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

little trick he had played with Rick's help that had layered his voice in merriment?
    And just how damn long had they been planning it?
    Lifting my chin, I strode past him as I responded. "I just arrived and am not ready for the meeting. If you can't discuss the designs tonight, then it will have to wait for tomorrow or later in the week."
    Stopping, I looked over my shoulder and gave a dismissive wave of my hand that indicated he needed to leave. I hadn't grown up as my daddy's daughter without learning how to put on a good show of being an imperious, stuck up brat. Simon might be a jerk by natural inclination, but I had more than twenty years of practicing my bitch face. And he if thought he was going to get the best of me with that damn charade in New York, he had more than another think coming. I didn't care how lovely or expensive my boots were, he would find one of them up his ass if I learned he had played me like that!
    His oh-so-fine ass...
    I suppressed a snarl at my overactive libido and continued walking away, expecting to hear the sound of a few short steps from Simon, the doors closing and then nothing but my own noises. Instead, the door shut, the latch slid back into place and Simon followed after me, his long legs bringing him quickly by my side before he pulled ahead of me and reached the desk before I did.
    Giving a casual nod at the covered picture, he sank into the guest chair in front of the desk. "I hope the staff didn't have a hand in that tape job," he laughed lightly, more of his high tone returning. "I'd have to fire the lot of them."
    Confused, I circled the desk and sat down wondering whether the sudden, but brief, change in his voice signaled only amusement at the fast and dirty job I'd don'e of taping the edges back together or if he couldn't refrain from enjoying his little joke back in New York.
    If, of course, he was my rope master and I wasn't over-analyzing everything and placing too much importance on the appearance of the painting in London and that shade of cerise in the room.
    "Do you know?" he asked, bouncing to his feet and swiping the roll of tape from the top of my desk.
    For the second time in less than fifteen minutes, I felt like my bladder was going to empty. Was he asking me if I knew he was Baku?
    "Know what?" I managed to croak out.
    "If the staff did this or the sender?" he huffed. "It's a damn shoddy piece of taping. Perhaps the shipping company damaged it in transit and had to re-seal it. Who handled it?"
    He ripped off a long piece of tape and started to place it along the top edge, his extra foot of height over my shorter stature meaning he barely had to raise his hands over his head to place and smooth the tape. Taking a step back, he looked the package over from top to bottom then shook his head.
    "No, that won't do. We'll need to trim those patched areas of the paper." he turned, his hand outstretched and his gaze dead serious. "Hand me the scissors, pudding."
    Certain my face was turning beet red, I grabbed the scissors from the desk's surface and shoved them in the drawer. I waited until I could speak without stuttering and then I turned a withering glare on Simon. "I told you not to call me that again."
    A simpleton's smile graced his face and then his brows pinched together. "When?"
    I thought back, my own brows pinching when I realized the first and only other time he had used the endearment was shortly after my trip to New York. I didn't want the time frame to have any meaning. I couldn't comprehend who this man in front of me was. I just knew who I didn't want him to be -- my rope master.
    "Almost three months ago," I growled, my hands wrapped tight around the armrests of my chair.
    "And I haven't used it since?" his grin hinted that he knew the answer. He looked exactly like a toddler caught climbing on the countertops of his mother's kitchen so he could reach the cookie jar she'd hidden from his precious, but greedy, little hands.
    Damn, he was mouthwateringly