by Lila Dubois
And that was why it was best that he never tell her he loved her.
Chapter 13
“You look lovely, Ms. Moreau,” Rolf said formally as she stepped out the front door of Alexander’s top floor apartment.
“Thank you. As do you.”
“The guests are arriving, on schedule” Sofie looked every inch the party planner with her little black dress, low black heels, and clipboard. “I have to go back downstairs, we just wanted…”
“Wanted what?” Alexander stepped out of the open doorway behind her, pulling it closed. He took her arm and Alena could feel him glaring at Rolf.
It wasn’t Rolf’s fault that his part in their charade meant she would be leaving with him, so it was hardly fair that Alexander be pissed at him.
Alexander shouldn’t be pissed at anyone, because it’s not like he’d asked her to stay in Vienna. In fact, he hadn’t said anything about the fact that she was leaving tonight. That’s why Rolf was up here, to take her packed suitcase, which he held by the handle, and store it in his car.
“The curator did show up,” Sofie said.
Alexander’s silent rage was like a shock wave displacing the air around them.
“We expected this,” Alena reminded everyone. “Nothing changes.”
“You do not have to do this,” Sofie said.
Rolf’s expression was grave. Alena had told Sofie what Absolon had done. Interpol needed to know that he believed in the cause he was supporting with the stolen art. That was information she couldn’t keep to herself, so she’d had Sofie come up to the apartment, and then told her the story, much more succinctly and without the messy emotional components that had been present when she told Alexander.
“I need to go so that I can technically arrive at the event,” Rolf said. “Alena, Alexander.” He took her suitcase to the private elevator that connected to the garage.
Sofie cast her one last look. “If you’re sure.”
“I am,” Alena said.
“I am not,” Alexander countered.
“We’ll be fine. How long until you want us down there?”
“Start down the steps in ten minutes.”
Sofie disappeared, jogging down the steps despite the heels, a feat Alena would never be able to accomplish.
Beside her, Alexander sighed. He’d spent far more time with her over the past two days than she’d expected. Yesterday, he’d been with her almost all day. She’d planned to do nothing but read and maybe try and watch some TV to see if she could improve her German, but instead she’d spent most of the daylight hours making love with Alexander.
And it had been making love. Not sex. Love. At least on her side.
She’d almost said it a dozen times. There had been many perfect moments. But in the end, she was a coward. When night fell, she’d coaxed him into scening with her, though he’d skipped any impact play, focusing on bondage and exploring every inch of her body.
He’d been no less dominant as he did that than he was with a crop in his hand, but she’d missed the heavier sensations, though she wasn’t sure how much more her poor butt could have taken.
“Alena…”
She turned to face him, arching a brow. “Alexander?”
He sighed. “I hate this.”
Hate saying goodbye to me? Hate that I’m leaving because despite the utter chaos I’ve brought into your life, you love me?
“Hate my outfit?” She held out her arms. “I thought it was very appropriate.”
She was wearing a black dress that Dieter had helped her have tailored. Black and semitransparent, the neckline was a deep V, the point almost touching her navel. It fell to mid-thigh, except on the right it was slit all the way up to her hip.
Under the dress she wore body chains. Had this been a real slave auction those chains would have no doubt been attached to clamps or piercings, but she’d done her best to fake the look. A forty-inch chain around her neck ended in a small ring off of which she’d added chains that looped around her stomach at different heights. She had on a belly chain, which wasn’t visible except that it held up the “thigh jewelry”—several garter-like loops of chain around each upper leg.
She’d wanted the chains to remind him of the ones he’d used on her in Moldova. He was quieter tonight than he had been in days, but she’d seen his gaze lingering on the deep V neckline, and her decorated thighs.
She had on a black thong--another thing that certainly wouldn’t be there if this were a real BDSM event, but given how high the slit was, she’d decided underwear was a must. She had no desire to flash a room full of Interpol agents, and Zakaria Schroeder, the CEO of RTW, who was going to be the only non agent-in-disguise guest.
She also had on nipple pasties, and the edges of the dress were held down with toupee tape.
“Your outfit is lovely.” Alexander said formally.
“Don’t you mean auction-worthy?”
Alexander’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want to do this to you.”
Damn it, she was already in love with him. She didn’t need to fall even more deeply in love.
“Hey, suga’,” Alena crooned, rising up on her toes. “It’s just a game, remember.”
“It doesn’t feel like a game.”
“Then pretend it’s role play.”
“I would never agree to this role-play scenario.”
“Then do it for me,” she said in exasperation.
To her surprise, Alexander’s frown eased. “For you. To support your job.”
“Right. Exactly.” Normally, boyfriends had to do things like come to boring company events in order to support their girlfriends’ jobs. At least she thought that’s how it went, since she was basing that on TV shows.
And Alexander wasn’t her boyfriend. He was…he was the man she loved.
Who didn’t love her in return.
He was a good man, the best possible combination of chivalrous and sadistic. And it was precisely because he was such a good man that he would support her now. It wouldn’t be about love, at least not for him.
She was going to hold it together on the private, late night flight to Paris she’d be taking in a few hours. She’d sob once she was in the privacy of her hotel room, hold it together for the debrief at Interpol tomorrow, and then she could cry again on the flight home to Chicago.
Then…then she’d just go on living her life. Nothing had to change just because she’d fallen in love with a man who didn’t love her back.
“It’s time,” Alexander said resignedly.
Alena once more took his arm and they started down the steps. She was barefoot and wearing not much of anything, while Alexander looked debonair and powerful in a beautiful black suit with white shirt and black tie.
This was the last private time she’d have with him.
Tell him you love him.
It was the one thing she hadn’t done. All those opportunities, and she’d seized none of them. She didn’t consider herself a coward. Fear had never been the primary emotion that drove her. But in this…she just couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
Because she’d said them once, and what came afterward had been horrible.
Down another flight, and Alexander’s forearm was rock hard under her fingers.
He deserves to hear the words. To hear them now that he knows it’s not a byproduct of the bargain, of the dungeon
It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that little voice, and she didn’t disagree. Because of her actions Alexander had been driven to a level of his own sexual sadism he’d never unleashed before, and that had been hard on him. Confronting her enjoyment of heavier impact play and more pain-laced submission had been difficult for her too, but for her it had been tempered by love.
Maybe if she tried again, told Alexander she loved him now that they’d spent real time together, that would be the final piece of proof that would help him understand just how wonderful he was. That he was not a monster she feared he still thought he was.
They reached the third floor. Alexander guided her away from the stairs and the moment was gone, passed like so many had before it.
Sofie was waiting for them by the doors. “Everyone is here. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Alena said softly. If Absolon hadn’t been there, this would have been nothing more than a fun party and she could have been herself. But Absolon was in there, so she needed to look like, and act like, a BDSM slave.
Alena closed her eyes and centered herself. Rather than try and be in her submissive “mode”, she was going to think of it as playing a part. A role play, as she’d suggested to Alexander.
“No,” Alexander said, the word breaking through her mental preparation. “One thing is missing.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace. Created of small gold panels, each about the size of a man’s thumbnail, the panels were etched with vines and leaves. It was beautiful, delicate work that reminded her of the carved doors and panels at the villa.
“It’s beautiful,” she said after examining it for a moment.
“Will you wear it?”
Her heart thudded as if he were asking that question in truth— will you wear my collar? —rather than as part of the charade.
“Of course.” She should have been flippant, smiled and winked, but she didn’t have it in her.
She raised her hair, as she’d done for him many times before, and he slipped the choker around her neck, fastening it snugly enough to keep it in place, but not so tightly that it hurt.
She liked the pressure of it on her neck.
“I’ll take it off and leave it for you in—”
“No. It is a gift.” Alexander’s fingers skimmed the bare skin of her back, and then his touch was gone. He took her arm and nodded to Sofie.
The Interpol agent had watched the byplay with slightly widened eyes, but now she nodded and then opened the doors.
Everyone turned to watch them as they entered, Alexander erect and formal, her scantily clad and barefoot, a gold collar around her neck, her eyes submissively lowered.
It took a moment, but the party started up again.
Alexander led her over to a tall man who was standing with a glass of amber liquid near the ornate stone mantle.
“Zakaria.”
Alena glanced at him through her lashes. He was handsome, as tall as Alexander though heavier, especially through the shoulders. Apparently he was a member of the Orchid Club and had recognized her, but she didn’t recognize him.
“Alena, this is Zakaria.”
“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” she murmured.
“And to meet you.” Zakaria cleared his throat. “Your in-house traitor is on the other side of the room, so we can talk freely.”
“Wait staff,” Alena said sharply, raising her head just enough to arch a brow and meet Zakaria’s gaze. “They are people, you know. And many of them have worked events before. He may know them.”
Zakaria inclined his head, seeming surprised. “Of course. I’m very sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, be smart,” Alena said, though she’d resumed her submissive posture.
“Ouch,” Zakaria said.
Alexander snorted out a laugh, and then flagged down a waiter, ordering them both a glass of champagne.
They lingered with Zakaria as long as they could, but when Alena nudged Alexander—making it look like she was swaying into him—he moved on to the next part of their carefully planned night.
Group by group, Alexander took her around the room. Most people were in clusters of two or three and looking at the art Absolon had brought in. There were no introductions now, no polite exchanged. Instead, Alexander told them her name, then would touch her chin or hair, usually turning her head, or tipping her face up. Alena let herself be manipulated, the perfect, slutty doll.
Everyone they met knew this was an act, but she could still tell some of them were uncomfortable. Whenever possible she’d wink, or stick out her tongue. Do something to make sure they knew she was okay.
They hadn’t quite made it all the way around the room when the dinner bell rang. Everyone stepped back, the doors were thrown open, and servers carefully rolled in two long rectangular tables that were already set, water in the glasses, candles lit.
Chairs were brought in, and then everyone took a seat. Alexander sat at the head of one table, Alena at his left. Zakaria sat across from her, and Rolf on her other side. All that had been arranged.
What they had not planned for was Absolon claiming the seat beside Zakaria.
Wine was poured, the meals served, and under the table Alena dug the ball of her bare foot into Alexander’s ankle to keep him calm and quiet.
There was soft chatter from the rest of their table and the one beside it, but there was only tense silence where they were.
These idiots were going to tip him off.
Alena took a sip of water, then said softly. “Master, may I say something?”
His leg jerked, but his expressionless mask didn’t shift. Wordlessly, he nodded.
It may have been her imagination, fueled by the fact that the three men around her were Doms, but she could swear she felt them giving off angry, protective energy.
“Dr. Blanchar, I wanted to offer my compliments on the selection of artwork. It’s lovely.”
“Thank you. Are you familiar with art?” His tone was pure condescension, and he looked around at the other men, as if waiting for their approval.
She was tempted, oh was she tempted, to go into detail about how though Helmut Newton’s images often featured nude women, he was famous for having created an environment in which his models felt safe and empowered. She doubted a bible thumping—as they would have called him in the south—masochist would understand the nuances. She also doubted that anyone who hated women could ever understand BDSM.
“I just like to look at pretty things,” Alena said softly.
Absolon nodded sagely, while Alexander’s lips twitched.
“Women are the source of both great beauty, and great strife.” Once more Absolon looked at the other men. Then he lowered his voice. “I want you to know, Mr. Wagner, that I understand you.”
Alena inwardly groaned. That wasn’t going to help Alexander’s mental state in any way.
Rolf jumped in, and it was about damned time one of them did their part to help this situation along.
“You are here to bid?” he asked Absolon.
“No.” Absolon sat back as his plate was cleared. “I chair the Wagner Art Collective.”
Alexander’s brow rose.
Rolf turned in his seat, and she could feel him examining her. “I will be bidding.”
“Ah. And are you going to bid…sight unseen?” Absolon asked. “Or does the auction include a…”
Alena felt Alexander tense, knew he was about to leap across the table and kill Absolon. She raised her foot, slid it between his thighs, and pressed her toes against his dick. He jerked in surprise, and then held very still.
“Who are you again?” Zakaria asked, as if he were only now noticing Absolon’s presence.
The Frenchman stiffened. “I am a guest of Mr. Wagner.”
“Employee,” Alexander corrected softly.
Absolon stiffened.
Alena eased her toes away from his crotch, realizing only belatedly that such an intimate touch wasn’t appropriate, given that she was now only hours away from walking out of Alexander’s life.
They hadn’t talked about that, either. Even when he’d watched her pack her suitcase.
Alexander rose from his seat. One by one the other guests followed suit. Servers whisked in, clearing the long dining tables.
And somewhere, in the midst of all that, Absolon slipped out.
The waiters brought in platters of desserts, setting them on the sideboards around the room. Alena stood with Alexander, Rolf, and Zakaria, none of whom seemed inclined to leave her side.
“I’m okay,” she murmured, loud enough for each o
f them to hear.
“Once Interpol is done, I’m going to kill him,” Alexander’s tone was even, as if he were talking about stock dividends.
“Please don’t plan a murder in front of me,” Rolf said softly.
“Zakaria, can you have someone do it?” Alexander asked.
“Of course.”
“Please don’t arrange to hire an assassin in front of me,” Rolf said.
“You’ll have to kill him too,” Alena said. “Get rid of all the witnesses.”
At her side, Alexander relaxed enough to laugh softly.
Sofie wove through the crowd. She kept her voice low since the wait staff were circling offering more drinks and clearing empty demitasse glasses that had once held the elegant petite desserts.
“Absolon is in his office,” she reported. “If you leave out the front door he’ll see you, though you might need to linger on the curb.”
Rolf sighed, and seemed to relax. “Can you have my car brought around?”
“Already on its way,” Sofie said.
And just like that, it was all coming to a close. Alena wasn’t ready. She thought there would be more time. She was glad they weren’t going to have to go through with the mock auction, but she wasn’t ready to leave.
“Is everything you need in your bag, Alena?” Rolf asked.
“I…I…Yes. I have shoes. A jacket.” The words came out of her mouth but all she could think about was Alexander. She wanted to throw her arms around him…but she was scared to even look at him in case she started crying.
Sofie glanced at her phone, which she had balanced on her clipboard. “The car is here.”
“Has enough time passed since he left?” Did she sound as desperate as she felt when asking that question? “I mean for there to have been an auction.”
“Yes, it’s good timing,” Sofie said, while Rolf nodded.
“Alena?” Rolf offered his arm.
No. No.
She wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Her heart was breaking. Could they hear it? Was the pain she felt visible on her face?