Free The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel by M. F. Sinclair

should introduce him to Mitch, or if he’d introduce himself, or if he’d want to be introduced, but since he enjoyed taking the initiative in everything, I would let him make that choice.
    He took his coffee, paid the cashier, left a big tip, and turned toward me.   His lake-water green eyes glanced my way, a blank expression plastered across his beautiful face.   Nervous, I wrapped my arms across my chest, smiled at him and was about to utter a good morning when he strode right by me and went straight to the front door, treating me as if I were nothing more than a passing stranger among the many.   Without a word of explanation, not a look, nor a backward glance, he rushed out of the coffee shop.
    I couldn’t move, just stood there, my smile frozen into place.   What had just happened?   Why didn’t he stop and say hello?   Was he angry at me?   Had I done something wrong?   Had he forgotten me already?
    I turned to Mitch.   He was staring at me, a puzzled expression passing over his features.   “I thought you said you knew him.”
    Embarrassed, I shrugged and toyed with the trackball on my BlackBerry.   “I do know him.   He was probably in a hurry or something.”
    “Yeah,” Mitch said, not convinced.   “Probably.”

 
    ***
     
    Did he see me or didn’t he? I asked myself as I rushed to the office.   Yes, he saw me.   He definitely saw me.   Our eyes met for a moment.   But if he saw me, why the hell didn’t he stop and talk to me?
                My mind raced into overdrive as I gathered my messages from Rosie, the front desk receptionist-slash-assistant, and closed the door to my office.   I quickly flipped through the messages.   None of them was from Seton.   Sighing, I stripped off my cashmere sweater, plopped down on my chair, switched on my computer and obsessed about my morning encounter with Seton.
                Why oh why did he ignore me?   Had I been so terrible the night before that he’d decided I wasn’t worth his time?   Had I been too submissive?   Was I not challenging enough for him?   I had no idea why he ignored me.   All I knew was that I didn’t like it.   What’s more, I didn’t like the way it made me feel.   I felt clingy.   And I wasn’t clingy.   I didn’t do clingy.   Clinginess was not a personality trait I possessed.   I was damn proud of my forthrightness when it came to men.   Sex without strings had always been my M.O..   Fucking someone and not expecting anything in return made me smarter than 99.9% of the female population, those pathetic souls who went out on dates, hoping they’d found The One, only to be disappointed yet again when the post-date phone call never came.   I worshipped characters like Samantha Jones from Sex and the City , and I strove to emulate her care-free ways.   Fuck ’em and leave ’em.   That was my motto.   Just ask any of my exes.
    I wasn’t promiscuous, mind you.   I could count the amount of exploits I’d had with one hand.   But they had all been passing flings, and that was just the way I’d wanted them to be.   I enjoyed my independence.   I liked who I was and I would never change, especially not for some guy.   So, if Mr. I’m-Too-Good-to-Stop-and-Say-Hello didn’t feel like greeting me in public, then so be it.  
                But…maybe he didn’t want to talk to me in front of Mitch.   As a bestselling author living in a small city, he would want to maintain a low profile.   He probably didn’t want the hassle of having to introduce himself to a complete stranger.   Yes, I thought, sighing with relief, that’s probably it.   He wishes to maintain his privacy, and I should respect his wishes.
                In a show of goodwill, I decided to send him an e-mail.   I rummaged through my handbag until I found the card he gave me during our lunch meeting yesterday—the one with his home and e-mail address and cell phone number written