All That He Demands (The Billionaire's Seduction Part 3) (12 page)

“Uh huh,” I said, and hated her – her and her big boobs, thin arms, movie-star face, weirdo lingo, and big-whoop screenplay – a little bit more.

“Whose secretary are you?”

“Nobody you’d know.”

She smiled smugly. “Try me.”

Okaaaaay…

“Klaus Zimmerman.”

Her forehead puckered the tiniest bit. “Zimmerman, Zimmerman… is he an independent producer, or is he at a studio?”

“He’s in executive comp at Exerton Consulting.”

“Oh.” The polite dropped out, leaving just the disdain. “You’re not even in the industry.”

The Industry.
Like there was only one.

“No, I’m not.”

“Well… I’m sure it’s very interesting.” Her eyes drifted away from my face, settled on something or someone else, and she floated past me. “Nice meeting you.”

I didn’t say anything to that, because if I had, it might have come out as
Yeah, right, bitch.

And at this party, she was a
nobody.
‘Award-winning photographer’? What did
that
mean, she’d won third prize in a community college photo fair?

Ooooh
, she was a
screen
writer. Throw a stick in Hollywood, you’ll hit ten of them. And they’ll all ask if you’re a producer’s or movie star’s assistant, and can you hook them up?

Stop it, Lily.

I hugged my arms around me and scolded myself in my head. I only hated her because she made me feel small, and unattractive by comparison, and like a loser with nothing going on in my life.

If she’s a Nobody… then what does that make YOU?

A comet, out in space, cold and alone, not belonging anywhere.

And then the sun came back out.

I felt his hand, warm on my shoulder, before I heard his voice. “Hey, my little escape pod.”

I looked around at him and gave him a smile, not just of happiness, but of relief.

“Almost got stuck in fairyland?”

“They would not shut up about
this
producer who had a deal wherever, or
that
studio guy they could introduce me to,” he groaned. Then he took a closer look at me. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. I just…”

I looked around the room.

“…I don’t really fit in here.”

Connor smiled. “Neither do I.”

“Oh my GOD, you
so
fit in here.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You saying I’m a money-obsessed, shallow, opportunistic narcissist who’s only interested in what he can get out of other people?”

I knew it was a joke, and tried to play along.

“Well, when you put it like
that,
it sounds bad.”

It didn’t quite come out as funny as I wanted, so I just tried honesty instead. “I just meant they’re the ‘Beautiful People.’ That’s how you fit in.”

He moved in close and put his arms around my waist – in full view of everyone in the room.

My heart beat faster.

“Well, you’re beautiful, so you should fit right in, too,” he smiled.

My heart beat even faster.

“That’s not what I meant,” I protested mildly.

“Oh… you just wanted to keep up the pity parade for a little bit?”

I glared at him, then deflated a little. “…kind of.”

“Well, since neither of us fits in, you want to have a little fun?”

Now my heart was racing, but not in a good way. In a
terrified
way. “What do you mean?”

“You wanted to meet some famous people, right? Let’s go crash some conversations.” He turned around and scouted the room. “Who do you want to talk to first?”

I knew he would do it, too.

The thought of barging in on a movie star’s conversation was freaking me out – but if there was anyone who could pull it off, it was Connor. And he wouldn’t even have to drop his last name.

But really, that wasn’t what I wanted.

“I just want to go back to the hotel,” I whispered. “…and be with you.”

He looked back at me and smiled. A
big
smile.

“That’s what I want, too.” He jerked his head slightly. “C’mon, let’s get outta this dump.”

I giggled lightly, and he pulled me to his side as we walked towards the door.

“You knooow…” he whispered seductively, “we could totally make our own film…”

“No.”

He put one hand up in the air like he was framing a shot. “‘Lights – camera – action!’

“NO.”

He laughed again.

Johnny suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Connor nodded at him, Johnny made a face like
Thank GOD,
then turned around and preceded us as we walked towards the door.

I was expecting Mr. Lewis Vonder to come running up and exclaim about leaving too early, but I guess he was off talking up somebody else about financing his movies.

The one excellent thing that happened as we walked out was I saw the woman in the red dress again. There were a couple of people partly obscuring my view of her, so I don't think she saw me at first – but she sure as hell saw Connor. I knew this because her whole face lit up and her body language changed, from stiff and bored to
Hello, Sailor!
She lifted her champagne glass up a little, oh-so-elegantly, and I could see the wheels turning as she planned her opening salvo.

Then we passed the edge of the group, and she saw me on Connor’s arm.

I wish I’d had a picture of the surprise on her face. I would have kept it on my phone for whenever I needed a lift.

“Kiss me,” I whispered to Connor.

“What?”

“Kiss me, and make it good.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He turned to me, put one arm around my waist, let the other hand cradle the back of my neck, and laid one on me right there in the middle of the giant hallway.

My head tipped back slightly and I felt his body press into me as he locked onto my lips and his tongue found mine.

After about 20 seconds of breathtaking bliss, he pulled away and looked into my eyes. “How was that?”

I opened my eyes dreamily. “That… was
awesome.
”

He grinned, took my arm again, and escorted me towards the door.

I take it back – I didn’t want a picture of the blonde woman’s picture from before, I wanted it
after
the kiss.

She looked like all her notions of what constituted Reality had been ripped away in one fell swoop.

And her mouth was hanging open even more than mine when I first walked into the party.

I gave her a smug smile as we passed by.

Take that, bitch.

Yes, the whole thing was petty.

Yes, it was childish.

Yes, I knew it ultimately came from a lack of self-confidence on my part.

But DAMN it felt good.

We arrived safe back at the hotel, much to Johnny’s relief. He made us promise not to leave the room without telling him, then said goodnight and went into his room across the way.

“It’s early, only ten o’clock,” Connor said. “What do you want to do?”

“Dessert.”

“Literal, or figurative?”

“Mmmmm. Both.”

So we ordered up room service: a bottle of champagne and a selection of lovely things – the most perfect creme brulee I’d ever tasted, strawberries in whipped cream… and more chocolate.

We sat on the sofa in the main room, lit only by the lights of the city, and alternated between kisses and feeding each other bits of the desserts.

I was tipsy again when I purred suggestively, “Well, we did what
I
wanted to do… so what do
you
want to do?”

“Well… we could get that camera and – ”

“NO.”

He laughed. “What was your list again? The list of ‘don’ts’? Nothing painful… nothing degrading…”

“No ‘in through the out door,’” I said.

“I don’t recall movies being on that list.”

“And nothing that can go up on the internet. Rule number four.”

He grinned. “Well, what if what I wanted to do bent your rules a little bit?”

I froze with a strawberry halfway to my mouth. “Connor, I’m
really
not comfortable with any sort of pictures… or videos…”

“That’s not what I was talking about.”

I put the strawberry down. “Then… what
are
you talking about?”

“Remember what I said earlier, at dinner? About you being physical?”

I tensed up. “…spanking?”

He just smiled.

“Ehhhh… I’m not really turned on by the idea of that…”

“Well, you probably only know the
regular
way it’s done.”

I was amused. “Oh, so you have a
special
way that’s
ooohhh
so much better.”

“Damn straight.”

In spite of myself, I was a little intrigued. “Which is…?”

“Well, first off, I like to alternate between light, sensual caresses, and tiny little slaps. Just enough to feel it.”

“Uh huhhhh…?”

“But the thing is, you won’t know which one is coming. I want you to anticipate one thing… but you don’t
know
. And I want to make you wait. I want you to lie there, not knowing whether you’re going to feel my fingers softly caressing you… or maybe my tongue licking you slowly… or the tiniest little slap. Just enough to highlight when I caress you again.”

I swallowed. Maybe it was because I was edging over into ‘drunk’ territory, but… it kind of sounded
gooood.

“Not too much, though?” I asked, my voice thick.

“No. You’re in total control the whole time.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, right.”

He grinned. “No, you are. If you say ‘lighter,’ I go lighter. If you say ‘harder,’ I go harder. If you say ‘no more,’ then I quit. The only thing
I’m
in control of… is whether I touch you or kiss you down there… or whether I do something else.”

My mouth suddenly felt dry, and I took a sip of champagne. “I think you like it because
you’re
in control.”

“That doesn’t mean you won’t like it.”

“No…” I admitted.

He stared into my eyes. “There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

I stayed quiet, thinking it over.

“It’s okay, never mind,” he said, and grinned. “You just asked what I – ”

“Okay,” I said.

He tilted his head as though he hadn’t heard correctly. “…what?”

“I said ‘okay.’ I’ll try it.”

“Really.”

“Yes. But if I don’t like it – ”

“Then we stop. Immediately.”

“…okay.”

“But first I want you to do something.”

I frowned. “What?”

“Go take a bath.”

I reared back. “Uhhh –
why?
Is that a hint?!”

He laughed. “No. Just… go take a nice sensual shower or bath. And be sure to wash
everywhere.
”

I looked at him from out of the corners of my eyes, like
Whatchoo talkin’ ‘bout, Willis?

“Um… okay… are you going to come with me?”

He settled back into the couch. “No… this is where
you
make
me
wait.”

I bit my lip, thinking it over.

“But if you keep doing that,” he growled, moving over next to me and seizing me in his arms, “I’m not going to be
able
to wait.”

He kissed me softly, then with more heat, and I melted into him – until he broke it off.

“Go take a bath,” he whispered.

“Fine,” I snapped, stood up, and tipsily made my way to the bathroom.

I drew a nice, hot bubble bath (courtesy of a lilac-smelling liquid in a bottle by the tub), pinned up my hair, and luxuriated for a few minutes.

My mind kept wandering, though, to what he planned to do.

I was both excited and a little bit nervous.

When he’d originally brought it up, I had a flashback of a rerun of
Ally McBeal
I’d seen when I was a teenager. The weird little nerdy lawyer was dating the super-hot blonde lawyer, and she wanted to be spanked. He’d resisted it for most of the episode, and then
wham,
out of nowhere, he’d grabbed a hairbrush and whaled away on her fanny when she wasn’t expecting it.

Needless to say, she was not pleased.

But she
was
quite surprised.

I know the scene had been played for laughs, but that had been my only image of spanking. And it seemed weird, and laughable, and kind of dopey.

But what Connor had described…

…that hadn’t sounded dopey.

It sounded kind of hot.

So, despite how wonderful the bath felt, and how amazing it smelled, my curiosity got the better of me. I lathered myself up everywhere, every nook and cranny (I was still sulking from my assumption that he was just politely telling me I needed some freshening up downstairs, or my pits did, or something). Then I got out, took a quick shower to wash off the remaining suds, and toweled off.

I was going to come out in one of the terrycloth robes, but I decided to wrap myself in a towel instead. I figured it was sexier: he would see my bare shoulders, the top of my chest, and all of my legs. That would be a
bit
more enticing than a full-body cover-up.

So I walked out of the bathroom, lightheaded from the heat and the champagne, and stopped dead in my tracks.

Housekeeping had made up the bed while we were out to dinner. It had still been made when I went to take my bath, but Connor had pulled back the sheets so that it was just one wide-open expanse of soft cloth.

There were candles on both sides of the bed – tiny tea lights floating in a glass bowl. It was gorgeous, with just enough illumination to make the room look mysterious, warm, and romantic.

And over in the corner, Connor sat in a chair, waiting.

He had taken off his shoes and socks and untucked his shirt, unbuttoning it all the way down the front. He sat there barefoot, practically barechested, sipping something amber-colored from a round, short glass… and when I walked in the room, I saw his eyes lift to take me in.

He just sat there, watching… but his eyes glowed in the candlelight.

Then he slowly stood.