ICE QUEEN (Part 4)

 He was watching her. Quite deliberately, such that she was acutely aware of the swing of her hips beneath the fitted skirt, the glimpse of the back of her knee and curve of calves that would be displayed as she walked in her heels. His regard made her aware of the fact she’d chosen seamed stockings, and this pair had a tiny embroidered rose in black thread just above the delicate ankle bone. The fit of her clothes, the touch of their fabrics, the soft brush of that curl along her temple, now were intensified by the memory of him touching her there.

 

His gaze met hers in the mirror right before she entered the kitchen. One corner of his mouth tugged up in a smile, and from the expression in his eyes, she wouldn’t have put it past him to mortify her with a wolf whistle. She escaped into the kitchen, but her own lips were twitching with a near smile, reminding her that she liked Tyler Winter man. She was just deathly afraid of the effect he had on her.

 

Taking the two steps up into her office, she closed her door. Chloe and Gen were used to her doing that at the end of the day so she could focus on receipts. It gave her an excuse now to collect her thoughts. And watch Tyler.

 

The large Victorian mirror was a facade for a two-way glass panel, mounted up against the wall of her raised office so she could keep an eye on the floor and anticipate when Chloe and Gen needed a hand, or come out to greet a frequent or new customer, underscoring the sophisticated charm and service her tea room was known to lavish on its clientele.

 

In this instance, it gave her the opportunity to study him further. He had left the bistro chair, and was now pursuing her display wall. It offered pieces from the full tea sets that clients could request for the serving of their chosen beverage, everything from English porcelain to Japanese and Chinese clay. With one hand, he touched the tuocha, a compressed tea shaped like a bird’s nest, then moved on to examine the copper shine of the Russian samovar with its ornate dragon tap.

 

She also had originals under glass that ranged from 150 to 1000 years old, the latter being the YiXing set from the Ming Dynasty. Her very first tea set was also under glass, a colorful array of ceramic cups and teapot. They sat within the ankle span of a doll whose best days were long over, with her brittle hair, faded satin gown and scarred face.

 

Her hands clutched on the desk edge, knuckles white, she watched him study that symbol of her past which she had arranged with quaint charm. It gave patrons the picture of a little blonde girl getting the set, the doll when it was brand new, cherishing it, deciding to grow up and have her entire life be like a tea party. Civilized, every detail thought out. Well designed, beautiful. Peaceful.

 

The room was laid out so none of the tables were too close to that display wall, so that a person could move comfortably past its offerings without hovering over seated patrons. In this case it gave the ladies in the room the opportunity to study him easily under the guise of interest in the wall displays that most of them had seen many times before. She had three age groups in the room; Mrs. Allen’s set, who were well into grandmother realm and perhaps holding out successfully for great-grandchildren; a pair of women in their forties, now empty nesters; and a table of six chic professional women who preferred this spot on Thursday afternoons rather than a golf course, nightclub or bar hangout. And every one of them was watching Tyler. Not blatantly, but with quick flicks of the eye lashes, secret smiles among themselves, a feminine chuckle. It set her teeth on edge. Why had he invaded her world before she had the inner gates to it closed? She felt as if he were contaminating it in some way, disrupting the atmosphere like the arrival of a Chippendale stripper in a library to deliver a birthday gram to the quiet steward of all those dignified books.

 

But he didn’t have the effeminate prettiness of a Chippendale. Chloe was right. Tyler commanded attention because he was like a tiger. Mesmerizing and possessing something that suggested it was wise not to turn your back on him, any more than it would be a wise move to run.

 

He turned at last, made his way down the wall until he reached her mirror. Being a tall man, it was easy for him to rest an elbow on the mantle.

 

Other male Dominants did not affect her this way. Perhaps it was the Domme in herself that admired the strength to his bearing, his profile. The predatory readiness that pulsed from him, equally balanced with the assurance he would be the first to hold out a chair for a woman, help an elderly woman down the stairs at the bank, ask a girl crying in the mall what was the matter, and how could he make it better? And the moment any woman met his gaze, she’d know. It didn’t matter how impossible the task, he could make it better. In short, he was a walking fantasy, and there was nothing more dangerous to Marguerite’s world than that.

 

The motion of his body suggested that he had put a hand in the pocket of his slacks, a comfortable, masculine pose. His attention appeared to now rest on a photo of colorfully dressed tea pickers in India, which was grouped with lovely landscapes of the green hills of the tea gardens in Malaysia. Beyond that were some of her favorite Japanese tea theme scrolls and watercolors drawn by tea masters.

 

The desk pressed against her thighs as she leaned forward and found the surface was too wide to reach across to the window. She inched up her skirt at either leg and then slid onto the wood top, her legs folded beneath her as she reached out.

 

It didn’t matter why she felt like doing this. She didn’t want to think about why she was outlining his shoulder on the glass, imagining how it would feel, the fabric of his shirt, the solid man beneath. She flattened her palm against where she would be touching his hair, the dark short strands, the line of his throat, the heat of life pulsing there so she could pass her knuckles over it, just a gentle caress.

 

He turned toward her, studying the mirror, rather than himself in it, and she saw his shrewd assessment, his quick realization that it was likely a two-way. She outlined his mouth and then watched, motionless, as the sensual lips curved into a faint smile. He winked and placed one finger on the glass. Entranced, she moved hers to it, pressing finger pad to finger pad. She supposed he thought she was sitting at her desk, frowning at him or ignoring him, and that was fine. But as they stood there for a moment or two and his finger stayed in place, her print against it, she began to get that uncomfortable feeling she always had with Tyler, that he saw more than he should when he looked her way. Moving the desk, she took her seat and returned to her paperwork, trying not to look up again.

 

She held out for about three minutes.

 

He had out a palm organizer, some type of handheld device, and was keying something into it. Checking his messages, she supposed. Tyler was a significant name in the erotic film industry, using his talent to help producers and directors put high quality erotic content for women on the screen. He’d even advised on or co-written a couple award-winning scripts himself. Although she'd heard that he'd cut back some the last few years, she imagined he had a full schedule, just maintaining his going concerns. Evolution of a Domme, his latest investment, had swept the erotic film awards and had even garnered a Golden Globe nomination, for the first time breaking a barrier shattered only by darker, more destructive erotic films with larger name actors.

 

She watched, curious, as he lifted the organizer. He placed it flat against the glass, his body shifting so to the others in the room it only looked as if he was casually relaxing at the mantle.

 

What are you wearing back there?

 

It startled a snort out of her, and she clapped her hand over her mouth, though there was a reasonable amount of soundproofing. As if he knew her reaction, however, he grinned, a slow, sexy smile. Pocketing the organizer, he strolled away, one hand in his pocket as he wandered back past the display wall.

Tucking the memory of that smile to her breast like she was clutching her doll, she used it to ease her concerns about this meeting. It would work out. Of course it would.

 

And it was nowhere near the worst thing she had faced in her life.