Sarah Holland - The Dominant Male

But there was her own office, just ahead, a beacon of light—her palace, her reason for living. The door was polished oak with a gleaming gold plaque on it which read‘RHIANNON WINDMORR—CREATIVE DIRECTOR’.

Just the sight of it had always made her smile brightly. But today she felt nothing. It was just a piece of brass on a door, that was all—nothing more.

She went inside, closed the door and looked at the trophies, the certificates, the award-winning designs, adverts and accolades collected over the last five years. They seemed so pointless. Just pieces of brass and wood and glossy posters. They weren’t real or alive, they couldn’t make her feel wonderful any more—and they no longer filled her with passionate excitement.

Only one thing, however, had happened to her since she’d left this office at midnight on Friday—Gabriel Stone!

Damn the man! What has he done to me? Is this some kind of magic spell he’s put over me, making me turn my face from my own life and wish for nothing but love, passion, desire…

There was a knock at the door.

Whirling round, she called sharply, ‘Come in!’

‘Morning!’ Jerry, the receptionist, strode in, blonde hair flying, pink lips glossy, high heels flashing. ‘Sorry to disturb, but an urgent package has just arrived for you.’

‘For me?’ Rhiannon took the big white parcel with a frown.

‘A chauffeur just hand-delivered it to Reception. I’m dying to know what’s inside it.’

Curiouser and curiouser, thought Rhiannon, opening the parcel while Jerry watched.

She saw a flash of scarlet-gold silk beneath folds of white tissue paper, and a white envelope nestling among the tissue with the unmistakable handwriting of Gabriel Stone in black.

‘I don’t believe it!’ Rhiannon said through her teeth, heart thudding hard as she tore the envelope open with trembling hands and read the card.

Miss Windmorr,

I’m having an intimate dinner party on Saturday night. It would amuse me if I could entertain my guests with a Welsh Witch. My chauffeur will collect you from your home address at seven-thirty. Wear the costume provided. Come alone.

Gabriel Stone.

How had he managed to find her? Not only here at Solomon Associates, but also to get her home address? Then she remembered him talking to the host and hostess at that charity fête. He had found out that she was engaged to Bobby. It must have been a simple matter to get her work and home addresses.

She looked down at the note in her unsteady hands. It wasn’t just the condescending and insolent tone that offended her. Nor even the curt commands, issued as though she were some kind of minor domestic employee. What made her most furious was the total lack of respect which permeated his letter from start to finish.

‘Gabriel Stone!’ Jerry gasped, reading over Rhiannon’s shoulder. ‘Gosh, you lucky thing!’

‘Lucky…?’

‘Oh, yes! He’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen!’

‘Optically challenged, are you?’ Rhiannon snapped.

‘Oh, come on! He’s got more animal magnetism than any man has a right to! You should have seen him when he walked in here twenty minutes ago! Those blue eyes, that tough face—’

‘Walked in here?’ Rhiannon whispered, almost collapsing like a tower of jelly on the spot. ‘You mean—here? He’s here? In the building?’

‘Yes, he’s upstairs with Steve Solomon.’

Rhiannon swayed, aware of the excitement gripping her body like an electric fist, knowing she was a fool to feel it—a lemming rushing blindly over a cliff to destruction. How stupid to feel excited at the prospect of her own unquestionable doom if she ever let him near her.

‘Maybe he’s going to switch to Solomon Associates!’ Jerry mused. ‘All his companies have been with Rawdon and Taylor for years. They’re so old-fashioned, though. Did you see—?’

‘Even if Gabriel Stone does switch to us, I won’t have anything to do with him! Just look at this note! Have you ever seen anything so conceited? Demanding I come to his party like a performing monkey!’

‘I’d perform for him any old day!’

‘Oh, Jerry! Must you think of sex, sex—?’

The telephone rang sharply.

Rhiannon snatched it up, her voice unsteady. ‘Rhiannon Windmorr!’

‘Ah, Miss Windmorr!’ Steve Solomon, the chairman, drawled, like the lazy fat-cat he was. ‘Get up to my office right away, please. We have a potential new client I’d like you to meet.’

‘But, sir, I—’

The line went dead.

For a second Rhiannon just stood there, clutching the receiver with a damp hand while Jerry waited with bated breath.

Trembling, she clumsily put the receiver down.

‘Well?’ Jerry asked eagerly.

‘I have to go up to Solomon’s office right away,’ she said huskily. ‘To meet a new client.’ She smoothed her damp palms on her skirt. How could she face him? She felt so vulnerable…

‘It must be Gabriel Stone!’

‘Yes, well, I think that’s perfectly obvious!’ Rhiannon looked down at the package. ‘I’ll have to go up and see him, I suppose.’ Her voice was still husky, and she heard the unsteady desire throbbing in her voice, knew she wanted him and hated herself for it.

‘Ooh!’ Jerry said dreamily. ‘Let me know what happens!’

Rhiannon gave her a sharp look and left the office, striding as purposefully as she could across the open-plan area with its potted palms and air-conditioning, heading for the chairman’s lift.

The lift took her to the fifteenth floor with luxurious speed.

Her reflection in the mirrored wall undermined her confidence. The shimmer of helpless femininity in her green eyes was so severe she could barely look at it herself.

Nervous, she tidied her long black hair, but it still fell softly around her flushed pink face, making her look girlish despite the smart red skirt-suit she wore—and even that made her look desirably female, with its nipped-in waist and figure-hugging cut.

Walking out of the lift and onto the plush oyster-coloured carpets, she tried to look confident, but inside her heart was thudding hard and her legs were actually shaking.

‘Miss Windmorr!’ The secretary smiled as she entered the outer rooms. ‘Mr Solomon is expecting you.’

‘Thank you!’ she said unsteadily.

‘Gabriel Stone is with him!’ breathed the secretary. ‘He is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life! Lucky you, being invited in to meet him!’

‘Lucky old me!’ Rhiannon said thickly, and knocked on the door, then entered at Solomon’s shout.

Gabriel Stone was standing by the windows, with Steve Solomon next to him. Both men were in an attitude of old friends, but it was clear—so clear—who was the more powerful of the two, because not only did Gabriel Stone tower over Steve Solomon but everything about him, from the cut of his impeccable grey suit to the lift of his dark head, shouted, Power. Authority. Masculinity. Superiority.

He turned with a cool smile to look at her, ruthless blue eyes glittering with mockery.

In silence she met his gaze measure for measure, but her heart was beating like a crazy drum.

She wanted him so much she could barely stand.

And he knew it. How could he fail to notice that her eyes flashed over him with desire? Flashed over the hard muscles emphasised by the grey suit, the taut waistcoat, the silver watch-chain gleaming across it and the dark red silk tie knotted at his throat.

‘Miss Windmorr!’ he drawled smokily. ‘We meet again.’

‘Hello, Mr Stone.’ Her voice was more confident than she could have prayed for it to be. ‘What brings you to my offices?’

‘Oh, are they yours? I was under the impression that they belonged to Steve Solomon, here.’