Chameleon

by Ashe Barker

  But now, she was there. She was established. Time to put the rest of her plan into motion.

  Seated on the settee in her staff apartment at the Paris Totally Five Star, Fleur dialed the number she had obtained from the hotel chain internal telephone directory. As ever, the phone was answered before the second ring.

  “Is it possible to speak to Mr. Conroy, please?” Fleur injected her most polite tone into the request. She was sure he was there. She had checked. Her newly elevated position among the ranks of the Totally Five Star senior staff in one of their premier sites meant she had access to executive diaries and she knew James Conroy was in his London office right now. Hopefully he would not be in a meeting, but even so, she might be able to get him to call her back—or at the very least find out when he would be free.

  “Who’s calling, please?”

  “Fleur Mansouri, Chief Medical Officer, Paris.” A lofty title. It sounds impressive enough. She picked up a pencil, ready to jot down the time when she might be able to book a call to speak to the CEO.

  “Doctor Mansouri, how can I help you? I trust the new accommodations in Paris are to your liking?” The strong male voice on the line came as a bolt from the blue. She might have asked for Mr. Conroy. She did not expect to get to talk to him at the first attempt.

  “Oh, yes, yes, they are. Perfect. Thank you.”

  “Good. I’ve heard excellent reports of your work so far. That outbreak of so-called salmonella in the restaurant there could have been a disaster for us.”

  “It was not salmonella, Mr. Conroy. The guest was suffering from Crohn’s Disease, but the local media picked up on the story and drew the wrong conclusions.”

  “I know that, but the negative publicity could have been serious. I appreciate your prompt actions in speaking to the press and scotching the rumors.”

  “It was nothing, sir—just part of my job. It was fortunate that I was able to convince the guest to confirm my explanation.”

  “Fortunate? Hardly. You were very persuasive, I understand. We always appreciate initiative. Too many employees think they need to ask first and act later. You took charge and headed off the problem before it got out of hand. Anyway, I’m sure you didn’t phone me this morning just so I can sing your praises. How can I help you?”

  Now for it. Fleur drew a deep breath. “It is a personal matter, sir.”

  “I see. Go on.” His tone sounded slightly guarded.

  “I wonder if you could let me have contact details for Ethan Savage. I understand he is a friend of yours.”

  There was a pause, then, “Ethan Savage? Do you know him, then?”

  “Yes, sir, we met when he was in Marrakesh a few weeks ago. He was doing some work for you, I understand, relating to the site of a possible new development.”

  “I’ve seen Ethan a number of times since then. He didn’t mention that he had met you.”

  “No, sir, he would not have done that.” Fleur knew she was not handling this well. All earlier warmth had drained from the voice on the other end of the phone. James Conroy’s tone was now clipped and formal.

  “It was a casual acquaintance, then?”

  Hardly. “No, sir, it was not. But still, it was personal and I would not have expected him to discuss it.”

  “I see.”

  By his arctic tone, she believed that James Conroy did see something, but it was not the truth. She hoped. Her liaison with Ethan had meant a great deal, to her certainly. And she believed it had been significant for him too.

  “Please, Mr. Conroy, do you have the number? I would very much like to contact Mr. Savage.”

  “If Ethan wanted you to have his phone number, I daresay he would have given it to you. I’m not in the habit of giving out my friends’ personal details.”

  “I do appreciate that, Mr. Conroy, but I was hoping you might be able to make an exception.”

  “I’m sorry, but no, I can’t do that. I could…”

  Fleur interrupted him. “Please. I would not ask but it is important to me that I speak with him.” She knew she sounded desperate but was unable to help it.

  “Doctor Mansouri, you must realize this is impossible. If it’s any consolation, I wouldn’t give your phone number to just anyone who rang me and asked for it either. But if you like, I could—”

  “I understand. I apologize for having bothered you. Good day, Mr. Conroy.” Fleur ended the call, mortified. She had known there was a good chance that James Conroy would refuse to divulge the information, but even so, she was bitterly disappointed. Her next recourse would be to go through Ethan’s office. She would find a number for the head offices of Savage Geo. Ethan must have a personal secretary. Perhaps Fleur would be able to find out his email address and send him a message. Yes, that would be best. It was all she could think of right now.

  Sighing, she checked the time. Nine thirty in the morning. She had a meeting at eleven and would be covering the hotel clinic from two. Just time for a coffee then she might take a shower before work. Maybe later, if she had a few spare moments, she could check the Internet for Savage Geo. Perhaps James Conroy was right. Certainly he had implied that Ethan had not given her his number for a reason. Perhaps he had deliberately withheld it. Without a doubt, he had had every opportunity to contact her in the weeks since he had left but had chosen not to. Should she leave well alone, not risk the humiliation of having him tell her not to bother him, that he was not interested in further contact?

  Fleur dismissed that notion. She was determined to speak to Ethan, to tell him she was in Paris and would very much like to see him again. He could only say no. She got up and headed into her tiny kitchenette to put the kettle on.

  * * * *

  By four in the afternoon, the first rush of medical problems had subsided. Fleur had bandaged a sprained wrist, prescribed antibiotics and painkillers, and had one guest transferred by ambulance to the local accident and emergency department—she suspected appendicitis. Now her surgery was quiet and at last, she had some free time to pursue her own pet project. She Googled Savage Geo.

  The headquarters were in north London, but the company had sites in Sheffield and Edinburgh too. She wondered where Ethan was based. The company website gave a contact phone number, but that was intended for potential clients, she suspected—not for frustrated submissives wanting to rekindle their acquaintance with the whip hand of the chief executive. This was not going to be easy. She considered her options—not extensive—and decided that perhaps the best thing to do would be to call the one contact number there was and ask for Ethan’s office. She might get passed around a bit, but eventually she would find herself talking to his secretary. She glanced at the clock and wondered what time it was in London. Were they an hour in front or an hour behind? An hour behind, she thought, so that meant it was still very much the working day in the UK. She had plenty of time.

  A knock at her door interrupted her as she started to dial the number.

  “Come in.” Fleur replaced the handset, expecting to see another unwell guest come through the door. She did not expect the motorcycle courier who stepped into her consulting room, resplendent in his black leathers, his crash helmet tucked under his right arm. In his left hand, he held a package, neatly wrapped in brown paper.

  “Parcel for Doctor Mansouri.”

  It did not instantly strike Fleur as incongruous that the courier spoke to her in English.

  “I am Doctor Mansouri.”

  “Good. Could you sign here please?” The courier thrust a clipboard in front of her.

  Fleur took the proffered pen automatically and signed, wondering what on earth this could be. The package looked to be soft, and the plain wrapping was not typical of pharmaceutical companies who usually emblazoned their wares with their logos.

  “There’s a letter too. My instructions were to deliver both this and the package personally. Good afternoon, ma’am.”

  “What? What instructions? Who…?”

  It was too late. Leather Man ha
d already closed the door behind him on his way out. Fleur glanced at the white envelope in her hand and picked up the package. It was soft and squashy. It bent as she handled it. She put it back on her desk and slid her thumbnail under the flap of the envelope.

  She pulled out one sheet of paper, handwritten. The message was short and to the point.

  Tonight. 10:30 pm, room 301. You know the drill.

  She ripped the brown paper from the package. Out fell her grandmother’s cloak.

  How did he know? How had he found her? James Conroy—it had to be. But why? The CEO had been quite adamant that he would not help her, insisting that he could not divulge Ethan’s address.

  She thought about what he had said. Exactly. James Conroy had not revealed Ethan’s contact details. But as soon as he had finished talking to her, he must have wasted no time in getting in touch with Ethan himself and telling him that Doctor Mansouri, the recently appointed doctor in charge of medical services at Totally Five Star Paris, was keen to speak to him. Ethan had done the rest.

  She wondered if Ethan had hired the motorcycle courier in England and had him make the trip all the way to Paris to deliver the cloak in person. He must have, and it would have cost a fortune. Her stomach quivered at that thought. And to arrange to meet her tonight? That spoke of dropping everything and coming as soon as he knew she was in Paris. Within reach. More butterflies took flight inside her.

  Room three zero one must be right here in the Totally Five Star. The third floor was where the finest suites were located. Her Dom was sparing no expense. The cloak made his intentions perfectly obvious, which might be interpreted as slightly presumptuous of him. After all, she had not had any opportunity to tell him why she wanted to talk to him. How could he be so sure that she wished to rekindle their previous relationship?

  On reflection, though, he was not presuming too much. He was her Dom and therefore not presuming anything. He would command and she would submit. That was how it worked. It remained the case that she could refuse if she chose to. He would have no way of knowing until he arrived in room three zero one whether she had accepted his summons. If she did not want to play, she just need not turn up.

  And pigs might fly around the Totally Five Star rooftops. Of course she would be there. This was what she had dreamt of for the last few weeks, the one thing she wanted more than anything and had feared she might never have again. Oh yes, she would be there, naked except for her cloak, kneeling in room three zero one. The perfect submissive, waiting for her Dom.

  * * * *

  She slipped into the suite on the third floor at twenty past ten. She had showered in her own apartment and dressed in just jogging pants and a loose T-shirt. She had not bothered with underwear. It had not seemed worth it. Her hair was freshly washed, dried and caught back in a loose ponytail. The cloak was rolled under her arm as she let herself in with her staff passkey. She had just a few minutes to prepare herself. He would not be late, she was sure of it, and she must not be either. She preferred not to commence their reunion with a punishment.

  The suite was predictably large, a central living area with a dining alcove, and two bedrooms leading from it. Both bedrooms were beautifully appointed in the elegant yet understated Totally Five Star style. Fleur assumed that she should wait in the master bedroom but she undressed in the living room, preferring to leave her clothes neatly folded and out of sight. This had appeared to be Ethan’s preference in Marrakesh, so she would do the same here. She left her T-shirt and sweatpants on the sofa, freed her hair from the ponytail, and wrapped the cloak loosely around her nude body.

  As soon as she entered the bedroom, she knew she had selected the correct place in the suite. This was where Ethan expected to find her in just a few minutes. The room was dominated by a huge four-poster bed. At the foot of the bed sat a solid wood blanket chest with a number of items arranged on the polished top. She glanced at those, intending to examine them more closely later. For now, her attention was seized by the priceless object spread on the deep pile carpet beside the chest. Her own hand-woven rug, the one she had knelt on in the courtyard the first time she had submitted for Ethan and had subsequently presented to him, her precious bride’s gift. The fact that he had brought it here perhaps indicated that he understood the significance of the gift, and accepted it.

  Fleur stood on her carpet, flexing her bare toes in the closely woven pile, the cloak clutched tight at her throat as she gazed at the selection of objects scattered on the polished oak chest. She stretched out her hand to touch the items, picking up each in turn. First, Ethan’s business card, classy and discreet, understated in cool pearl gray with the writing embossed in a darker shade. She took in the office direct dial and mobile numbers printed on the front below his name, then turned the card over to find his home number and what she assumed must be his home address handwritten on the back. There could be no doubt now that he wanted her to have his contact details.

  She put the card back and picked up an airline ticket wallet. This puzzled her. She opened it and drew out a single ticket, one way, from Heathrow to Marrakesh Menara Airport. What could this mean? A not so subtle hint that she should return to Morocco? She studied the ticket more closely and saw that it was for a flight in just over one week’s time, and the booking specified a seat with extra leg room. Her own diminutive five foot four hardly called for such specifics. Ethan stood a good foot taller, on the other hand—his legs were long and he probably liked to stretch them out in comfort. This ticket was not intended for her. It was for him. He had made arrangements to return to Morocco. The wallet contained the booking confirmation and receipt, which proved that the booking had been made three days earlier, clearly prior to James Conroy’s intervention.

  When he had left her at the Marrakesh Totally Five Star, Ethan had had no plans to return, she was sure of that. He would have said so if he had. Something had changed his mind—or someone.

  Fleur replaced the wallet, the ticket and other documents safely stowed inside. The rest of the items on the chest were fairly straightforward. Two pairs of handcuffs, a set of nipple clamps, a spanking paddle, a cane, a suede flogger, a tube of lubricant and a vibrating dildo. She picked up the dildo, pressed the switch experimentally. It whirred to life.

  “You didn’t think I’d forget the batteries, did you?”

  Fleur whirled on the spot. Ethan stood in the open bedroom doorway, casually elegant and jaw droppingly sexy in black jeans and a plain white T-shirt. He was barefoot, which made her think he had been in the suite the entire time she had been exploring. She stepped forward, on the point of running to fling her arms around him. He halted her movement with one finger, imperiously lifted.

  “It’s thirty seconds after ten thirty. Why are you not kneeling?”

  That voice…

  “My apologies, Sir.” Fleur dropped to her knees immediately, her head bowed and her pussy dripping. She arranged the cloak around her, pulling it up to cover her hair. Then she remained motionless, waiting.

  She felt rather than heard his footsteps as he approached her from behind. She let her eyelids drift closed and she almost purred in contentment as his large hand rested on her head, his fingers spread to caress her softly.

  “You are one seriously lovely woman, my little Fleur. It’s been too long.”

  “Yes, Sir, much too long. You were coming back? The ticket…”

  “I was.”

  “To see me?”

  “Of course to see you.”

  “I thought you had forgotten about me when you did not telephone or send me an email. I gave you my number.” Fleur snuck a peek upwards but he was still out of her line of sight.”

  “Eyes down, girl. You know the rules.” His tone had sharpened.

  Fleur lowered her gaze immediately.

  Ethan gripped the edge of her cloak and drew it away from her face, revealing her loosened hair. He slowly combed his fingers through the dark softness. “I would never forget you, Fleur. I’m sorry if you were
upset. I should have kept in touch. I intended to surprise you but you beat me to it. I’m glad you did, though. If it’s any comfort to you, James is very impressed, even if you did hang up on him. Your fame precedes you.” His voice had gentled again, soft and low and so sexy she thought she might melt.

  Fleur gulped and concentrated hard on forcing some semblance of coherence into her words. “I should apologize to him. I was extremely rude. I realize that. But I am very pleased to see you, Sir.” It was not much, but the best she could manage while he was caressing her head so seductively. Her pussy spasmed wildly. In moments, she would be begging him to fuck her.

  He stepped around to stand in front of her. “James is a big lad, so I expect he’ll survive it. If you open your eyes and look up, you’ll be able to see just how pleased I am to see you too.”

  Obligingly Fleur did as he suggested and found his huge, thick erection just inches from her nose. She smiled as her pussy moistened even more in response.

  “Do you like what you see?”

  “I do, Sir.” Understatement of the century.

  “I intend to fuck you, hard and deep, and this time I don’t care how much noise you make. I intend for you to scream, little Fleur. This room is soundproofed. There’s no danger of alarming the staff here if you become too vocal.”

  “I see, Sir. That sounds most—convenient.”

  “I thought so. Knowing your tastes, I brought some toys with me this time too, a few little bits and pieces to help keep you amused. Do you like them?”

  “I am not sure, Sir. I like some of them, certainly.”

  “Ah yes, the vibrator. You’ll have to earn that, though. And, of course, there is the little matter of you being late, despite my clear instructions. We do need to deal with that before anything else, I think.”