled he stood up and pulled her to her feet.

“You make sure you call me next time you go out on date with someone you don’t know, and if you can’t reach me call someone else.”

“Okely dokely,” she grinned, the young Abigail abruptly returning.

“Go and get changed and I’ll walk you down to the car.”

“Thanks, Zander,” she sighed. “Thanks ever so much.”

He watched her move away, her tanned bottom seductively swaying, then wandered across to the windows. Staring at the city lights below Gabriela danced in the forefront of his mind.

Impossible,
he thought, then an unexpected chill shuddered down his spine. Frowning, he shook it off, but couldn’t help wondering what had become of her; they had shared such a deep connection, or so he had thought.

Was the whole thing between us my imagination?

“I’m ready.”

Abigail’s voice broke his thoughts, and he escorted her back down to the waiting car.

“You’re such a gentleman,” she sighed, climbing into the back seat. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Stay in touch with me. You’re far too trusting.”

“I’ve been told that before,” she remarked. “Is it such a bad thing?”

“It can be,” he said somberly. “I’ll talk to you later.”

The chauffeur closed the door and Zander watched the car roll away, disappearing into the night, then headed back to the penthouse he called home. He’d bought it several years before, when the building was first built, and being on the top floor the views were spectacular. It was contemporary, sleek, and ‘smart,’ everything from the sound system, lights, fireplaces, and even the coffeemaker, were controlled by handheld tablets or wall mounted screens. It boasted cream porcelain tile floors and thick chocolate brown rugs. The floor to ceiling windows swept the city skyline, with sliding glass doors opening to an expansive terrace with outside seating and dining areas.

Back inside he ambled through the gleaming, elegant space, down the hallway and past the bedrooms. Besides his master suite there was a guest room, but the third bedroom he had transformed into a decadent playroom.

He’d laid thick, soft carpeting, and slowly added hand-crafted floggers, paddles and other interesting implements. A small, mahogany chest of drawers housed various blindfolds, vibrators, and other toys, and a specially designed mechanical chair sat center stage. The arms, legs and padded bench seat were adjustable to any angle or height, and the creator had personally visited and outlined them all.

As he stood in the doorway, staring inside, thinking of the women who had graced the unique piece of furniture, the truth pounded in his heart; since having met her, the only woman he’d ever really wanted to share it with was Gabriela.

Moving into his bedroom, staring at the almost feminine, romantic decor, the white fluffy bedspread, the tall, ornate candle holders and the white marble fireplace, he thought back to when he’d redecorated; it had been directly after meeting her.

Fighting the nostalgia he wandered back into his kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine. There was rarely a day that the Brazilian beauty didn’t cross his mind, and her card had never left his wallet. They’d had one date, one divine, blissful, perfect night, before a family crisis had called her back to Brazil. As he sipped the heady cabernet, he thought back, as he often did, to those magical hours they’d spent together.

They had met at the same bar, Willows, and he had brought her a bouquet of white roses, wondering if the spark he’d felt just a few nights before, that mystical, amazing chemistry, would still exist, and the moment he’d seen her walk towards him he’d felt the exquisite physical lightening sizzle through his heart.

After a couple of nervous drinks they had moved on to his favorite restaurant, an intimate French bistro that was quiet and relaxed, and they found themselves utterly taken with each other.

When he’d driven her back to her car at Willows, he had unhesitatingly kissed her, and she had unhesitatingly kissed him back, melting against him. He’d been loathe to let her go, but he wanted to take his time, allow their relationship to evolve and their feelings to develop over time. Zander was an old-fashioned romantic, and he was going to court her, become her friend before he became her lover, and on the drive home, Arthur’s theme began playing in his head.

Once in your life you'll find her

Someone who turns your heart around

And next thing you know

You're closin' down the town

Wake up and she's still with you

Even though you left her way across town

You're wonderin' to yourself

Hey what've I found

When you get caught between the moon and New York City

I know it's crazy but it's true

If you get caught between the moon and New York City

The best that you can do (the best that you can do)

The best that you can do is fall in love

But his euphoria was short-lived. It was only a few days later that she’d called with the sad news that her mother had been taken ill and she would have to fly back to Brazil.

“I don’t know how long I will be gone,” she’d sighed. “My mother could linger for months, and you must promise me you will go out. I know we have something special, but I don’t want you to put your life on hold for me.”

“Gabriela,” he’d mumbled, wanting to tell her he had no desire to be with anyone but her.

“Promise me. If we are meant to be, it will happen.”

Though he had promised it had been with a heavy heart, and it was a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep.

They had communicated through Skype for a short time, but her mother’s illness had taken a turn for the worse and the elderly woman had begged to be returned to the place of her birth, a remote farm with no internet and unreliable phone service. Gabriela had promised him faithfully that she would be back in touch as soon as she could.

After months of no word he had called her number in Brazil, and to his surprise he’d learned that the old woman had passed away and Gabriela had returned to the USA. Confused and worried, he’d immediately pulled out her card and hastily dialed, only to hear her voice mail. Rattled, he’d left a brief request for her to call, but his plea went unanswered.

It had made no sense then, and made no sense now.

Sighing deeply, Abigail’s words fresh in his mind, for the umpteenth time he questioned why Gabriela had disappeared. The effects of the wine began taking hold, and as he stared at the thousands upon thousands of tiny, flickering lights below, he decided to try again.

Checking his watch he saw it was relatively early, and moving quickly to his study he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and retrieved the precious card from behind his drivers license. Deciding to use his landline, he slowly punched the ten digits, determined not to be disappointed if the line had been disconnected or his call went straight to voice mail.

“Hello, Gabriela Costa speaking.”

Her voice was breathless, as though she’d been running, and he was almost too shocked to speak.

“Hello,” he stammered, “I’m so glad you answered the phone. I thought-”

“You have a wrong a number,” she replied abruptly, interrupting him mid-sentence, and his phone went dead.

What the hell?

The chill returned, hitting him hard, and he shuddered.

Something’s wrong. Something is horribly wrong.

Frustrated, he rose from behind his desk and began pacing. He was a logical man, a linear thinker, and he applied practical thinking to almost all he did, but it simply made no sense.

I’m going to track her down. I have to. I’ll have no peace until I do. I’m sure she’s in trouble, I can feel it.

H
is shower doubled as a steam room, and after closing his eyes and allowing the wet heat to wash over him he lathered his body with almond soap, allowing a waterfall of tepid water to wash it away. By the time he toweled off and donned his robe he felt calmer, and determined to follow his heart.

Not the least bit tired he was contemplating driving back to the club when his phone rang. His immediate thought, his wish, his hope, was that Gabriela was returning his call, but when he picked up the phone the screen told him otherwise. It was Catherine, a sub he had been seeing on a semi-regular basis.

“Hey, Zander,” her voice purred.

“Are you in town?” he asked.

“I am, sweet man.”

“And what can I do for you?” he inquired, grateful for the diversion.

“Mmmm, I need your paddle, and your teasing, and your lovely cock.”

Though his member stirred happily, it was a bittersweet smile that crossed his lips and he momentarily considered rejecting her request.

“Zander? Are you there? Did I catch you at a bad time?”

A bad time? I don’t know if it’s a bad time. Would seeing you would take my mind off things, or make me miss her even more?

“It’s not a bad time exactly, I’m not sure if I’m in the right frame of mind,” he answered honestly.

“Maybe we can help each other,” she purred. “I really need you, and it sounds as if you could use some company.”

“You could be right. Be here in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I’m on my way.”

He had met her at the club a few months before, and they had developed an easy, no strings relationship. He kept her bad habits in check, and she soothed his Dominant soul, and though they had become great friends they had realized early on they weren’t compatible as a couple.

Catherine was extremely high-strung, traveled a great deal, and was a driven ambitious woman. When she was at his mercy she gratefully released control, relishing her surrender, but outside the bedroom she was a wired and stressed corporate executive and there was no stopping her.

Standing up and stretching, he strolled into his playroom and adjusted the custom bondage chair to its triangular configuration. She would be made to kneel on the bench and bend over the raised center, her hands would grasp the bars extending from underneath, and a strap would wrap around the back of her legs leaving her bottom perfectly positioned for whatever he chose to do.

Moving into the living room he picked up his half-finished glass of wine, focusing on the woman about to walk through his door, and by the time the doorman called to announce Catherine’s arrival, he was looking forward to their time together.

He enjoyed making her check in at the desk then giving permission for her to ride the elevator up to his floor; it was all part of the ritual, exerting his control from the moment she set foot in the building. A few minutes later she knocked softly, and placing his empty glass on the kitchen counter he padded across the expansive living area and opened the door.

“Hello, Catherine. How have you been?” he asked, ushering her in. “I haven’t heard from you in, what, seven, eight weeks?”

“Yes, Sir, my apologies. I should have called,” she murmured.

“I think I’ll have to punish you for that, and for whatever other misdeeds you have to confess,” he stated firmly, taking her coat and hanging it in the closet.

“Yes, Sir,” she answered, the wet warmth stirring between her legs. “I should have made a point to stay in touch.”

Without responding he turned away and began walking down the wide hallway. Dutifully she fell in step behind him, and when he led her into the playroom she caught her breath. The triangle. Never did she feel as vulnerable as when she was bent over the triangle.

“Worried?” he asked, picking up the blindfold he’d left on the top of the dresser.

“A little,” she admitted.

“I’m going to undress you,” he announced, as he placed it across her eyes and secured it behind her head, “and while I’m peeling this lovely silk dress off your body you can confess your sins.”

Catherine’s pulse was firing, her temples were throbbing, and she was already melting. Just the sound of his voice, deep, confident, and calm, would send her butterflies into a hectic dance. Zander was always tender, always loving, always kind, but always very decisive and strict, and she loved every, single, solitary second of the time she spent with him.