Sarah Holland - The Dominant Male

‘You know I can’t…you’re stronger than me!’

‘Then give in and do as you’re told!’

Her heart leapt with fierce excitement, but the memory of Jack Ratchett and that hellish experience five years ago was still strong enough to break through her excitement and make her find a way to stop him.

She couldn’t fight him physically. But she could scream her head off—and that was precisely what she did.

She pulled her head back from him and screamed loudly.

His eyes flashed with steel-blue rage as her piercing scream rent the air. They both heard the sounds of people running towards the tent

Bobby lumbered in, followed closely by two other men and one woman.

For a second they all just stared at Rhiannon, standing flustered and breathing hoarsely, her eyes glittering, her face flushed, backed up against the silken wall, while Gabriel Stone towered as tall as the ceiling, hands thrust in the pockets of his expensive black suit, a look of hard, arrogant power on his tough face.

‘A sensational reading.’ Gabriel turned swiftly, taking charge. ‘I’m afraid Rhiannon was so startled by her accuracy with the tarot cards that she quite lost her self-control.’

‘Rhiannon…?’ Bobby asked gently, coming towards her, glancing suspiciously at Gabriel Stone.

‘It’s OK,’ she said shakily. ‘I’m all right.’ But she didn’t tell him what had really happened, and as her eyes met Gabriel Stone’s she saw the gleam of triumph in those blue depths, because he had made her support his story…he had made her obey him.

‘I do apologise, Mr Stone.’ The male organiser was more concerned with keeping Gabriel Stone happy. ‘We hired her in good faith, and…’

‘Please, don’t apologise for her.’ Gabriel Stone cut him off with a curt, contemptuous note in his voice. ‘If she was scared by the reading it was my fault, not hers. I won’t have her penalised. Understand me?’

‘Oh, yes, of course, Mr Stone!’

‘Good.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Thank you very much for an exciting glimpse of the future, Rhiannon.’

‘Don’t mention it!’ she muttered.

‘I shall remember precisely what the cards predicted.’

‘I’m sure you will!’

‘And I shall most definitely,’ he drawled mockingly, ‘be in touch with you to discuss it more fully in the future.’

Her eyes smouldered at him.

‘Until then…’ Gabriel Stone turned and strode coolly out of the tent, giving no more than a cursory nod to the men and the woman who practically bowed to the ground in their haste to curry favour with him, his money and his undeniable power.

Rhiannon watched him go, her eyes filled with hatred.

Hatred and desire…

RHIANNON presented almost two thousand pounds to the charity organisers. Naturally they were thrilled. It was the single biggest contribution of the day. Rhiannon told them that Gabriel Stone had donated the largest amount and they all swooned like mad, saying things like, ‘He really is the most marvellous man,’ and ‘How can one man be so generous and so sexy?’

‘Does he always contribute so heavily?’ she asked, because she had to know if he had been generous for good or bad motives.

‘Oh, yes!’ Marella, the head of the committee told her. ‘Mr Stone is a born philanthropist. He doesn’t just make millions and keep them all to himself. He donates to worthy causes wherever he finds them. And he has a particular fondness for children’s charities.’

Rhiannon mulled this over. The brute had made it appear as though he wanted to buy her, not help children. Yet clearly he would have donated as much whatever the circumstances.

That doesn’t make him a saint, though, she thought angrily. Look at the way he behaved towards me!

‘We’re going to be late for dinner, Rhiannon,’ Bobby whispered in her ear as she was about to accept another cup of tea from Marella. ‘I booked the table for seven-thirty…’

Rhiannon quickly excused herself and went to get changed in one of the superb bathrooms of the Manor. She had brought her evening outfit with her, and it almost felt as though she’d had a little holiday because she had to pack her day clothes, her Welsh Witch costume, her tarot cards and her make-up into a little suitcase.

In the mirror, she saw the faint bruising of her lips from Gabriel Stone’s kiss, and she wondered if she would ever need lipstick again. Her heart thudded harder as she remembered the strong arms around her body, the insistent pressure of his mouth, the exciting intimacy of their tongues sliding together and the burning heat of her blood…

I hate him! she thought defiantly, fighting the force of her own desire. How did he know what I yearned for? Is it written all over my face?

Staring into the mirror, she saw the wildness of her green eyes, the pout of her red mouth, and wondered, What told Gabriel Stone that I wanted to be dominated by him?

It was her secret.

Her secret, dammit, and nobody else was supposed to know—not even Bobby. Like Pandora with her golden casket, she had kept it buried for five long years, never thinking about it herself, if she could help it—let alone telling anyone else.

It wasn’t just the desire to love, honour and obey a man that she had kept secret all these years. Nor was it the desire to find herself with a man who would dominate her physically, make her feel feminine and helpless and exquisitely ravaged in lovemaking. It was more the fact that only a dominant man could ever hope to make her truly fall in love.

Of course, she loved Bobby, but in such a different way. He was and always had been more like a friend, a comfortable and familiar cushion she nestled on while getting on with her own life and career.

But a man like Gabriel Stone could make her fall helplessly in love, and that made him dangerous.

Far too dangerous to allow him access to her again—even though she was already so fascinated by him that all she could think of were his dazzling eyes, his cynical face, the power of his kiss…and what other wicked delights a kiss like that could lead to.

‘Rhiannon!’ Bobby called up the vast sweeping staircase. ‘I booked the table for seven-thirty! We’re going to be late!’

‘Just coming!’ Rhiannon snapped out of her reverie and hurried downstairs with her little suitcase, which Bobby stowed in the car as they both said their goodbyes to the charity organisers.

They drove swiftly back to London and had dinner at a homely little Italian restaurant just round the corner from Rhiannon’s Kensington home.

But she was preoccupied and tense all through the meal, dark passion occasionally smouldering in her eyes as she toyed with her food indifferently and remembered Gabriel’s words—’I like to see you looking helplessly feminine…’ Why did that phrase make her want to make love with him until the world exploded into a thousand stars?

After dinner, Bobby drove her home.

‘Darling,’ he said as he pulled up in the cobbled mews, ‘you’ve been so quiet since we left the Manor. Are you all right?’

‘Yes, I’m fine.’ She looked at him through her lashes, frowning. How could she tell him the truth? He had never even tried to make love to her. Their whole relationship had been founded, from the beginning, on a mutual fear of casual sex and intimacy. How could she confide in him now when what was bothering her was precisely that?

Something in her must have changed. There was no denying that she had spent the whole evening dreaming of Gabriel’s kiss, touch, dominant lovemaking. But Bobby was unaware of that. Just as he was unaware that Rhiannon now clamoured for more of Gabriel Stone.