Carina scowled. “Good. I never met the man but I don’t like him.”
“You’re not the only one.”
“Care for a little advice after all this time? Come clean with Alexander. Get to know this version of him. He’s wiser.”
This Alexander was different, but then again, so was she. Her fingers ached from twisting them so hard. “I don’t know. He’ll hate me.”
“That man doesn’t know how to hate. He loves people all the way. Even through their faults.”
Oh, but the mistake she’d made forty years ago wasn’t just a fault. The depth of Alexander’s convictions and his demand for honesty were unflagging—even after all this time. She’d undo everything if she didn’t explain the details of the deal she’d had to make with the Wynters to keep them all safe. She could also undo everything if she did tell him. Then, there was a failed marriage and a miscarriage she’d yet to broach with him. Pain that no one should have to go through …
Carina tapped her hand and then signed. “I lost my Sergio too soon. Now that you’ve found one another, sink into it. Enjoy it. Don’t deprive yourself. You are at the age where you shouldn’t deny yourself what you want.” She lifted her chin at that last statement. “Speaking about someone who knows herself. My granddaughter.” She stood and held out her arms as a woman with a baby on her hip ducked under the low-hanging branches.
Rebecca blinked at seeing the baby. For some reason, she hadn’t thought children would be part of Alexander’s world. Why not? Because she’d given up on that aspect of life?
Samantha broke into a huge smile seeing them but then grunted a little when her baby yanked on a long lock of her long chestnut hair. “Ow, easy there, big guy.” She extracted her hair from the muffin-shaped fist. “He’s got his daddy’s eyes but my strength.”
Carina cooed at the little cherub and kissed him on the forehead.
Samantha turned the squirming bundle to face out. “He wants to move today. Hi, I’m Sam, and, this is little Alexander.”
Oh. Named after grown-up Alexander? A twang of jealousy thrummed through her whole body so suddenly she was nearly knocked off her feet. This was no little green monster. This was the big, hairy, green Godzilla that arose. Get a grip. Her time for children was long past and pining for what couldn’t be was ridiculous.
Rebecca shook off her momentary stun. “I’m Rebecca. What a beautiful baby.” She touched his arm. “Hello, you.” Little Alexander was all chubby legs and arms in a sailor suit and tiny peacoat, with the largest blue-green eyes she’d ever seen on a baby.
He raised his chubby arms as if wanting to hug her. Green Godzilla melted into a puddle of instant, gooey love. “Oh, may I?” Her eyes shot to Samantha, whose cheeks were rosy with color.
“Please do. My arms are killing me.” She grunted a little as she pushed the squirming warm body into Rebecca’s arms.
Rebecca buried her face into the downy hair on his head. Mmm, baby powder was such a beautiful scent. The baby grasped onto a fistful of her hair and giggled. “Well, aren’t you a little monkey?” She found herself rocking back and forth. What was it about holding a baby that made people start moving?
Samantha smoothed down the collar of the little sailor suit, and he stuck his fist in his mouth—or tried to. “We don’t normally allow children here, not unless it’s a specific function, but Alex loves to meet people and it’s PG day.”
“What’s PG day?”
“That’s what we call no s-e-x in the garden on Wednesdays when the gardeners are wielding power tools. Alexander is a stickler for safety. The garden is off-limits to adult activities if you know what I mean. We’re allowed to bring children only on Wednesdays, and only outside.”
“Even in winter?” She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to do anything outside that was remotely sexual this time of year.
“You’d be amazed. Some people are into it.”
Rebecca gave up. She’d never figure out this place. Babies. Motherhood. A private home that doubled as a BDSM international network—that still made her smile in amusement. How had Alexander worked all this out, while she had worked out nothing?
Samantha tickled him under his chin and he giggled. She glanced up at Rebecca. “I’m having another in about four months.” She flushed a bright red.
This woman was five months pregnant? She could model in maternity ads.
Samantha’s face cracked into a brilliant smile. “A girl. I can’t wait until Derek holds his daughter the first time. Total mush.”
At that moment, Rebecca could see the resemblance between grandmother and granddaughter. They bathed you in a certain kind of warm energy that only a mother had.
“Well, I’m sorry to share baby and dash, but Derek texted and had the car brought around. He’s almost done.” Samantha folded little Alexander into her arms and winced when he took renewed possession of her hair. “Come on, Alex, I think it’s time for your nap.”
“Nnnooo.”
“That was his first word. Imagine that.” Samantha laughed as she managed to extract her hair from his fist once more. “Rebecca, I’m sure we’ll see more of each other soon. The other girls are dying to meet you.”
Rebecca tucked a lock of Alex’s hair behind his tiny crescent ear. “I was very happy to meet you both.” The baby truly was adorable. The little cherub smiled but then buried his face in his mother’s hair.
“We can walk you inside,” Carina said to her.
“Oh, don’t bother. I think I’ll sit out here for a bit more.” She had a feeling this would be the last of her quiet time at this place for a while. She hugged Carina goodbye with promises of seeing her again soon.
The woman pulled back and placed her hands on either side of her face. “You call me soon. I take you dancing.”
She laughed a little at that. “I’d like that.”
“And tell him. It’s time.” The vowels were a little slippery but that didn’t matter. Those two words cut into her heart. Carina was right. She’d tell him—someday. For now, she’d take her friend’s other advice. She’d enjoy herself, even if the scent of baby powder clung to her hands and the jealousy monster now warred with the secret that lived inside her like an unlaunched grenade. Maybe Alexander would forgive her after all. She could only hope.
26
Alexander drummed his fingers on the note Tony had slipped him. They’d been at this for over thirty minutes, and he itched to get back to Rebecca and Eric. This Headler lawsuit against him and Accendos was a sham anyway. “What does he really want?”
“I don’t give a flying fuck what Michael Headler wants.” Carson’s collar might burst open any second from the tension in his neck. “We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”
Alexander had to give Carson credit for not calling the man who once abused his wife something worse.
“He wants his dignity back.” All eyes turned to Mark who usually said the least in these Tribunal Council meetings. He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Rule number one of war. Let the enemy save face.”
“I have some things I can do with his face.”
“How much money does he want?” Alexander asked.
Carson’s brow knit together. “You’re not seriously considering paying this guy off?” He slipped a piece of paper into the center of the table. “He wants a formal, public apology. Oh, and $5 million.”
Ryan snatched it up. “Is that all?”
Alexander had enough of this pussyfooting around. “Tell him I’ll meet with him.”
All eyes in the room trained on him. Ryan, Jonathan, Mark, Derek, and Sarah had been uncharacteristically quiet and allowed Carson to do most of the talking, or in his case, shouting.
It was Sarah who broke the silence. “Generous of you.”
“I’m feeling generous today. Tell him I want him in my office, Tuesday after Thanksgiving.”
Ryan nodded once. “Consider it done. And Marston? Are we expecting anything from him?”
Again, all eye
s turned to him. They knew all about the Wynter family so why would they be surprised to hear Marston’s name? Long ago he’d filled them in. They needed to know in case the Wynters had a mind to go after them—if they’d ever learned about his chosen family, that is.
“What I don’t understand is why he’d continue to bother,” Sarah said. “I mean, forty years, Alexander. It’s not like you’ve been trying to do anything to him.”
Derek laughed. “Except buy the ancestral home.”
“He doesn’t care about that house.”
“What does he care about?” Mark asked.
“I don’t know. And, you know what?” He rose. “I don’t care. Meeting adjourned.”
Ryan scratched his five o’clock shadow. “One last thing. We’re making Eric Morrison a full member?”
“Yes.” Eric deserved this reward for his recent service.
“I suppose you’d want Rebecca Beaumont to become one as well.”
He hadn’t thought of that, which was not his style. Perhaps he had been a little lax of late. “Good thinking. Yes. The usual paperwork. Oh, and her legal name was changed to Anne Broadmoor. Found that out in Connecticut.” He rapped the table with his knuckles and spun toward the door.
He only got ten feet away from the chamber when he rounded the hallway and plowed straight into Eric, who stared down at his phone. It slipped from his grasp and landed with a muted thunk on the carpet.
“Whoa. Sorry. Wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Alexander swiped his phone off the floor and handed it to him. He glanced down at the man’s crotch, a hard-on the size of Texas pressing against the jeans fabric. “Must be some message.”
The man’s lips lifted into a smile. “It is. That blue and white painting? It’s the original. The one missing for the last few decades.” He arched his eyebrows and adjusted himself. “Finding something like this gets me hard every time.”
Alexander laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “Eric, you are one of a kind.”
“Bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Where’s Rebecca?”
“Gardens.”
“Good. Care to help me introduce her to Accendos?”
“Like … .” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Yes. Like.” He steered him to his destination. Work could wait. Time for Rebecca’s full tour.
27
“It must take an army to dust this place.” Rebecca gaped at the long hallway lined with paintings set in huge, ornate frames. A tall army given the height of the ceilings, too.
Alexander chuckled slightly. The crinkles around his eyes were quickly becoming her second favorite part of his anatomy. He did seem happy to be back home. Home? How about his compound.
“So, that’s the first floor.” His large palm on the small of her back seeped more warmth into her body. She hadn’t realized how chilled she’d grown sitting in the garden despite the blankets supplied by Carrie. “There’s more.”
Of course, there was. She glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at Eric, who had been trailing behind them. He gave her a wink, and she got the secret message. His “navigator” offer the other day was pure prophesy.
For the last hour, she’d fought the sensory overload by concentrating on the minutiae—the velvet cushions, thick carpets, little lights over paintings, scrolled iron railings and the people, oh, so many people. Alexander occasionally stopped to introduce her to an Accendos “member” or a “staff member,” the distinction apparently making a difference as he pointed it out every time. What did it matter? They all nearly genuflected when they encountered him in the endless, absurd, maze of hallways and rooms that had names. Names!
The “Yankee room” filled with Americana furniture and battle scene paintings could have doubled as a gentlemen's club. The “submissive’s lounge” complete with crystal chandeliers hanging over black, velvet-covered couches against a soothing backdrop of cream and gold belonged in a photo spread. The “Kyoto” room with its sparse oriental theme presented nothing but a low square teak table and a mural of a Japanese pagoda and cherry trees in full bloom for “times when you need a little less stimulation” as Alexander described its use.
She was going to spend a lot of time in that last one. She knew it.
He took her hand and placed it back into the crook of his elbow. “Did you enjoy your time with Carina? Meeting Samantha?”
“I did, but how did you know Samantha was here?”
“Carrie.”
Eric smiled at her. “Carrie is the bomb. She knows everything that goes on here.”
She’d have to remember Alexander had a spy.
“Carrie is the lead submissive assistant,” Alexander said. “It’s her job to make sure anyone who self identifies in that category is taken care of.”
“Everyone? Wow.” Because she’d seen at least a dozen people already since the two of them had retrieved her from the garden. “Samantha’s son is named after you, isn’t he?” Well, that barreled in with zero sense of timing, didn’t it?
Alexander’s blue eyes twinkled. “So they tell me. You’ll meet his father, Derek, soon. He’s like a son to me.”
She wasn’t used to such humility, and obvious delight, from Alexander, but then perhaps Carina was right. He had changed, and a few days in Connecticut at a place that held so much pain for both of them probably wasn’t enough for her to see how different he’d grown. “I have to tell you when you first mentioned other women, I pictured an Amish sewing circle.”
Eric laughed. “Not on a Wednesday. Fridays are sewing. Saturdays are for churning the butter.”
Alexander’s lips lifted on one side. “You’ll want some people to talk to other than me.”
She circled Eric’s arm. “That’s what Eric’s for.”
“I hope I’m useful for more than that. I do my best work not talking, after all.”
“True. Wouldn’t you agree, Alexander?”
He murmured and smiled. Not a resounding acknowledgment toward a man who clearly loved him, she thought. She’d bring that up with him later, that is if she didn’t get hopelessly lost in the corridors, never to be found again.
Alexander held open a door into yet another hallway. She stepped through but stopped short at a muffled crack that emitted from the other side of two large oak doors outfitted with cast iron handles.
Alexander touched her arm. “Would you like to see your room?”
Her what? The cracks built up to a rhythm, waking up her clit with a vengeance. “My room?” Concentrate. Focus on the grain of the wood paneling—or something.
“You’ll have a place of your own so long as you’d like it. However, you’re welcome to stay with me.”
“Yes, you,” she said quickly. Being alone in this house would feel odd, like she was at a hotel or something.
“Eric, I’ve arranged for you to have a private room, though you are welcome to stay with me, as well.”
A wail emitted behind those doors, and yeah, that orgasm he’d denied her on the private jet to Washington? It wanted out. She pointed to the doors. “What’s in there?”
“The Library. Or at least it was a library. We call it that for sentimental reasons.”
Eric leaned down and whispered in her ear. “It is a place of great learning.”
Ah, the famed Library he had mentioned. Alexander grasped the door handle. “Would you like to see?”
“Yes, please.”
He pulled open the door. Two men dressed all in black who’d been standing before the entrance doors stepped aside and bowed to Alexander as if he was a king. They parted like the red sea to let them enter, and she came face to face with … Okay. “Not a reading library.”
Eric’s, warm, low, chuckle sounded on her right and her vision sharpened.
Spanking benches were scattered throughout the center of the room, and to her left, a web contraption was occupied by a man wearing nothing but a series of black straps. A woman wearing a black, burnout-ve
lvet, catsuit Rebecca couldn’t have pulled off when she had a seventeen-year-old body let alone one in her fifties, tightened his bonds. Two St. Andrew’s crosses, one occupied by a red-headed woman secured to the saltire, took up the far wall to the right. Scenes she’d imagined—and oh, how she had over the years—lay before her in living, vivid color, the sounds of flesh against flesh and scents of human sweat, oranges and leather surrounding her.
A flash of fire to her right had her stepping backward. Eric’s chest met her back.
“Fireplay,” he whispered in her ear.
“This is the only place it can happen due to those.” Alexander pointed to the ceiling. “See those sprinklers?”
She nodded. She wasn’t worried about fire. Rising curiosity replaced her earlier feeling of being overwhelmed. Fireplay wasn’t something she’d seen in any of the dingy basement spaces she’d been to decades ago.
“This is nothing like those dirty clubs in San Francisco.” Oh, she’d said that aloud from the way Alexander’s eyes crinkled in amusement. She, Charles, and Alexander had kept to themselves. They’d find a corner and try not to get too close to the harder impact scenes.
“Charles loved those,” he said, all mirth dying from his eyes. Yes, he’d loved hearing the slaps, the hits, the thuds. One particular torture scene she’d witnessed had her crying so hard Alexander had whisked her out despite Charles wanting to stay. Until that second she’d forgotten about how Charles almost had a death wish.
No tears today, however. Instead of the chill she’d felt for the last half hour, her skin warmed as quickly as if she’d sunk into a hot tub.
Alexander and Eric flanked her, like bodyguards, as she found her legs moving her inside.
She jumped at a loud crack of leather meeting flesh. A woman on one of the spanking benches clutched at black straps at the base. A dark-haired man, with biceps flexing, brought a belt down on her backside once more. This time she wailed, but a slight arch of her back showed she was leaning into it—not away from it. Rebecca understood that craving, the need to meet the pain, all too well. The dull craving between her legs sharpened.
Invincible (Elite Doms of Washington Book 6) Page 12
