“Wait until you meet Laurent. I believe you’ll be intrigued. But, Sarah, if you’d rather not—”
“No, I will.” Her mind had shuffled rapid-fire through decision points. Declining his request based on personal feelings would show a weakness of character that she would not allow herself. Rather, she’d alter the significance of his memory by recasting their roles in present time. This could be an opportunity to stuff that past experience in the bin of failed experiments. Things one did just to see what would happen. She’d be a professional with him like she was with all new potential members. He would not take away her control from her again.
“Good,” Alexander said. “If we get started today, his thirty-day probationary status will be in place by the time the plane leaves for St. Thomas. Steffan and Laurent can join my birthday party.”
“Today?” A strangled laugh died in her throat. “Wait. You want them to attend your party? You have over one hundred people on the waiting list.”
“Yes and yes.” Alexander smiled down at her. “They’re here. In The Library.”
Good-bye, relaxing weekend.
2
“Laurent. It’s time.” Steffan’s lips twitched into a smile at seeing Sarah step through that overly-dramatic Gothic archway, but then the entire room was over-done. He pushed off the St. Andrew’s Cross, fully intending to stride over to her but found himself pausing, allowing himself to drink in the vision of her. He was sure his memory had exaggerated her beauty. Not at all.
All eyes—about a dozen or so people playing or milling about—turned to her, including Laurent’s. He’d been chatting up Carrie, Accendos’ lead submissive assistant, after their tour of Accendos but instantly stilled at seeing Sarah. Steffan had attempted to prepare his friend for this first meeting with her, but how do you prepare someone for so much vitality—for Sarah Marillioux?
She casually gazed from one end of the room to the other, but then stopped at finding him. He grinned. Her return smile didn’t reach her eyes, though a blush of pink rose in her cheeks. Well, he had taken her by surprise, and he felt something like relief that perhaps his sudden appearance might be welcomed. They’d had a rather chilly ending the last time they were together.
She glided across The Library, reaching him in four long strides, impressive given the height of her heels and the fit of her skirt. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in her movement. It was as if they’d planned to meet today, at this time, in this place.
“Steffan. Alexander just told me you’d arrived.” That silky, well-bred voice that would seduce the most hardened man hadn’t changed.
“It’s good to see you, Sarah.” He grasped her hand and brought it to his mouth. His lips brushed her skin ever so briefly before she pulled herself free. Her perfume wafted in the air. Baccarat Les Larmes Sacrees de Thebes—complicated, expensive and bold like the woman who’d entered the room wearing it. He knew the scent well since he’d spent an entire evening enveloped in it. It had taken him the better part of an afternoon at Harrod’s perfume counter to determine exactly what it was. Silly, but he’d wanted to know everything about her, and he was a man who pursued what intrigued him—including identifying the scent preferred by a woman like Sarah.
“This is Laurent.” He gestured to his friend who had sidled up next to him.
“Miss Marillioux.” Laurent bowed his head in an appropriate act of acquiescence.
“Hello, Laurent. Please call me Sarah. I look forward to getting to know you.”
I’ll bet. Steffan had noted the way her eyes raked over Laurent. The man was hard to ignore. A strong jaw, warm hazel eyes, and untamed dark curls he constantly had to push off forehead—all wrapped in that naturally-tanned Mediterranean skin—attracted both men and women alike.
Laurent took her outstretched hand, a slight quiver in his fingers. For someone quite seasoned in the scene, his reaction was still warranted. Very few men would be unaffected by the energy Sarah radiated. He certainly hadn’t been able to ignore it those few years ago. From the first second he’d laid eyes on her, he knew they’d be like two live wires that sparked once they touched—something he’d had the great fortune to prove two years ago. Then she’d vanished, and his life grew too complicated to force a reunion.
He still had that infuriatingly polite note with the Dorchester logo that she’d left him sitting in his safe. Saving the slip of paper was another odd thing to do but he was sure they’d had something special and he wanted that memento. If only Laurent’s life hadn’t imploded so spectacularly the next day he’d have tracked her down sooner. Then Amsterdam happened, and if he understood anything it was this: loyalty to friends and family eclipsed lust and desire.
She looked up at him. “Ready for your first interview?”
“Interview?”
“Yes, we have a specific protocol here at Accendos. Carrie, would you mind showing Laurent around a little? Steffan and I have some catching up to do. That is, if you don’t object, Laurent.”
“I’d be delighted to spend more time with Carrie.” He offered his arm, which she took, looking quite pleased at this turn of events. Who could blame the girl? Laurent didn’t hide his love of women, and nothing was more attractive to a woman than showing interest.
“Good,” Steffan said. “I have some things to talk with you about, as well.”
“Let’s go to the garden.” She turned on her heel.
As she marched toward the doorway, he got a terrific view of her luscious-looking backside. He’d forgotten how petite she was and his longer legs easily closed the distance between them.
“Accendos is quite formal,” he said. “Is every space this … decorated?” The velvet settees, the oil paintings, and guards at every doorway weren’t something he usually saw in play spaces.
“It is.” She gestured to the hallway.
“After you.”
They walked silently out of The Library and into a sunny breezeway.
“I understand Alexander’s gardens are also quite spectacular …” His voice died in his throat at seeing the burst of color on the other side of several sets of glass-paned French doors leading to the back. A stone terrace spilled forward and three wide steps led down to a fountain centered in a circle of pale flagstones. A Greek statue stood in the center of the water feature.
“Pothos.” She gestured to the statue and split open the middle set of doors.
“The Greek God of erotic yearning. How apropos.” He stepped out into the sweet scent of flowers and wet earth. He was a man who enjoyed the small pleasures the world offered—a glass of 30-year Scotch, the curve of a woman’s hip, a warm bed with his hand on that curved hip… Given he’d spent many long Swedish winters clothed in darkness, he also had a deep appreciation of nature and sunlight. He nearly grew hypnotized by the textures, colors and designs presented and knew he’d soon spend a few hours exploring these gardens. For now, he had more pressing matters to attend to—starting with why he and Laurent were here.
Sarah didn’t break her stride, stepping down the wide steps to the fountain. For long minutes they silently walked a path under a canopy of dogwood and cherry tree limbs. He had expected a warmer greeting from her, but he’d let her sit in this frigid silence until they were clear of the house. He’d wanted privacy with her anyway, and, for now, her company would be enough.
As she expertly avoided any crack or soft place where those fuck-me pumps might sink, he took the few moments to admire her. Her style hadn’t wavered one bit since they’d last met, thank god. Those heels showcased her glorious legs quite well, and his cock reacted predictably to the image of her in those stilettos. Any doubts her effect on him would lessen over the years was erased.
“Laurent wasn’t with you the last time I saw you.” Her voice cracked the silence. “At Club 501.”
“He was on the other side of the two-way glass, but back then Laurent and I weren’t as we are now.”
“And now?” She stopped and stared up at him, her face blank
and composed.
“Now it’s complicated. You look well, Sarah. I’m happy to find you here and not Morocco.”
“Ah, yes, my fantasy to run away. You remembered.”
It pleased him more than it should have that she laughed. Her eyes twinkled in the sunlight. They had a lighter brown center than he’d recalled. Or perhaps it was the trick of the sun. He felt a desire to squint. God, her beauty almost made his eyes hurt. “I remember everything.”
She made a small dismissive sound and resumed walking. They stopped at a smaller fountain, this one graced by a statue of Venus holding an urn tipped to the side. Water spilled from its lip. Sarah silently studied the woman’s face, her profile mirroring the perfection of the marble goddess. How many men had gawped at her like he did now, wishing to fall at her feet or be the one to stand by her side? Legions, he imagined. He hadn’t noticed a wedding ring, but then Sarah wouldn’t succumb to anything that equaled ownership. She could not be possessed, a quality he admired. He had no need for possession of anyone or anything either. He enjoyed control but not ownership.
“I’m surprised you’re not in Sweden, the place you said you’d never leave.”
“Yes, well, things changed. Sweden will always be my home. Washington holds more promise now. I’ve launched a new nonprofit, Water Wise. We fund clean water projects. I’m here to raise awareness and make the fund-raising rounds.”
“Really?”
“Water is so vital to life, so taken for granted. There are more people on this planet who don’t have access to clean water than those who do. It’s unconscionable.”
“And you’ll change that.” Her words were crisp, and an understanding bloomed in his chest. He knew that letting so much time pass between them could have been a tactical error, despite the fact it was for a good reason. Sarah also wasn’t an ordinary woman—someone who pined over a man not calling, and she hadn’t left her number. Finding her, however, hadn’t been difficult once he made up his mind about doing so. While his visit was unexpected, he’d rather hoped it would be received as a good surprise, and that it would at least get him an audience.
She began to circle the fountain, never taking her eyes off the statute. The woman radiated unease, which troubled him.
“I’m going to try to change a great many things. Sarah, I apologize for not warning you about my appearance, and I realize it’s been a long time, but I had believed we parted as friends. Did we?”
“We did,” she said. “And yes, it has been a long time. So … you wish to join Club Accendos.”
“Yes, and I’d like to explain what happened two years ago.”
“You don’t need to.”
“I do. It has to do with Laurent.”
“You’re lovers.”
He was used to people believing such a thing. “No, we’re not.”
She stopped short and blinked at him. Her formal tone had begun to irritate him. While they hadn’t seen one another in two years, they had seen every inch of each other’s bodies the last time they were together.
“We’re best friends,” he said. “Have been since birth. Our mothers were in the hospital together. We were born six hours apart. Laurent’s mother was new to Sweden, an immigrant, single, and my mother’s heart went out to her.”
She’d resumed her pacing, though had her head cocked as if listening intently. He walked with her and moved a branch that threatened her shoulder.
“We are very close, Laurent and I. The day after our weekend together, he lost his mother and stepfather in a car accident …” Once more she halted her progress. Her eyes softened, filled with compassion. Ah, that was the warm fire he remembered—a natural, fierce protective energy that she emanated. He’d picked up on it when they’d played together, her desire to make sure everyone around her was safe.
“I’ve very sorry to hear that.”
“He didn’t handle it well. They were his only family other than me.”
“Close but not lovers.” She seemed to be mulling her words in her mind.
“No. We share women sometimes.” That was the wrong thing to say. Her eyes shot to his face, the frost in them returning. Could she be jealous? Wishful thinking on his part but his ego didn’t mind having a bone thrown to it now and again. Believing Sarah cared who he slept with was one very nice, juicy bone.
“But”—he continued—“for Laurent … men, women, it doesn’t matter to him. He’s the most democratic human being I’ve ever met. He would never dismiss someone because of gender.”
“And, you?”
“Women only. I’m not here to discuss me, however. I’m here for Laurent.” It wasn’t exactly true, but first, he had to get her to understand the last two years. How did he explain this next part without betraying Laurent’s privacy—or losing his temper? What happened to his friend made him want to punch a wall. “His needs have grown. He started seeking others. A little over a year ago, a fetish group lured him to Amsterdam. There was alcohol abuse. Drugs. A shocking lack of consent.” His ability to articulate what happened died. Thinking about Laurent in that house where he’d found him made his teeth clench so hard they might shatter.
“Who was it?” God, he loved her in that second for the fierce tone she adopted. Instantly, they were connected again in a shared need to protect and serve those who gave of themselves so freely like Laurent, like that redhead that night.
“I will let him tell you, but know that it’s been handled.” He glanced down at his right hand. He wasn’t a violent man, but he'd forever carry that scar on his right knuckle with pride. He’d punched the black-hooded man who’d refused to let him see Laurent when he’d arrived at that shit hole. He was 100 percent okay with both his actions and the permanent mark.
He sighed heavily. “That situation showed me he needs someone watching out for him, more than I can. He finally admitted he’s seeking a … belonging. He’s someone who, as you Americans say, is all in.” He took a deep breath. “So, a few months ago, when I first raised coming here, he specifically asked if you—”
“Me?” Her voice was laced with incredulity. “I’m not looking for someone.”
Of course she wasn’t. Sarah’s desire to remain unattached was well-established and one of the reasons he had let her get on that plane two years ago despite his instincts to run after her. Sarah had made it clear she had not required him with that cold note she’d left. Now, seeing her in those sky-high heels and wrapped in that confidence ratcheted up that simmering desire he’d kept banked for her. Why not test the possibility of them picking up where they’d left off?
“How about two someones? Both Laurent and I.” He closed the distance between them, taking in her captivating scent again. “We were good together that night, weren’t we? I can still see you in that midnight blue velvet dress, and those”—his eyes raked down her torso and her legs to her feet—“death heels.”
She laughed. “Death heels?”
“I still can’t get over how you could yield a bull whip in those shoes and in that tiny space.” Shit, he was getting a hard-on just thinking about their scene, their private after-party.
“I think I cleared the room.”
“No one would have dared leave. No one would miss their chance to see you work. I wouldn’t.”
She gazed up at him, and he had a curious desire to press his lips where a wisp of hair curled on her neck.
“So, that’s why you’re here? To relive that night?”
“I’m not sure that’s possible.” How could perfection be topped?
“My thoughts exactly.” That ice returned to her eyes, and in them, a truth. She considered their time had passed, an idea he vehemently rejected. They’d spent one glorious weekend, co-topping and then continuing their appreciation for the human form in bed—just the two of them. Hell, yeah, his cock thickened thinking of her under him, on top of him, so many ways … However, he would let her believe their time together was over—for now. Something more important was at stake. He straigh
tened.
“Laurent needs you, Sarah. I wouldn’t trust him with anyone else. He’s incapable of seeing himself clearly. His need to serve overtakes his sense of self-preservation.”
“Dangerous.”
“Yes. I won’t be easy in my mind until I know he has someone who can give him everything he requires, including protection.”
She crossed her arms. “Let me get this straight. You’re offering Laurent to me.”
“He’s not mine to offer, only he can do that, but he needs your touch. Know this … so long as Laurent is here, I will be here.”
She laughed and dropped her arms. “My touch? You wish me to play with him so he also can say he spent time with me?”
A flash of white-hot anger rushed up his spine. “How very arrogant of you. Nothing could be further from the truth. I didn’t use you then, and I don’t intend to use you now.” He pressed forward until a bare inch separated them. “I very much enjoyed our weekend together, Sarah. I wasn’t the only one who didn’t send a Christmas card.”
“Touché,” she whispered.
He scrubbed his chin. “At least speak with Laurent. Judge for yourself.”
“I’ll speak with him next, but alone. For one thing, I want to know who this group was.”
“Like I said, I handled it, but feel free to ask him.” He stepped backward, more to give himself a break from inhaling that perfume that was driving him crazy.
“I will.” She pivoted on her heels giving him yet another glorious view of her ass. “Enjoy the gardens while I’m inside. It’s not often so much is blooming at once—and no promises, Steffan,” she said without looking back.
Yes, because we’re good at that, aren’t we? She’d gotten on that plane years ago with no talk of staying in touch—and he’d let her. It didn’t matter now. So what if he’d made a mistake allowing such distance between them. What mattered now was that he make no more. He had her, and then he’d lost her—for a good reason, but he’d lost her, nonetheless. So what if he’d miscalculated the impact she’d still have on him. Jesus, the way her ass moved in those heels … The first time he’d seen her, she’d summoned a roaring hunger in him. He’d wanted her beyond logical thought, hell, still did. She, however, seemed fine without him. If he couldn’t change that fact, he’d live with it. He’d live with it for Laurent.
Fearless (Elite Doms of Washington Book 5) Page 2
