by Lila Dubois
Vienna Bliss
Vienna Trilogy: Part Three
Lila Dubois
Copyright
Published by:
Farm Boy Press,
Sacramento, California, United States of America.
First electronic edition: July 2020
Copyright © 2020 by Lila Dubois, all rights reserved.
Cover design by Lila Dubois
Book formatted by Farm Boy Press
ISBN: 978-1-941641-56-9
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owners and the above publisher of this book, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Publisher’s note:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Synopsis
Vienna Bliss
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
About the Author
The BDSM Checklist Series
Also by Lila Dubois
Synopsis
Vienna Bargain
She betrayed him, and now she has no choice but to accept his bargain. Prison…or three weeks with him at his secluded villa.
Three weeks not just as his sub, but as his BDSM slave.
She’s totally at the mercy of a man whose touch is so intense she broke her own rules: she slept with him, and worse, she let her emotions get involved.
Can she keep her secrets when his touch, and her own traitorous heart, make her want to give in and fall in love?
Vienna Bliss
Chapter 1
There were few times in his adult life that Alexander had felt vulnerable. As a child, awkward and stuttering, unsure where to seek comfort—his parents or his nanny—it had been a different story. Then he’d felt vulnerable because he’d felt inadequate. For him, the self-assurance of youth had faded when, around age ten, he’d realized what would be expected of him.
When he’d stepped into his role as CEO of Wagner Global, he’d finally overcome two decades of gut-churning self-doubt as defensive walls of power and authority had been added to his already considerable insulation given by both his privilege and his wealth.
All that had brought him to this place, this moment.
On his knees inside his villa, his personal security on either side of him, their hands bound behind their backs.
Helpless.
Where there had once been massive windows and a set of glass French doors that led out onto the patio, there were now only empty frames.
The villa staff, all four men and three women, were huddled in the far corner of the room. They were unharmed, and looked far less alarmed than he might have expected. Then again, the people of Moldova were no strangers to dangerous situations.
Though he doubted any of them had ever been faced with an Interpol raid before.
Outside the sun had fully set. The exterior lights weren’t on yet, so it was the moon’s silvery light that lit the nature preserve, the patio, and the men stationed on it.
He’d counted twenty people so far, and from what Jakob had whispered several moments ago, the security team had managed to take out four using non-lethal means before they, in turn, were overrun with teargas and rubber bullets.
Twenty, plus the four his men had injured. Two dozen men had broken into his home and assaulted his employees.
And there was not a damn thing Alexander could do to stop them. His obsessive need for privacy, his desire to be alone and isolated, was what would be his downfall. His own choices were the reason for the crippling vulnerability.
The agent in charge of the Interpol strike team stood several meters away, the rest of the team spread out on either side of him, not dissimilar to how the RTW men were positioned on either side of Alexander. Of the three, only Jakob was alert, kneeling, but with his toes braced as if he would, any minute now, spring up to defend them.
Ruslan and Finn were kneeling, but both men were hunched over. Ruslan’s eyes were red, and he occasional let out a deep cough. Tear gas, Alexander assumed. Finn was grimacing, and holding his left arm oddly, even accounting for his hands being behind his back. Perhaps he’d taken a rubber bullet to that shoulder.
Alexander didn’t blame them for failing to stop the attack, or even being able to sound the alarm. The odds had been overwhelming, the layout of the villa working against the small security force. And, frankly, Alexander had never considered the possibility that he was in danger from external entities.
Jakob was ready to leap into action, but the RTW security expert was not the only defender Alexander had.
Alena stood between him and the Interpol agents, facing them down, and every inch of her body radiated irritation. No fear, no worry. Just regal disdain.
“Who is she?” Jakob asked out of the corner of his mouth.
“She’s…” Alexander wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence.
Alena looked back over her shoulder, her expression creasing into a worried frown. She glanced at Jakob, Ruslan, and Finn in turn.
“Is she Interpol?” Jakob asked.
“A consultant.”
“Working for Interpol.” Jakob hung his head. “Fuck.”
Alena whipped back around and pointed at one of the agents in tactical gear.
“Release them, immediately; also, I expect one of you has basic First Aid training. Fix whatever it was you did to those two.”
“You don’t give the orders here, Ms. Moreau.” It was the leader who spoke. His Scandinavian accent matched his appearance.
“Frankly, I think I might outrank you, Rolf.”
“You’re a consultant.” There was a slight bite of irritation in his words.
Rolf? Had he heard that name before? Alexander leaned to the side to peer at the man.
“And who do we think is more important to the operation?” Alena tipped her head to the side as if considering the options. As she did, he glimpsed a hint of gold through her hair.
The lock on that damned collar.
“We came here to rescue you,” Rolf said in irritation. “You didn’t check in.”
“I am not under obligation to check in with my contact, who, by the way, isn’t you. I want Agent de Gaul on the line, right now.” She pointed at each of the people arrayed in front of her. “You all ready to roll the dice and side with Rolf?”
“Agent Pedersen,” Rolf said softly.
“I think I
’ll stick with Rolf.”
For a moment, Alexander tuned out her back-and-forth with the Interpol agent. If she was bluffing, it was a masterful performance. Both her mention of dice and his own use of the term bluff reminded him of what she’d said in his office.
Alexander, it isn’t a game.
When he’d caught her back in Vienna, he’d been sure he knew what was a truth and what was a lie. Everything about her had been a lie, and his own position as the injured party was an irrefutable truth.
That surety was gone now.
He had a dozen questions about her revelation even before the raid. Now…now he wasn’t even sure where he should start an inquiry, if he were given an opportunity.
Agent Pedersen turned and said something in French to the agents beside him. Both stripped off their helmets and heavy tactical gloves, setting them aside. The first, a black woman, left the room, while the second, a woman with pale gold hair pulled low in a bun, plucked a knife from a small compartment on her vest and walked over to them.
She freed Ruslan and Finn first, then him and finally Jakob.
He rubbed his wrists and then climbed to his feet. Jakob jumped up and positioned himself at Alexander’s left side.
“Take care of the others,” Alexander said softly.
“I am a medic.” The black woman, now carrying a bright red duffel, walked past him to the couch where the blonde had positioned the RTW men in need of medical care.
“I’ll stay with you,” Jakob said.
Alena had half turned to watch all this happen, while still standing in the no-man’s-land between himself and Rolf Pedersen.
She took a few steps towards the couch, watching for a moment as the two agents helped Ruslan and Finn.
Then Alena turned and walked over to stand beside him, on his right.
Alexander froze, his breath still in his chest. The cynical part of him wanted to declare this another ploy of some kind, another move in what she’d told him was, to her, a game.
Her fingers tentatively brushed the back of his hand, and Alexander’s breath released in a rush of air.
He took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. She squeezed tight.
Rolf looked at them. The other man’s gaze jumped from their hands to the scarf around Alena’s neck. The scarf that hid the collar Alexander had locked on her.
Rolf was looking at her, at them, as if he knew what was under the thin piece of silk.
Alexander now knew why Rolf looked familiar. “Shit.”
“Recognize him?” Alena whispered.
“He was in Vienna.”
“Yes. The question is, was he at the club to watch you or me?”
Alena stalked out of the ground floor parlor, which Rolf had taken over as a temporary command post. The agents who’d come with them had been given rooms in the Vatican wing of the house.
Ruslan, whose eyes were still puffy and red despite a milk bath, had spoken with the household staff. She hadn’t overheard what he’d said, what possible explanation he could have given that would make them accept that the people who’d only hours ago broken into the house and taken them prisoner were now to be treated as guests.
Alena walked briskly towards the stairs. Halfway up, she realized she had no idea where she was going. The second floor of this wing had the sitting room whose windows and French doors had been destroyed by Rolf’s overzealous morons, the gallery, and off of that, Alexander’s office.
The room she’d used to shower, the room where her ransacked luggage was waiting, was in a completely different wing, and she had no confidence in her ability to navigate the twisting innards of the villa to find it again.
She could sleep on the bed in the playroom.
Or the couch in the office.
Until the day she died, she’d remember every detail of both rooms. But it was in the office that her life had changed over the course of a few hours.
She’d had more than enough emotional revelations and surprises for today—though at this point it might be near midnight. She was tired, hungry, hurting, and just wanted a bed. She didn’t want to walk back into Alexander’s office and face the too-fresh memories.
Not that they were all bad. In fact, they were mostly good memories.
But they weren’t light and soft. They were heavy, spiky things that had ripped up her world and life as she knew it.
“Alena.”
She glanced up. Her indecision had stopped her on the mid-point of the staircase, and she had no idea how long she’d been standing here, staring vacantly at the carvings of leaves worked into the rise of the treads.
Alexander stood at the top, his shoulders and head silhouetted by the lights.
“Alexander.”
He held out a hand. “Come to bed.” He paused. “If…if you’d like to.” He cleared his throat. “The first part should have been a question.”
A half-hysterical laugh of relief and amusement bubbled up inside her. Alena jogged up the stairs and into his arms.
She laid her cheek on his shoulder, tucked her forehead against his neck, and twined her arms around his waist.
Alexander’s arms slid around her back, and his cheek rested against her head.
They’d never held one another like this, a comforting, comfortable embrace that she associated with longtime lovers. Not two people who had, only hours ago, been exchanging emotional barbs that left each other the walking wounded.
Though she had some physical aches and pains she needed to deal with too. For the past two hours, she’d been sitting across a desk from Rolf while they had Agent de Gaul on speakerphone. And as she sat there, the pain medicine wore off and her ass started to throb. She hadn’t dared get up, not when the man sitting across from her was a Dom. The revelation about Rolf’s longstanding membership at the Orchid Club was something she’d need to think about, and would most definitely share with Alexander.
She hadn’t wanted to risk that Rolf would guess exactly why she needed to stand up, so she’d remained seated, even as the pain grew so intense that she bit the inside of her lip.
“I need to lie down, and I need aspirin.”
Alexander cursed in German, then kissed the top of her head. With one arm around her, holding her against his side, he guided them through what she was starting to think of as the Moldovan wing.
He brought her to a room whose door was tucked down a short, nondescript hallway. He opened it and guided her in.
She couldn’t help it, she held her breath as she waited to see if he would be inside with her, or on the outside, the door locked behind him.
“I can send someone for your case,” Alexander squeezed her shoulder and then glided away.
“What time is it?”
“Nearly midnight.”
“Let them sleep.” Alena leaned her shoulder against the wall by the door and watched as Alexander strode away.
It was an odd room and would have fascinated her if she weren’t so distracted by pain and worry. It was L-shaped, with the door at the bottom corner. After studying the view out the many windows, she realized that this room probably spanned two wings. The long side of the L was in the Moldovan wing, while the short corner was situated within, what was from the outside, a replica of the Vatican.
“Do you have a map of this place? Or architectural drawings?”
“No,” he called out, voice echoing slightly.
Alena gathered some energy and followed him, whistling in appreciation when she saw the bathroom, which was the size of an apartment all on its own. There were marble vanities with carved wooden mirrors. Light fixtures of wood with opalescent glass gave the space a craftsman aesthetic.
“Is this a bedroom?” she asked.
Alexander paused, a vanity drawer open, and looked at her. “No, this is a bathroom.”
“Ha ha. I mean this,” she threw her arm back to gesture at the room behind her.
“Yes, it’s…it’s actually my room.”
Alena’s breath c
aught. “You mean the master suite.”
“There are several master suites, but this is mine. My private space.”
He fished out a box and held it to her. Alena popped two tablets out of the blister pack, thought about it, and popped out a third before handing it back.
“I’ll bring you water.”
Alexander walked out, and Alena followed behind him as he went to a heavy wood sideboard positioned in the part of the room that made up the longer part of the L.
And from there, the alcove that contained the bed was visible. From the door, no one would be able to see the bed, and it was set far enough back from the windows that no one would be able to see it from the outside either.
His phone was plugged in on the nightstand, and it was such an unexpectedly normal sight that she just stared at it.
“Your phone is in Vienna.” Alexander held out a glass of sparkling water with ice in it.
“I wasn’t thinking about that, though thank you for telling me.” She popped the pills into her mouth and washed them down.
“What were you thinking about…? If you’re willing to tell me.”
“I was thinking that this really is your bedroom. In Vienna you took me to a guest room.”
“In Vienna you lied to me.”
The words were gentle, a reminder, not an accusation.
“I did. And I suspect you have many questions, though hopefully the most critical ones have been answered.” She walked to the sideboard, and started opening drawers and doors—one of which concealed a small fridge. Stocked with sparkling water, soda, and juice—all mixers—it clearly went with the liquor bottles neatly lined up in another cabinet, and the plethora of wine.