Knight's Mistress
Page 2

Before she could answer his cell phone rang.
He glanced at the display, frowned and grunted, ‘Go on in. I have to take this.’
Flustered by her response to a man who was even hotter in person than in his photos, feeling more like a thirteen-year-old Justin Bieber fan than a magna cum laude graduate of MIT, she lectured her uninvited inner adolescent as she walked toward his office. Seriously. What was that all about? Haven’t you seen a handsome man before? Get a grip. Better yet, go away.
The hand-carved door at the end of the hall was slightly ajar; Dominic Knight conducted business casually. How reassuring. She wasn’t fond of rules and protocol. Pushing the door open, she entered a low-ceilinged room with such spectacular views of the gardens that all thoughts of her embarrassing meeting with Knight Enterprises’ CEO vanished.
Dropping her canvas messenger bag on a chair, she walked to the nearest window wall and surveyed the garden that reminded her of some of the royal gardens she’d seen in Japan: immaculately raked gravel, swirled in traditional wave patterns, large, rainbow-coloured koi visible in the clear, limpid water of a nearby pond, artfully arranged boulders, ancient, perfectly pruned yews and pines. A small, arched bridge in brilliant red served as a picturesque focal point in the distance. The garden was a museum-quality work of art, carefully nurtured and maintained. Dominic Knight had an eye for beauty
‘I’ll personally nail you to the wall if you screw me on this! You don’t say no to me! Nobody says no to me! Now do your fucking job!’
She flinched at the audible fury in Dominic Knight’s voice. Each word was implacable, taut with rage, the tone unexpectedly dredging up long-suppressed memories. Jesus, she’d not thought of any of that in years. Her gut tightened like it had as a child and she knew: this job wasn’t going to work out. Explosive people were bad karma for her.
She had plenty of other companies wooing her. She could pick and choose. Retrieving her messenger bag from the chair, she was almost to the door when he walked in.
‘Forgive me again. I seem to be repeatedly apologizing before we’ve even met.’ But he was still distracted. He’d come to a stop, run a hand through his dark hair, his gaze unfocused.
‘That’s all right.’ She slung her bag over her shoulder. ‘This isn’t going to work out anyway.’
He looked startled. Then a second later he looked down, his gaze narrowed, fixed on her. ‘Nonsense. Your assignments are abroad. I won’t be there. It should work out just fine.’ At least he didn’t pretend to be confused. He seemed to know why she had reservations about taking this job, or maybe he just didn’t care. ‘I’m told you’re the best and that’s what I need.’
‘Our needs are incompatible.’ She kept her voice calm with effort, as he towered over her, his sexual charisma practically sending off heat waves, his commanding air intimidating – both seriously affecting her pulse rate.
‘Tell me what you need, er’ – he paused – ‘I’m not sure I’ve been told your name.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
He looked at her as if she’d sprouted another head, then sighed. ‘Look, could we start over? I’m Dominic Knight. You’re … ?’ His dark brows rose in query, a touch of humour in his gaze.
‘This isn’t funny, Mr Knight.’
‘I could call someone and get your name.’
‘To what purpose, pray tell?’ she said, staring him in the eye with her best hard-as-nails look.
He smiled. ‘Really, “pray tell”? Channelling Jane Austen?’ His sigh this time was barely audible. ‘As to what purpose,’ he repeated, softly mocking, ‘why not to our mutual satisfaction?’ His voice went down a notch. ‘Now, tell me your name.’
His deep, velvety tone melted through her body, turned on everything that could be turned on, again. Wow. Who would have thought using your vibrator before an interview was a requirement?
‘I’m assuming you have a name,’ he prompted, a small smile stirring the corners of his mouth.
Asshole. Was he toying with her? Or did a mouth-watering CEO with a killer body figure every woman would roll over for him if he smiled? Her mouth firmed. ‘If you must know, my name is Katherine Hart. Spelled H, A, R, T.’
His gaze was cool, as was his voice. ‘Perfect. Thank you.’
‘Miss Hart to you.’ She glanced at the door.
He noticed, ignored it. ‘As you wish, Miss Hart.’ He loosened his honey-coloured tie, undid his collar button. ‘It’s been a long day.’ He flexed his broad shoulders with a Zen-like grace, exhaled slowly, visibly decompressed. ‘I’ve had to listen to too many long-winded people in too many boring meetings. Have you ever noticed that those who do the least complain the most and those who know the least talk the most?’ He held her gaze, almost smiled. ‘Now what can I do to change your mind?’
Jeez, how could that sudden Zen-like calm be so hot? Or maybe tall, dark and handsome was rocking her world because she was an adrenalin junky – a prime requirement in her line of work – and just looking at all that magnificent maleness was juicing her. ‘Nothing really,’ she quickly said, needing to get away, and it wasn’t just bad karma. Men didn’t shake her world like this. Or at least they never had. ‘I just changed my mind.’ She took a step to her right to go around him.
He moved left and checked her progress. ‘Change it back.’