by Lila Dubois
Rolf sat back, nodding. “You create an outrageous situation as a feint, drawing attention away from the initial event.”
Rolf seemed to be on her side, and if she were smart, she would have tried to build on that, but she wasn’t smart right now. She was ice-cold and feeling very self-destructive.
And had no compunctions about taking Alexander down with her.
She had a bit of sadist in her too, because she wanted to hurt him the way he’d hurt her.
“All he has to tell Absolon about is the ball. I can take care of the rest.”
“That’s insanity,” Alexander declared.
“It would mean losing some privacy. Your staff would know about your predilections, but surely to catch terrorists.”
“There is another way,” Alexander declared.
“I’m sure there is. But my way is the best way, because the best lies always have a bit of truth. And just now I told the truth, didn’t I?”
Rolf looked at her sharply.
Alexander’s jaw worked and his hand was clenched in a fist at his side.
“I’ll plan the party while wearing a collar. Only ever refer to you as Sir.” Alena said slowly. “Let Absolon put it together, exactly what kind of relationship we have.”
“There’s still the issue of time,” Rolf said. “We need time. Are you intending to stay with Alexander, as his submissive?” Rolf’s voice deepened on the last word.
“If I did, it would be as his pet, maybe even his slave. That’s what I was here, after all.” Very deliberately, Alena turned her hands over, palms up.
“Alena, enough. I’m not doing this—”
“I know you don’t want me, but I haven’t told you what will happen at the party.” She took a deep breath and smiled even though with each moment that passed, the rending pain of her breaking heart grew worse. Alexander’s occasional denials and refusals were sharp pains, like a stiletto between the ribs, in comparison.
“The night of the gala, each Dom who arrives—and I do hope you’ll come, Agent Pedersen, excuse me, I mean Master Rolf—will be given a paddle.”
“Absolutely not.” Alexander shoved a chair out of the way. It flew back and hit the wall as he advanced on her.
“Not that kind of paddle, though I suppose that if I took enough pain medication first I could handle a mass beating, but I meant a bidding paddle.”
Alexander grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her a little.
Rolf was on his feet. “Mr. Wagner…Alexander…”
Alena looked up into his beloved face and for a moment she was able to trick herself into thinking that he loved her. The way he was looking at her could have easily been mistaken for the look of a man who was terrified for the woman he loved.
But that was her wishful thinking. That look belonged to a good man who felt guilty. A man who also wanted her out of his life as fast as possible.
“At the end of the party, you auction me off to the highest bidder,” she breathed. “Absolon will be, perhaps a bit shocked at your sexual predilections, but won’t suspect anything beyond that.”
“Halt,” Alexander growled.
“Interpol is happy, you’re…if not exactly happy, you’ve done your part, at the cost of some of your privacy.” Alena leaned in, as if she were going to kiss him. “And I’ll be out of your life, forever.”
Chapter 6
“Welcome home, Mr. Wagner.” His valet was waiting for them when they got off the elevator on the top floor of the building. They’d taken it directly from the parking garage, himself, Alena, and Jakob. Ruslan and Finn had taken the other elevator—which went to the lower floors, and were going to check in with a representative from RTW who was waiting in the Wagner Global offices on the first floor.
“Dieter,” Alexander said in greeting as he stepped out of the elevator after Alena.
“Welcome home, Mr. Wagner.”
“This is Ms. Moreau.”
“Please, call me Alena.” She offered her hand.
Dieter shook it briefly, seeming slightly uncomfortable with her American friendliness. On the return trip from Moldova, in between creating and then discarding several dozen plans to replace Alena’s horrific, insane proposal, he’d occasionally stopped to try and pinpoint what it was about her he found so hopelessly, helplessly fascinating.
She was less reserved now than she had been when they’d first met. She was no longer the mysterious regal woman in the cloak. They’d pushed one another, stripped away each other’s emotional walls until they were both raw.
The way she’d looked at him, the way she’d talked as she outlined the plan had made him feel sick. She hadn’t been herself. There had been no slightly aloof but amused air; instead she’d sounded cold and, and…
Masochistic.
She’d proposed a plan that would leave her even more emotionally wounded.
As her Dom—because he feared that, though they hadn’t been intimate since coming together in his office—she still thought of him in those terms, he had to put a stop to this. To protect her.
She’d said she loved him, trusted him, but those were byproducts of what he’d done to her.
And now, to punish them both, she’d come up with this insane plan.
A plan which he had countered with several of his own. All of which had been, in the end, far more complicated and clunky. The beauty of her scheme was that they could give Absolon the illusion of discovery. Absolon would, if they, particularly she, played their parts right, assume that he had information he shouldn’t about Alexander’s private life.
Jakob went down the hall to the front door of his apartment and opened it, disappearing inside.
“Chef has dinner ready. Would you prefer to eat in the dining room, or have it brought up?”
“The dining room.”
If Dieter was surprised, he hid it, only nodding, before turning to Alena. “Ma’am, may I unpack for you?”
“Yes, thank you, Dieter.”
“The guest room,” Alexander said.
Alena stiffened beside him, and there was a brief pause before Dieter nodded. Then his valet took their bags out of the elevator, rolling them down the hallway.
“The guest room might be too nice for your slave,” Alena mused. “I’m sure your staff could find you a dog crate.”
“Stop it, Alena.”
“Or what?” Her lips were curled in a half smile, one eyebrow arched slightly, but her eyes glittered with rage. A rage she was trying to hide.
Damn it, he needed to get her alone so they could talk about this, then he needed to get her away from him. He was the reason she was like this. The reason she was hurting, suffering.
Jakob emerged. “The apartment is clean.”
“Thank you, Jakob. Please let Zakaria know that—” He’s an interfering asshole. “—I appreciate his diligence.”
Jakob nodded, then looked at Alena for a long minute before turning and jogging down the stairs.
Alexander put his hand on the small of her back and guided her towards the door.
His apartment looked much the same as before, which struck him as odd. That was stupid, he knew. The thing that had changed was him.
His heart.
Because he loved her. He loved her madly, passionately.
He loved her so much that when she moved away from him, he curled his hand into a fist, as if that would allow him to hold on to the heat of her body a little while longer.
She walked over to the windows.
How many times in the last few days had they stood like this, her body silhouetted by the light from the window?
Thinking about what he’d threatened when he pushed her against the glass in his Moldovan office made him feel ill.
And aroused.
He was a monster.
“You look lovely as you are,” he said softly.
Alena turned, her sardonic mask slipping for a second. “Alexander…we should talk.”
“If you’ll excuse me.” He t
urned for his bedroom.
“Or you could run from me,” she called out.
He stopped in the hall. “We will talk, Alena. Tonight, after dinner, we will talk, and end this.”
He could just barely hear her gasp as he walked away.
Once in the confines of his bedroom, Alexander leaned back against the door.
Damn it. Damn him…and damn her too.
He slammed the side of his fist against the door. The vibrations from the strike traveled through the wood, giving him an instant headache.
He flexed his fingers to make sure all the bones were intact, then went to the shower and turned it on, stepping into the frigid water.
Alena had never managed to stay this angry for this long. Then again, she’d never had a man break her heart before. Her past relationships had been casual, flirty things, and her BDSM play partners had been exactly that, play partners no different than a tennis buddy as far as the emotional connection went.
But Alexander…he made her feel rage. Cold, burning rage. The kind of rage she couldn’t have sustained if it wasn’t rooted in a passion so deep and complete that it had to be love.
She loved him, and he…
She wasn’t sure what he felt for her.
There were moments when she could feel him watching her, and when she turned, for a second she was sure she saw longing on his face. Then there were times when he was looking at her with unmistakable pity.
She knew what he thought. He thought he’d broken her—that had been the word he used to refer to himself. Broken.
He thought that because she hadn’t asked him to remove the collar that she’d still considered herself his submissive.
He didn’t think she was capable of knowing what she was feeling. Of understanding and interrogating her own feelings. It was so highhanded and misogynistic she was very tempted to slap him again.
The slap hadn’t worked the first time, but maybe the second or third would do the trick.
Alena speared a strawberry with her fork, dipped it in some of the lightly sweetened cream in a delicate porcelain dish on her after dinner plate, and then raised it to her mouth. She looked down the long table at Alexander—they were on opposite ends of a massive table in an ornate dining room on one of the lower floors—and licked the cream off the strawberry with one long, slow swipe of her tongue.
Alexander froze, wine glass halfway between the table and his mouth.
Holding eye contact, she bit the strawberry in half.
He exhaled and finished raising the glass, taking a small sip.
She swallowed, but the strawberry didn’t taste as good as it looked. Then again she’d barely tasted any of the impressive dinner.
Dread and anticipation were knotted together inside her, under all that frosty anger, because once dinner was over, she and Alexander were going to talk.
And she was going to do whatever it took to make it clear to him that she was not some brainwashed submissive with Stockholm syndrome.
Whatever it took.
There were still some lovely cheeses and fruit on her plate, but she was done. Done with more than just dinner.
Alena rose and took her half eaten plate over to the sideboard, setting it down. She poured herself a small glass of port and when she turned to the table, she headed for his end, not the seat where she’d been.
Her patience was at an end. It was time to have a conversation with Alexander Wagner.
The quiet, infuriating man she loved.
Alexander stiffened as she approached and shifted his own plate of fruit, cheese, and cream to the side.
Alena set her port glass down, then hopped up to sit on the table. She’d still had one piece of clothing in her suitcase he hadn’t seen yet, and that’s what she was wearing now. It was a strapless black dress with a fitted, boned top, high-low hem with a small train, and matte black chain detailing. Three strands of black chain were draped around the waist, hiding the place where the stiff, fitted bodice connected to the skirt. More chain was draped around her upper arms and connected to the sides of the bodice, creating an off the shoulder “sleeve” of graduated chain strands.
She’d paired the dress with the one pair of CFM—come fuck me—height high heels she had. Black velvet stilettos with a wide ankle strap. She’d had to walk down the stairs in bare feet and put them on just outside the dining room.
Then, to top it all off, she’d pulled her hair up in a high, severe bun, which left her neck and shoulders bare. Black sapphire studs in her ears were the only jewelry.
She swung her legs around so that she was facing him while seated on the end of the table, the edge of her calf touching the outside of his knee.
“There’s a saying where I come from,” she said.
Alexander watched her from beneath his unfairly-long eyelashes. As expected he didn’t speak, only nodded to acknowledge her words.
“A come to Jesus meeting.”
He blinked in surprise. “A…what?”
“A come to Jesus meeting. And that’s what you and I are about to have.”
“And what exactly is a ‘come to Jesus meeting’?”
“It can be different things to different people. When my mama was still alive, if she said that to me it meant we were going to have a serious conversation about my behavior or attitude.” Alena slid her inside leg past Alexander’s knees, so that his legs were between her own. “For us it means we’re going to lay all our cards on the table, and say exactly what we’re thinking. And you, Alexander Wagner—” She raised one leg, pressed the toe of her shoe against his belly and the tip of the heel against his crotch. “—are going to listen to me.”
Alexander hissed when she applied a little bit of pressure, her stiletto digging into his cock, which didn’t feel entirely soft and flaccid. He grabbed her ankle, preventing her from skewering his dick.
“I agree, we need to have a conversation.” He tried to shift her leg to the side. “Why don’t you—”
Alena leaned her weight into the foot on his lap, and Alexander cursed as he lost his grip on her leg and her shoe dug into him.
“What’s it going to take to make you mad, huh?” She reached out and grabbed his tie, wrapping it around her fist.
“I’m not angry.”
“I know that. That’s the problem…because I am. And the fight won’t be any fun if you aren’t pissed too.”
“I am not going to fight with you.”
“Why not?” She tugged on his tie and pushed with her foot, forcing him to lean his shoulders forward while keeping his ass pinned to the back of the seat.
“Because I can’t trust myself not to hurt you,” he said softly.
And with that the fight went out of her, her rage thawing. “Oh, Alexander… Suga’, you didn’t hurt me in any way I didn’t enjoy.”
“You did not ‘enjoy’ everything I did to you.”
“Just because I didn’t orgasm doesn’t mean some part of me didn’t, if not enjoy, let’s say find the experiences interesting.”
“Interesting doesn’t make it acceptable.”
Alena released his tie and took his face in her hands. “You still think I’m in subspace? That I’m not capable of rational thought?”
“What I did to you…kidnapped you. Beat you…”
“When I fantasized about making you grovel and apologize, it was much sexier than this.”
“You make jokes, but…” He took her wrists and eased her hands away from his face. “Sometimes the pain… Pain and damage. Emotional damage.” He took a breath, paused, then released it. “Some damage is permanent.”
“And you think what you did to me is permanent?” She leaned far over the edge of the table, bracing her hands on the thin arms of his chair. Her cheek brushed his as she whispered in his ear. “Suga’, you’re good…but you’re not that good.”
She felt his breath, and for a moment his lips skimmed the side of her face, down to her jawline. Then he jerked back.
This wa
s maddening.
Alena sat back, considering him. “You really believe that, don’t you? That I’m broken now.”
“No, you’re lovely,” he said formally. “But in my presence I believe you’re not, not…yourself.”
“And what about you?” She wiggled her foot just enough that he grabbed her calf, this time with both hands. “I broke you, too. Don’t you remember saying that?”
“That was before I knew why you were there.”
“Ah, and that changes everything, does it? Because it was okay for you to abuse me if I was a corporate spy, government spy, or one of the any other things you accused me of being?”
“Of…of course not.”
“Don’t lie, suga’.”
“Alena, enough.”
“No, Alexander, clearly it’s not enough, because you’re treating me like I can’t think for myself. Like I’m…like I’m nothing.”
Shit. She hadn’t meant to say that. Emotions welled, choking her. No. She was not going to cry in front of him. That would only confirm his idea that she was somehow mentally compromised.
Alena lifted her foot from his lap, yanking free of his hold as she did. She swiveled on the glossy tabletop, knocking over her glass of port.
She ignored it and hopped off the table. No matter how hard she was fighting it, she was going to cry.
Not just tears of sadness, no, tears of anger too. It was rare that her anger expressed itself that way, and this was one of the worst possible times for her rage to manifest as tears.
Alena raced for the door…
…forgetting that she had heels on.
She felt a slight click and then her knee gave out.
Chapter 7
Alena threw out her arms, landing on her hands and knees on the hardwood floor. Lightning bolts of pain radiated up from her bad knee, and she couldn’t stop her sharp cry, or the soft sob that followed.
“Alena.” Alexander’s footsteps pounded and then he was on his knees beside her, hands hovering but not touching.
