All He Needs by C.C. Gibbs (Forever Trade Paperback; 9781455528332; $12.00)
Neither Kate nor Dominic intended for their affair to be more than casual. The pleasure they found together was supposed to be fleeting, but while neither is willing to admit it-the passion between them is something they both desperately need. Caught in a tumultuous battle with his emotions, Dominic can't fight he desires... or stay away from Kate. And while Kate knows that being with Dominic means giving up some of her long held control, letting go never felt so right.
About the Author
C.C. Gibbs is the pen name of a New York Times bestselling author. She lives in the Midwest, at times in Northern California, is married with three children and considers the life of a writer the best of all possible worlds. Bringing characters to life allows her imagination full rein, while the creative process offers fascinating glimpses into the machinery of the mind. And last but not least, researching anything, but particularly a book like ALL HE DESIRES--thank you Google--is great fun!
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A Q&A unpublished teaser with Dominic Knight
Max Roche, Dominic’s ADC and right hand man, shut the door behind him as he entered Dominic’s Paris office. “The Rolling Stone reporter’s here and she looks as though she’s interested in more than an interview. Short skirt, thigh high boots, make up for a photo shoot and unless I miss my guess, a Brazilian wax job just in case she gets lucky.”
“Great,” Dominic grumbled. “And I have to be polite.”
“If you want that nice puff piece on your new record label acquisition, you do.” Max smiled faintly. “It’s not as though you haven’t been turning down women since you left Hong Kong. One more--what the hell. You’ve had plenty of practice.”
Dominic lifted one brow. “Keeping track?”
Max shrugged. “How could I not? You’ve been a fucking monk.”
No way he was going to discuss his personal feelings. Dominic nodded. “Okay, show her—what’s her name?”
“Miss Lacey Milano.”
Dominic’s eyes widened briefly. “Tell me she’s not a stripper.”
“Christ no. Ivy league, wasp family, trust fund.”
“Shit, maybe that’s worse.” Dominic sighed. “But all for a good cause, right?”
“If you want those fine old sound tracks to get out in the world, who better than Rolling Stone for promo.”
“Gotcha. But interrupt me in fifteen minutes with a phone call I have to take. In the meantime I’ll try to keep her on topic.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard. This music is a passion of yours.”
“Damn right.” Dominic nodded. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Max escorted the reporter into Dominic’s office, made introductions, then left, closing the door softly behind him.
It wasn’t as though Dominic hadn’t seen hundreds of women approach him much like Miss Milano. Long-legged stride to show off her legs, small hip swing in invitation, a smile that was offering more than a greeting—and that little flick of her hand to brush her long blonde hair over her shoulder. Seriously. Familiar as hell.
But his voice was bland and his smile polite as he said, “How nice to meet you, Miss Milano. Max tells me you’re one of Rolling Stone’s prominent contributing editors. I’m honored.” He indicated a black leather chair across the desk from him. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
“The honor’s all mine, Mr. Knight.”
Jesus, was that a wink? “Dominic, please,” he said, his face expressionless.
“In that case, Dominic, call me Lacey.” She pronounced his name very, very softly.
Fuck. She didn’t waste any time. “I’m excited about the amazing array of artists we’ll be re-introducing to the world,” Dominic said, staying on topic. “I hope you had a chance to listen to at least some of the tracks.” Dominic’s company had remastered and restored 800 tracks of the pre-1930 defining generation of blues and jazz artists. It was an act of love on Dominic’s part.
“Of course. You needn’t worry, I’ll write an elaborate tribute to both you and the artists you’ve preserved. But I’d rather talk about you and your many, global businesses.” She smiled sweetly. “I’ve done my research.”
“I understand. Ask away.” He never said no, nor did he ever answer definitely. His life wasn’t for public consumption.
“When did you make your first million?”
If he had a dime for every time he’d been asked that question, he could retire. But his voice was mild when he replied. “If you did your research you know I inherited my uncle’s fortune when I was sixteen. But I made my own first million day trading while I was still in high school.”
“Then you bought a small software start up.”
He smiled. “Start ups are practically a way of life in the Bay Area.”
“But everyone doesn’t pick the right ones.”
“I was lucky.”
He shrugged. “A certain amount of luck is involved in building a large enterprise. I’ve had my share.”
“I was wondering if your wife was involved in your businesses? From my research, it’s clear that she was a formidable fund raiser for any number of charities. You met on Everest, didn’t you?”
He frowned slightly. “I don’t talk about my private life.”
“Forgive me, but the world at large certainly talks about it.” She slowly crossed her legs. “You have a reputation that isn’t exclusively about business.”
“Much exaggerated,” Dominic smoothly replied, giving Max points for his Brazilian comment. Miss Milano wasn’t wearing panties. “Rumor and gossip sell magazines and tabloids. I ignore them.”
“Including the two women who filed paternity suits against you? Or was it three?”
Bitch. But his smile couldn’t have been improved on by angels on high. “They all lost in court as you know. My fortune attracts frivolous law suits. There’ll be more.”
“I do apologize.” She dipped her head in deference. “I hope I haven’t angered you. Some men take offense at assertive women.” She looked at him with wide-eyed innocence. “I’m going to blame my editor for that last question.”
“Don’t worry. I’m hard to offend.” He tapped the back of the hand resting on his desk with his index finger. “Thick skin.”
Oh God, such large lovely hands and long, slender fingers. She took a deep breath.
He could see it coming.
“Would you have time for a drink with me?”
Her words came out in a wild rush.
His smile was instant. “Certainly.” Dominic rose from his chair. “What would you like?”
“Vodka. Two ice cubes. Your distillery if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” he said, moving toward the drinks table across the room. “You certainly have done your research. That’s a very new acquisition.”
“I’ve read just ‘everything’ about you. You’re a fascinating man.”
“Not really. I just work, sleep, then work some more.” He knew he’d made a mistake using the word, sleep, because he immediately heard her soft foot fall on the carpet and when next she spoke, she was right behind him.
“Might I request a small portion of your sleep time,” she said, breathy and low, running her hand up his back. “I promise to leave whenever you wish.”
He dropped two ice cubes into her glass, slowly turned, held the glass out to her and smiled, “Why don’t we talk about it over drinks.”
Then Max walked in precisely on time, Dominic relaxed and knew he’d made one less enemy.
“Sorry, Dominic,” Max said. “But Yu Chung is insisting on talking with you. I told him you were busy and he told me to go to hell.” Max managed to look frazzled, his brow knotted, his mouth twitching. “He’s bitching about some wording on the contract. And apparently only you can change it for him.”
“I’m so sorry, Lacey.” Dominic deliberately used her first name, as though they were friends. “But we’re working on a copper mine venture with the Chinese in Afghanistan and nothing’s going right.” He glanced at Max. “Is it Max? We’ve been fucked from the beginning.”
“You got that right.” Max turned to Lacey, his mouth set in a grim line. “I told Dominic to pull out of the deal, but he won’t.”
Dominic gave her a rueful look. “I do apologize, but I have a few billion at stake here. It’s been a pleasure,” he said, pleasantly, then swung his gaze to Max. “Which conference room?”
“The big screen. You get to see a giant-size Yu Chung turn red.”
Dominic nodded and without another word left his office.
He softly swore as he strode down the hall, swore some more as he took refuge in the conference room and dropped into a chair. What the fuck? Since when did he turn down a piece of ass? One that even might have been a good business decision?
Sliding lower in his chair, he scowled because he knew damned well why he’d turned it down, why he wasn’t sleeping, why he was pissed all the time.
Miss Katherine Hart had totally fucked up his life.
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