Amanda's Dominant Daddy Page 6

  “Good evening, Mr. Carter,” the attractive hostess said as they approached an ornate antique desk in the black and white tiled lobby. “Are you going to have a drink in the lounge first, or shall I take you through to the dining room?”

  “Would you like to eat now, Amanda,” he asked, “or do you need to catch your breath?”

  “Now, definitely. I haven’t had anything all day.”

  “I think that answers your question, Cindy,” Braxton said to the hostess. “The dining room it is.”

  Following the leggy hostess through the renovated home, Amanda was taken with its warm comfort. As they passed the lounge, she saw it boasted a burled walnut wooden bar with a mirrored backdrop, conversation areas with easy chairs and sofas, and a fireplace against one wall. Walking into the dining room, she loved it on sight. The dark brown leather chairs were high-backed and winged for privacy, and it was virtually impossible to see the faces of those already seated.

  “This place is amazing,” she said softly as they sat down and the hostess handed them menus. “Why don’t I know about it?”

  “It has a discreet patronage,” he said quietly. “Membership is tightly controlled.”

  “How can I become a member? I’d come here all the time. It’s so… what’s the word… civilized. It would be perfect after work to sit in that lounge and have a drink. I’ll bet nobody would bother me here.”

  “No, they wouldn’t. I’ll tell you more about the club later. Check out the menu. Everything is made on the premises, and the chef is fabulous.”

  “I’ll bet he is,” she smiled, and when she opened the wine list, she looked up at him with wide eyes. “You weren’t kidding when you said they had a great selection. May I choose?”

  “Of course, be my guest.”

  “If I’m going to select what we’re drinking, then I’d like to pay for it.”

  “No, that’s not an option,” he said, shaking his head.

  “It seems only fair,” she insisted.

  “No, but thank you,” he replied, reaching across the table and taking her hand. “I’m an old-fashioned guy; besides, I can take this off my taxes. You’re a movie executive and I’m an actor.”

  “So could I, for the same reason,” she quipped, “and forgive me for asking this but I’ve seen your resume. You’re definitely moving up the ladder and your roles are getting bigger and better, but have you sold a script or something?”

  “Is that a polite way of asking how can I afford a new BMW and membership in a private club?” he grinned.

  “Sorry, but yes. I can’t help it. It’s intriguing.”

  “I have another business,” he said vaguely, “but I keep it quiet. You know how producers are. Unless you live and breathe acting they don’t take you seriously.”

  “That is sadly true,” she agreed. “What kind of business?”

  “An Internet site, and happily it only needs me a few hours a week, but enough about that. Check out the menu and let’s order.”

  “Right, yes, I’m starving,” she agreed, opening up the burgundy leather folder.

  Braxton ordered an appetizer to share, Amanda selected a bottle of Meritage, and as they nibbled on the tasty morsels and sipped the velvety wine, they laughed and joked about the latest gossip making the rounds in Hollywood. Amanda discovered the food lived up to Braxton’s hype, and his easygoing manner and amusing anecdotes helped calm her nerves. After a delicious main course and having finished off the bottle of wine, she leaned her head back and let out a long sigh.

  “I feel so mellow. That is the best meal I’ve had in ages, and this place is so comfortable. I love it here.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said, leaning forward. “You’ve been wound up like a violin string. It’s good to see you finally relaxing.”

  “I don’t feel like this very often,” she admitted, “and my dinners are almost always work-related.”

  “I find that so hard to believe,” he said, shaking his head. “You have so much to offer.”

  “Men don’t know what to do with me,” she said wistfully, “and besides that, there are so many pretty girls in this town I can’t compete. I look at them in the gym and—”

  “You can stop right there,” he said firmly, interrupting her mid-sentence. “They don’t hold a patch to you, but let’s get back to the first thing you said. Men don’t know what to do with you. That I believe, and I’ll bet it’s been that way since you were in college, maybe even before.”

  “It has, but you…” she said slowly, leaving her thought unfinished.

  “You think I’m different?”

  “Yes, Braxton, I do think you’re different. You’ve already shown me that you are.”

  Studying her face, he could see there was something more she wanted to say, or perhaps ask him. He knew Amanda wasn’t afraid of speaking her mind or putting forth probing questions, and her reticence surprised him. He decided to push.

  “What is it?”

  “Am I that easy to read?”

  “I think we’re just in tune right now,” he smiled. “Do you have a question, or is there something you want to tell me?”

  “I guess it’s both,” she murmured.

  “Both?”

  “I’ve heard rumors about you,” she said, locking his gaze, hoping he could read her thoughts.

  “Good things, I hope.”

  “Not good or bad,” she frowned, unsure about how to say what was on her mind. “I mean, I’ve heard that you, uh…”

  “Amanda, spit it out. Just tell me what you’ve heard and I’ll tell you if it’s true.”

  “I’ve heard that you’re into bondage and stuff,” she whispered.

  “Do you find that intriguing? Is it something you’d like to talk about?”

  “I’m feeling really weird right now,” she muttered, dropping her eyes and picking up her glass to down the last of her wine.

  “You’re allowed to feel weird. It’s not an everyday topic of conversation.”

  “Is it true?”

  “Yes, absolutely it’s true, but I think you suspected that already.”

  “You’re right, I did. I just needed to hear it from you.”

  “When I said I’d spank you if you threw another tantrum, I was serious,” he whispered, leaning closer to her.

  The thrill that suddenly swirled through her stomach made Amanda catch her breath. It was involuntary and unexpected, and impossible to hide.

  “You don’t need to say anything,” he murmured, smiling softly. “My guess is, you want to know more, but as much as your curiosity is piqued, you’re also a bit scared. That’s natural. Don’t worry. One step at a time, but my promise still stands. You have a fit of temper, one of two things will happen. You know what they are, and it will be your choice.”

  She looked like a deer in headlights, and raising his hand, he curled it around her hair and slowly pulled her toward him. As he brought his lips to hers he saw her eyes flutter closed, and pressing gently, he let the kiss languidly evolve, breaking apart when he heard a soft moan of need.

  “Do you want any dessert?” he breathed, cupping the back of her neck as she dropped her head on his shoulder.

  “Yes, but not here.”

  He released her, and as he settled back in his chair and called for the check, Amanda tried to collect herself. His kiss had made her knees weak and her heart thump, and she could feel a slick wetness between her legs. In an attempt to regroup she decided to change the subject. Any more conversation about spanking and bondage and she was sure she’d completely melt.

  “What do you think will happen tonight?” she asked as he signed the bill.

  “What would you like to have happen tonight?” he winked.

  “You know what I mean!” she retorted, wishing she’d worded her question differently.

  “You can’t open a door like that and not expect me to walk through it,” he chuckled.

  “I guess not,” she said, grinning back at him, “but se
riously, do you think my nocturnal guest will be there?”

  “I’ll tell you what I think on the drive home,” he promised. “Are you ready to leave, or do you want a nightcap in the lounge?”

  “I’m ready to go, but I would love to come back here.”

  “Then you will,” he said, rising from his chair, “and this place has some other things on offer as well.”

  “Other things? What kind of other things?” she asked, her interest stirred by the glint in his eye.

  “You’ll find out one of these days,” he casually replied, helping her to her feet.

  As his hand wrapped around hers, she felt a fresh fluttering in her belly, and slightly giddy from the wine and still weak from his kiss, she leaned against him as his arm went around her waist.

  “Let’s get you home,” he said protectively.

  “Yes, please. I feel as if I need to lie down and zone out, but I definitely want to know what you think about… you know… my uninvited guest.”

  A short time later they were settled in his car, and as Braxton was pulling away from the curb, Amanda glanced across at him. She could tell he was deep in thought.

  “Are you trying to figure out how to tell me what I can expect to find in the east wing tonight?”

  “I am,” he nodded, “but remember, this theory of mine is just that, a theory.”

  “Of course, I understand that.”

  “How well do you know your housekeeper? What’s her name?”

  “Miriam.”

  “Miriam, that’s right. How well do you know her?”

  “Not very. I hired her through a service about six months ago. She’s been very reliable. She gets there early, and by the time I come downstairs the coffee’s on and she’s working.”

  “How often is she there?”

  “Three days a week: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. It’s a big house. What are you thinking?”

  “I think she has someone staying there.”

  “No! Seriously? Why would you think that?”

  “Whoever is using that bedroom has access to your house. They must know the alarm code and have a key. Who else besides Miriam has both those things?”

  “Just my assistant, Jeremy, and he lives in West Hollywood with his boyfriend,” Amanda said thoughtfully.

  “I doubt he’d have someone sneaking into your house. No, I think it’s Miriam, and I suspect we’ll catch a relative of hers.”

  “I can’t believe this,” she muttered.

  “Do you have a way into the grounds at the back of the property?”

  “Yes, there’s a gate, and a path that leads around to the door at the back of the kitchen.”

  “Is it locked?”

  “Uh, no, it’s not,” she replied, feeling foolish. “It should be, I know.”

  “I don’t mean to change the subject, but you let me scale that wall knowing you had another way in?”

  “I’m sorry,” she cringed. “I was so upset I completely forgot. I didn’t remember until later. I never use it. Am I bad?”

  “Yes, you’re bad, but you’re forgiven,” he winked. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it up to me, but I’ll bet that’s how he gets in, then he comes through the kitchen after you’ve gone to bed, and sneaks up those stairs to the bedroom. How would you ever know?”

  “She thinks I wear earplugs to bed,” Amanda declared. “That’s probably why she thinks I can’t hear him. Good grief.”

  “Why would she think you wear earplugs?”

  “Because I keep them on my nightstand. When I’m reviewing documents late at night I put them in. I don’t know why but it helps me concentrate.”

  “The good news is, if I’m right it will be an easy fix. You’ll fire her, change the alarm and locks, and that will be that. I hope I’m right. It’s a much better outcome than some jerk off the street.”

  “A stranger off the street would be horrible, but this has confirmed one thing for me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My house. As I told you before, it’s too big. I bought it as a foreclosure when I got my first big promotion. It was a way of saying, hey, I’ve arrived. I do love it, but I’m over it now. I’m going to put it on the market and look for something else. Something more manageable.”

  “Makes sense,” he agreed. “Will you stay in Beverly Hills?”

  “Probably, maybe, I don’t know. I haven’t given it that much thought. Maybe a change would be good.”

  “Funny,” he muttered.

  “What is?”

  “I just made the very same decision about my house. I think I might have even used those words. I’m over it. My house is up on Sunset Plaza Drive. I was into the whole Hollywood rock-and-roll party scene, but those days are behind me. In fact, seeing your house made me realize just how much they are.”

  “My house?”

  “It’s big, yes, but it’s traditional and welcoming. I really like it. I’ll be looking for something similar, but smaller of course.”

  “Huh, that is a cowinky-dink,” she said thoughtfully.

  “Cowinky-dink?”

  “You know, coincidence,” she laughed.

  “I prefer cowinky-dink,” he chuckled. “Here we are. I hope you remembered your handheld remote for the gate.”

  “Of course,” she replied, opening her bag. “Do we go straight to the bedroom? In the east wing, I mean.”

  “I doubt he’ll be there. I suspect he waits until your bedroom light goes out.”

  “This is so creepy,” she muttered.

  “It is, but I think it will be over tonight, and if things get hairy, the boys in blue know we might be calling.”

  The gates swung open, and as Braxton drove the car to the front of the house, Amanda felt a tingle of nerves. They’d soon be alone in her bedroom, and she decided she’d leave everything up to him. The first move, the first touch… everything. For a woman who was used to being in control the thought was unnerving, but it was also exciting, and as he opened her car door and took her hand, she hoped he wouldn’t make her wait too long. Reaching her front door, she slipped in the key and glanced up at him. His green eyes looked almost turquoise under the porch light, and she felt her pulse tick up. Stepping inside, she moved quickly, though a little unsteadily, across to the alarm and entered the code.

  Braxton could sense her anxiety and he found it charming. She was successful, accomplished, savvy, and super-smart, yet here she was, filled with a tingling anticipation. She was like a teenager on a date, but she wasn’t worried about a kiss goodnight at the door. She was worried about his hand smacking her naked backside, or his shackles wrapping around her wrists. It was something new, something exotic, and something for which she was hungering.

  “Shall we go up?” she asked, turning around and staring at him.

  “Absolutely,” he said with a warm smile. “After you.”

  Chapter Seven

  Determined to keep her resolve and let Braxton make the first move, Amanda had collapsed on her bed, and much to her disappointment, Braxton had slid a chair from across the room, sat down, and listened patiently as she’d shared the rollercoaster ride of her early years in the entertainment business. Though she was certainly outgoing, Amanda didn’t often open up about her trials and tribulations, but she found she had no problem confiding in him.

  “You’re so easy to talk to,” she murmured, rolling on her side, wishing he would climb onto the bed with her.

  She could imagine his arms around her, how he would slowly peel off her dress, and—

  “Thank you,” he said, interrupting her salacious thoughts. “You should write a book. You’ve led such an interesting life.”

  “I’m not sure it’s interesting enough for a book,” she remarked, then unexpectedly let out a long, heavy yawn. “Sorry. I guess I’m running out of steam.”

  “What time do you usually go to sleep?”

  “It depends whether or not I bring work home. Usually around ten. I try to stay up fo
r the eleven o’clock news but I rarely make it.” And why haven’t you jumped my bones? I want you to. Can’t you tell? Haven’t I made it obvious? Have you had a change of heart?

  “I’m going to go downstairs to get something to drink. Is ten minutes enough time for you to get changed and get into bed?”

  “Yes, that’s plenty of time,” she replied. “Are you sure those two blankets will be enough? You don’t want any sheets for that couch?”

  “Positive.”

  “Thanks for being here, Braxton,” she said softly. “I really am grateful.”

  Rising to his feet, he leaned over the bed and softly kissed her.

  “You’re welcome. I’ll catch this joker, whoever he is, and then we can concentrate on us.”

  His promise made her feel warm and fuzzy and filled her with relief. He hadn’t changed his mind; he just wanted to focus on the task at hand. Whatever reservations she still held about pursuing a relationship with him were quickly dissolving. She was hooked. She wanted him. She wanted him badly.

  She watched him saunter from the room, then crawling off her bed, she made her way into the bathroom. In spite of his reassurance that he didn’t need any sheets, she pulled out a set and made him a makeshift bed on top of the sofa cushions. She knew they were comfortable. She’d napped on the couch many times, and after returning to the bathroom, removing her makeup, and changing into a comfortable nightie, she settled into bed. It was only a few minutes later that he knocked softly on the bedroom door.

  “Are you decent?”

  “Yes. Come in.”

  “I made you some warm milk,” he said, carrying it across to her and placing it on her nightstand. “It will help you relax, maybe even nap.”

  “Aww, Braxton, that’s so thoughtful, thank you. My mom used to bring me milk in bed when I was a little girl.”

  “In many ways you remind me of a little girl,” he smiled.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

  “Does everything seem normal in the house?” she quickly asked, wanting to change the subject.

  It was the second time he’d mentioned she was like a little girl. No one had ever told her that before and she wasn’t sure quite how to take it. Had he meant it as a compliment?