Training Her Curves - London (A BBW Billionaire Domination & Submission Romance) Read Free Page A

what the hour was in Dallas.
    Simon was such a royal pain, he could be the freaking King of England!
    Stretching all the way up on my tiptoes, my arm extended over my head, I finished my rushed job of re-taping the paper so that the portrait beneath was shielded. Mumbling unflattering words about my unwanted visitor who was several hours early, I quick-stepped to the doors, sweating and undoubtedly flushed as I yanked them open.
    "I told you..." My reprimand trailed off as I got my first look at the man.
    This couldn't be Simon St. Simon. Not that I had been able to find a picture of him, but this man didn't match my image of my very British pain in the ass. I had searched online, found nothing, then casually asked both of my brothers what he looked like. Jake had never met the man and Dylan only glowered at the question because St. Simon had the dubious honor of being the only person to ever best my powerful big brother at business. Dylan might never forgive the win.
    So I had nothing more than St. Simon's voice to go by in forming a mental picture of his looks. High, almost lilting and definitely theatrical, his voice had me picturing him as a bit of a dandy, not very masculine, and either very diminutive in size or twice as fluffy as I was.
    The phone voice and speech mannerisms did not match the face and body in front of me. Not in a million years!
    "I know we agreed to meet later," he smiled, gently pushing his way into the room despite my death grip on the doors. "But something exceedingly important came up for this evening, so I decided to drop by now."
    I turned and stared in open surprise. Not only did my visitor not look like the picture I had formed of Simon, but the voice wasn't the least bit familiar despite the far too many hours I'd spent in telephone conversations with him heatedly arguing over design aspects of the London hotel.
    I took another quick, discreet glance at the hard, lean body hiding beneath an expensively tailored silk suit. This couldn't be St. Simon. It just couldn't. Maybe the card I had heard swiped was a regular room card and this man was lost while St. Simon had somehow been delayed on the elevator, perhaps running into staff who desperately needed his attention.
    "Simon..." I started hesitantly. If he was the wrong man, then use of the name would clear up the issue immediately.
    "Riona?" he said with a teasing lilt I half recognized. He turned in the small entry area to look at me, pale green eyes sparkling with mischief. "I am the only one you're expecting, I hope."
    Holy crap -- it was him. This was beyond wrong. In a desperate desire for it to not be true, I had almost talked myself out of any meaning in finding the package here or the room decorated with flashes of that perfect shade of cerise. Through all that cutting and re-taping, I was no more than a microsecond from convincing myself that Rick had found out I would be in London and thought it would be hilarious to make me go through customs with the painting.
    Now, I was once again facing the very real possibility that St. Simon, who had a body that was definitely similar to all the thick muscles and powerful limbs of my rope master, was the man who had tied me up and made me climax in Rick's studio.
    He repeated his query. "No one else on your calendar, correct?"
    "Of course I'm only expecting you." I stumbled past my embarrassment and closed the doors. "It's just that you don't sound at all like your phone voice."
    I stopped myself before I stupidly confessed to having searched far and wide on the Internet for a picture of him.
    He chuckled lightly. "Admittedly, my voice tends to go a touch higher when I'm highly amused. I imagine the phone exacerbates the difference."
    I froze. Did the bastard just say he found our calls highly amusing? Or was it that he found me highly amusing, his high voice on the phone evidence that he thought of me as the spoiled little rich girl playing at being a designer of any sort? Maybe it was the