The Switch

by Diane Whiteside

  “I had the honor of meeting him but we didn’t discuss roses,” Akiro brightened, pleased at the personal information about the most senior American bureaucrat present. Such touches were the essence of Japanese relationships, where business negotiations depended on the link between the individuals involved.

  “He is over by the fireplace. He had some spectacular red roses in his office last week, that you might have heard of.”

  “Gallica roses perhaps?” Akiro eagerly half-turned towards Ed Johnson but recovered quickly. Beth smiled at him.

  “Let me take you over to him. I’m sure he’d be delighted to talk roses with you.” She rested her hand on Akiro’s arm and headed for the fireplace. Ed quizzed her silently and she nodded fractionally. He finished talking to Eli Rosenbluth and smiled at Akiro and Beth.

  “Ed, did you know that Mr. Ono raises some of the most famous roses in Japan? My grandmother says that he grows many of Empress Josephine’s roses.”

  “Really? Which ones?”

  Beth smiled and removed herself from their company, glad that the two gentlemen were doing well with each other but personally disinterested in flower gardens at the moment.

  She glanced at the mantel clock, a stunning example of Art Deco in the restored hotel. It was past time to leave and she reviewed her options, strolling down the hall towards the lobby and the stairs up to her suite.

  Should she spend time with Sean? Risky in many ways because she didn’t know him and none of her friends in the scene had recommended him, as they had for every partner since Dennis. She wished once again that she’d listened to her friends about Genichi, instead of her Tokyo relatives extolling the advantages of a suitable marriage, with its bonus of ending the old antagonisms.

  What would Dennis say about Sean? Dennis had been friend and teacher, as well as one-time lover and sometime master. He’d had an excellent eye for men, as befitted a bisexual male dominant. But his wisdom had been silenced forever on September eleventh.

  She swallowed to erase the tastes of grief and fear in her mouth, to find the familiar nerves over a new encounter. Could she and Sean gratify each other, especially if he truly enjoyed submitting? It was always unpredictable, trying to guess exactly what and how best to please a new partner. And what if she wanted more of him than one night? That was a more frightening thought than pondering tonight’s events.

  Beth pulled Sean’s business card out of her purse, for one last consideration. See him again or not?

  She turned the little bit of pasteboard over in her fingers, considering what it said about him. Sean E. Lindstrom, President. Hepburn Sons, Inc. Black letters below gave an address and phone numbers. The card was as clean and direct as the man himself. Did it smell of him?

  A wet draft snatched it out of her fingers and slammed it to the floor.

  “Here, let me get that,” a man’s voice rumbled.

  “Thank you, Dave.”

  Dave Hemmings plucked the card up neatly, matching the tidiness of everything else about the Secret Service agent. He’d been brought in after September to handle security for this meeting and had rapidly calmed everyone’s fears. His average height and ordinary features could readily disappear into a crowd, his presence marked only by his physical fitness and grace.

  “Thinking of buying some real estate here in Seattle?” he asked.

  “No, not at all. I met him in a bookstore this afternoon,” Beth answered.

  “The Wise Old Owl? Gary’s bookstore?”

  “Yes; how did you know?” Beth accepted the card back.

  “Master Sergeant Sean Lindstrom was one of my instructors in Ranger School. He served with Gary in the Mog. Somalia,” he explained at Beth’s unspoken query.

  Beth stepped sideways against the wall, to allow latecomers access to the elevator. He moved with her so that they were in a small nook, under an ornately gilded wall-sconce. She kept her attention on Dave, willing him to keep talking.

  “I didn’t serve with him because I was never assigned to the Regiment. But people talked about him, called him a legend.” Dave paused, looking back in time. “Silver Star from Panama, Bronze Star for Valor from the Gulf.”

  Dave nodded confirmation at Beth’s surprise over the awards.

  “There were a lot of stories about him but he’d never tell them. Especially jokes about how he could sleep anywhere, no matter what was going on.” Dave’s mouth twitched in remembrance. His radio hummed briefly and he came alert, then relaxed at the routine conversation. He started talking again, more briskly this time. “Sean spent his entire career as a ranger, except for some time in the Old Guard just before he got out. That was after the Mog, where his best friend died.” He crossed himself at the memory.

  Panic’s edge retreated from Beth, as she absorbed Dave’s admiration of Sean.

  “Married?” she asked cautiously, shifting to a subject of immediate concern to her.

  “Widower.”

  Dave didn’t add anything to the bald declaration, seemingly lost in memories. Beth remembered Sean’s ignorance of his attractions and managed not to curse a dead woman.

  “I’m meeting him tonight. Do you have any recommendations?” She kept the question open-ended, allowing Dave to discuss the subjects he felt important. Being Dave, he caught the implications.

  “You can trust him, Beth. My daughter’s dating his son and I’m not worried about her. Well, not too worried,” he amended. “But Sean is the man I’d ask to look after my wife and family, if I thought my time had come.”

  “Thank you.” Fear became a memory, able to reappear but not soon.

  “Just one other thing.”

  Beth cocked her head at Dave’s hesitation.

  “My wife Deirdre said that Sean’s girlfriend would be the luckiest woman in Seattle.”

  Beth blinked, then blushed at Dave’s grin. “Thank you, Dave, for your confidence. I’d better be going now, if I’m going to get there on time.”

  Beth ran upstairs to grab her coat, free to enjoy the night’s potential. Playing with Sean had advantages, because she could walk away easily afterwards without worrying about any commitment. She wanted to feel the overwhelming rush of physical pleasure, nothing more, as her body relearned its most basic purpose in a man’s arms.

  She knew they could both enjoy themselves, given communication and trust. Tomorrow and its fears would have to look after themselves.

  Beth relived their previous encounter as she drove towards the bookstore, remembering every word said and every movement either of them had made, as she looked for clues on how to proceed tonight. Sean had followed her instructions promptly, emphasizing her control of the situation.

  She sighed softly, relishing the memory of how powerful she’d felt. Tonight’s brief encounter could be a pleasant release from both the stresses of her job and the memories of her conservative behavior during her engagement.

  Beth had always followed Genichi’s smallest suggestions during their courtship and engagement, as befitted a proper Japanese woman being courted by a desirable Japanese man. She had felt the need to avoid any hint of aggressive Western femininity, given her half-Scots ancestry. Nevertheless even behavior that her Japanese grandmother would have praised hadn’t prevented Genichi from publicly humiliating her.

  She’d been in an important meeting at the American embassy in Tokyo that morning, planning to accompany Genichi to meet her parents and grandmother for lunch. When the formal meeting ended early, she took some of the participants back to her office to continue talking. They’d walked in to find Genichi in flagranté delicto with the office secretary on Beth’s desk.

  Beth could still hear the secretary’s hysteria, when she climaxed at the same time she saw the audience. She could still see the Japanese bankers’ faces as they avoided looking directly at Genichi, with his bony ass pumping below his French silk shirt.

  She’d dropped her engagement ring on the floor and walked out, to face her family’s upheaval and the world’s goss
ip. She’d gone willingly back to Washington, glad to find fewer whispers.

  She pulled herself away from the old memory; it was past time to move on.

  She heard Dennis’ voice in that last phone call from his burning office at the World Trade Center on September eleventh. Live for both of us, he’d demanded. Make the most of being alive, for both of us. Find that one man who’ll suit you and build a future.

  She’d promised Dennis that she would, while the tears ran silently down her face. Her office had been a silent refuge against the upheaval in the hallways beyond, as her coworkers first tried to absorb the news from New York and the Pentagon, then left in a tumbling hurry when the evacuation order came. She’d been too calm on the subway that day, as she plotted how to get involved in the hunt for Dennis’ killers.

  She had felt blazingly alive for the first time since then, when Sean had displayed himself behind that quiet bookstore. And now she could do more with him.

  A big blond Westerner, gifted with a knack for submission, to play with for a few hours. Dennis would surely have approved.

  The rain was coming down hard when Beth reached the corner across the bookstore, driven by a strong wind that blew rain into her face. Her hair was plastered to her skin by the time she reached Sean but her shoes were only slightly damp, thanks to some careful puddle dodging. He immediately caught her by the elbow and whipped her into the bookstore where water fell off her coat with soft plops on the floor.

  Beth smiled ruefully up at him, conscious of the mascara blurred and running down her face. This was not how she had planned to meet a potential lover.

  “You look wet to the skin, Beth. Why don’t you come someplace where you can get warm and dry?” he offered.

  “Thank you, Sean. That sounds lovely.”

  Beth found herself moments later in the small apartment above the bookstore, tidy and clean with candles casting a soft light and a gas fireplace burning brightly.

  “Do you live here?”

  “No, it’s a rental property. Vacant at the moment.” Beth nodded and looked around more closely. An old-fashioned cuckoo clock hung above the mantel and a store’s neon light pulsed against the curtains, its red glow emphasizing a couple of books laid out on the small table. She started to remember the books’ plots but turned her attention back to Sean as he spoke.

  “Let me take that wet coat of yours. There’s a bedroom and bathroom through there where you can freshen up. Would you like some coffee or maybe something stronger? You must be cold after that drenching.”

  “Thank you, I’d like some coffee. Decaf if you have it,” Beth accepted and turned down the hallway. She caught his reflection in a framed poster’s glass, as he avidly watched her departing back. Strength slid into her hunger for him. She kept her eyes straight ahead, not revealing that she’d caught the revealing look.

  Beth closed the bedroom door and quickly found the bathroom. A brief search revealed a hair dryer and she set to work repairing the weather’s attacks on her person. Unfortunately, her hair and makeup had taken the worst of it.

  Still, a few minutes saw her hair acceptable again. And her purse provided the ingredients needed to rebuild her appearance, with a quick gloss of mascara and lipstick. A simpler look than she normally wore to play with a man but hopefully still effective.

  An open book on the bed caught her eye, as she left the bathroom. She picked it up curiously and her eyebrows went up as she read how the Queen spanked Prince Alexi.

  A moment’s reflection brought the realization that the books in the living room were also stories of men being dominated by women. Further thought convinced her that the books must be Sean’s and their presence must be planned.

  He was cruising for a lover, telling her what he hoped for. No pressure on her, just an open door for her to walk through, if she chose to.

  Beth began to consider possible responses to Sean’s strong hints.

  Chastity? Hardly. They both knew that this evening would end in the bedroom.

  A vanilla evening, with pleasure for both while ignoring the books’ suggestions? The safest course, but lacking the heart-pounding rapture of a well-played scene.

  Sean had trusted her enough to risk humiliation by exposing his inner wishes. He couldn’t be an experienced player, given his clumsiness at the bookstore. He could probably taste his nerves right now.

  Years of practice knit themselves in Beth’s backbone as Sean’s fantasies hummed in her blood. She could show him a good time, taking the responsibility for their joint pleasure by dominating him. He wouldn’t have to worry about a thing, which was possibly best for his inexperience.

  Oh, the delights of introducing him to sexual play during a power exchange. Beth’s eyes slitted as she purred at the possibilities, enjoying the throb of arousal beating in her throat.

  The riskiest course but she’d take it. After all, if it didn’t work with Sean, then she hadn’t lost a relationship that mattered. She’d never dominated a stranger before, only men that she already knew were comfortable at submitting to a woman. Dominating a man was tricky, especially given the intense connection necessary to read his unspoken responses quickly and accurately.

  She took a deep breath and focused her energies on feeling confident and strong and sensual. Her little black dress, fresh from the runways of Milan, and her pearl earrings were the epitome of classic feminine power, especially when combined with high heels and black stockings. Her body was emphasized by the sleek style, although only a small amount of décolletage showed.

  Beth opened the door into the living room. Sean’s head came up and he watched her from his post by the window.

  “How do you want your coffee, Beth?” His voice came out in a clumsy rasp.

  “Coffee can wait.” Beth waved a dismissive hand. “Care to have some fun first, handsome?”

  “Of course.” His eyes were very wide and he licked his lower lip nervously.

  She strolled across the room to him, enjoying how his eyes watched every movement. She looked him over slowly, taking in every detail of his appearance from the golden hair crowning his head to the leather boots on his big feet. Her eyes lingered longest on the growing bulge behind his fly and Sean’s breathing faltered. Her eyes traveled slowly back up to his face and she smiled slowly, lasciviously at the open lust on his face.

  She walked her fingers delicately up his right hand, enjoying the contrast between their hands. Hers were beautifully manicured, with nails only lightly frosted, while his bore signs of recent hard work. She caught his hand up and traced the lifeline in his palm. The gentle, repetitive caress eased his breathing into a rhythmic pattern.

  Then she glided her hand up his arm to his shoulder, feeling the long lines of muscle under his brilliantly colored ski sweater. A cashmere or alpaca sweater would have been nice, soft enough to let her feel more of the muscle and bone underneath the wool. His eyelids grew heavy as he watched her face.

  Beth stepped in closer to him and traced his jaw with a single fingertip. Such a strong face with eyes set under level brows, a straight blade of a nose, a slash of a mouth. The upper lip was tightly controlled above the more sensual lower lip, ready for laughter before cynicism.

  “Were you in the military?” she asked. Only this moment mattered, not what anyone else said.

  “I was a ranger for eleven years.”

  “Did you wear a helmet?” She traced his temple back to his ear, finding the faint prickle of freshly shaved skin.

  “Yes, ma’am.” His heavy eyes watched her, questions kept back.

  “How far down did the helmet come on your forehead?”

  He marked the line with the edge of his hand.

  “On the sides of your face?”

  He showed her with both hands. She caught his wrists, keeping the frame around his eyes and mouth.

  “Viking,” she breathed, recognizing him from pictures in museums and old textbooks. He blinked in surprise but had the sense to stay still, letting the chemist
ry build between them.

  “Viking,” Beth said again and kissed him. She traced his lips with her tongue, exploring their shape and strength, until his mouth opened under her gentle urging.

  “Viking warrior,” she breathed into his mouth, just before hers took possession of him. They kissed slowly, learning each other’s tastes and textures, until she pulled back. His hand dropped from her waist while she continued to caress his cheek.

  Sean took a deep breath and let his eyes close. She fondled his neck, enjoying the difference between his masculine strength and its innate vulnerability, laid bare by his severe hair cut.

  Beth gradually remembered her self-discipline.

  “Have you ever wanted to worship a woman, Sean?” she queried huskily.

  “Yes. Hell, yes,” he groaned.

  “Care to try it here and now, with me?”

  He nodded, a pulse pounding in his jaw. He was still frozen, outlined by the rippling neon light.

  “Of course, as the goddess present, I get to say what I want and you get to do it. Can you manage that?”

  “I can do whatever you say, Beth,” he vowed, his eyes blazing blue fire.

  “Good lad,” she sighed. “I’d rather like to be worshipped tonight. Come over here and rub my feet.”

  Sean immediately obeyed, dropping at her feet and reverently lifting off first one shoe, then the other. He set the shoes aside carefully, neatly aligned by the end table, and cupped her left foot in his hand. He slowly ran his thumb from her big toe up to her ankle, stretching and relaxing her aching bones. Her feet ached badly tonight, thanks to the combination of an old diving injury and the cold wet weather. His big warm hands were the perfect antidote.

  Beth purred happily as he carefully rubbed her left foot and then her right. It was surprising that he followed her order so easily. This must truly have been his fantasy, although obeying orders of any type might be easier for a military man. But his enthusiasm relaxed her and she felt more and more like an irresistible woman.