Vienna Bliss Read online

  “Have you told them that yet?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  They were silent, and Alena felt stupid and antsy all at the same time. She needed to pull it together, say something, and then walk away.

  Alexander beat her to it. “Thank you, Alena. Without you I would never have known about Absolon’s actions.”

  Thank you for helping me with my business? After everything they’d been through, that’s what he was going to say?

  “You’re welcome.” Alena forced a bright smile. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Alexander.” She tossed in a wink.

  His expression was stony, and he only nodded.

  Alena turned away. She made it four steps before she stopped. She hadn’t made a conscious decision to stop. It was more like her heart had wrenched control of her body away from her pride.

  Alena spun on her toes, raced back to Alexander, and threw her arms around him. She hugged him tight, bringing her lips to his ear. Her throat was already tight with tears, but she managed to say what she needed to. Say the words she’d been too scared to speak.

  “You’re not a monster. You’re perfect. My black knight, my quiet man.” She squeezed him tight, one last time. “I love you, Alexander Wagner. Remember that.”

  Alena released him and stepped back. She went to Rolf, who took her arm.

  She didn’t realize she was holding her breath, hoping Alexander would call her name, stop her from leaving, until they were out the door. She’d hoped to hold off crying until she was at her hotel in Paris.

  She didn’t even make it to the car before the tears fell.

  Epilogue

  She didn’t find the letter until she’d been home for nearly a week.

  After a day debriefing in Paris, she’d finally flown back to her adopted hometown of Chicago. Though her accent would always give away that she was from the south, she had no desire to live anywhere her father had too much influence.

  There were plenty of practical reasons to live in Chicago—and plenty of reasons why she often spent the worst of the Chicago winter either in Europe or her second home in Washington State. But she lived in, and loved Chicago, for the art.

  When Alena found the envelope, tucked into the bottom of her suitcase, beside a flat jewelry box, she resisted the urge to rip it open right away. Instead she sat cross-legged on the floor and opened the box.

  Inside was the pearl choker, the broken strand repaired.

  And her broken heart began to hope.

  She’d managed to keep her mind off Alexander since she’d been home, instead focusing on the minutia of life. The one thing she hadn’t done was unpack, afraid opening the suitcase would be the luggage equivalent of opening Pandora’s box.

  Stupid, because this had been waiting for her.

  Alena blinked, causing the first tears to fall, as she touched the pearls, then raised her hand and caressed the gold panels of the choker he’d given her. She’d added an extender, turning it into a short necklace rather than a collar-like choker, but she was still wearing it.

  She hadn’t taken it off except to shower.

  Alena rushed to dress and then slid the envelope in her pocket. She lived only blocks from Millennium Park, and once she made it through the perpetual wind tunnel that was Randolph Street, she cut quickly through the park to The Art Institute of Chicago.

  It was one of her favorite places in the world. Depending on the content of the letter she would either rejoice in a place she loved, or find solace there.

  She showed her pass and slid in, around crowds of tourists. Up the stairs, and then there was a quiet bench, under the skylight. Alena sat and took the letter from her pocket. She stroked the paper, and then smelled it, but it smelled like her suitcase instead of him.

  Finally, she’d tormented herself enough—she really was a masochist—and opened the envelope.

  * * *

  Alena—

  I’ve always preferred written communication to oral, which is why I’m writing this letter. As I write it I’m promising myself that I won’t give it to you. It would be unfair of me to do so, because once you leave Vienna you should be free of me, without having a reminder of our time together forced on you.

  I can hear your voice in my head, berating me. Teasing me. The fact that I hear you so clearly, that you’ve become a part of me, is why I’m writing.

  There’s something I need to say. Something I fear I would never manage to say elegantly if forced to say it aloud.

  I love you.

  You said it to me once, and even at that time I loved you. But I doubted you, and myself. Now I know what I felt then was only a shadow of what my love for you would become.

  What I feel when I am with you…it is bliss.

  I do not deserve you, which is why I wouldn’t say this in person. You tell me I am not a monster, but the bargain we struck, and what came after it, were cruel things.

  Again, I hear you in my head. Telling me I’m not a monster. I hear you calling me your quiet man, and that makes me smile.

  If you do read this letter, please know I expect nothing. I only want to tell you that I love you.

  Yours forever,

  Alexander

  * * *

  Alena pressed the letter to her chest and let out a happy little laugh. He loved her. She hadn’t known this kind of joy—no, what word had he used?—bliss, was possible.

  She wiped the tears from her eyes and read the letter again. It was even more perfect the second time around.

  Then she blinked and cursed. It had been nearly a week since she’d been back, he probably thought—

  A man sat down beside her. Alena turned and stared. For a moment she wasn’t sure he was real, or really there.

  “You read my letter?” Alexander shifted, adjusting his suit jacket. There was a faint blush on his cheeks.

  She reached over and pinched him.

  “Ouch.” He frowned at her.

  “You’re real. And you’re here. In Chicago.”

  “Yes. I…I thought since I hadn’t heard from you... I was just pulling up to your apartment when I saw you leaving so I followed you. I had to stop and buy a ticket though.” He pointed to the sticker on his jacket.

  Alena didn’t know if she wanted to laugh, hug him, or kiss him.

  She settled on all three, throwing herself into his arms. She felt him smile against her mouth before he returned the kiss, which was soft but no less passionate for its gentleness.

  She broke the kiss, pulling back to stroke his cheek. Then she grabbed his earlobe and pinched it.

  “Ouch. Again.” He glared at her.

  “I told you I loved you. Twice I said it first.” She thought back to that last night in Vienna and bared her teeth at him. “I walked all the way across that room, heart breaking. Why didn’t you tell me you loved me, too?”

  He considered her for a long moment. “If I answer, you’ll pinch me. Again.”

  “Probably. Answer anyway.”

  He sighed. “I almost…I almost did, but I thought maybe you said it… With what had just happened and…”

  “You, once again, think you know what I’m thinking and feeling better than I do?”

  “Don’t pinch me.”

  She pinched him.

  “Ouch.”

  “Listen up, suga’. If we’re going to do this, you have got to stop assuming I don’t know my own feelings. There’s being a Dom, and then there’s that. I only like one of them.”

  “I realized my mistake about half an hour after you left. Zakaria made me wait out the rest of the party, and then I thought maybe I’d wait, wait…” He stumbled a little, paused, then went on. “I decided to wait for your response to the letter.”

  “This letter was buried at the bottom of my luggage.” She shook the paper at him, but gently. She was going to save it until the day she died. “I considered just throwing the whole suitcase away rather than facing the memories. If you want to type instead of talk, w
hy didn’t you just send me an email with a read receipt? Then you’d know if I got it.”

  “Ah, yes.” He cleared his throat and shifted.

  “Text message.”

  “Another option.”

  “Carrier pigeon.”

  He sighed. “You’re making fun of me.”

  “I am.” Alena grinned at him. She was so damned happy. “You’re here.”

  “Yes.”

  “You love me.”

  He smiled and picked up her hand, turning it to kiss her palm before saying, “Yes.”

  “But I want to hear you say it.”

  Holding her hand to his cheek, he spoke with a firm sincerity. “I love you.”

  “And I love you.” She loved him so much she didn’t even mind the one-word answers. There were things that weren’t resolved, difficulties they would still face. The investigation was ongoing and she would have to be careful not to be seen with him, either in Vienna or photographed by a gossip sit, until it was. Absolon had yet to pay for his crimes.

  Those were things to be discussed and dealt with, but right now they didn’t matter. They were in love, and all the rest could wait. “Come home with me?”

  He touched her hair, her cheek, and then, for a man who claimed not to be good with words, he said the perfect thing.

  “I am home.”

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  About the Author

  Lila Dubois is an award winning, multi-published, bestselling author of erotic, paranormal and fantasy romance. Her book “J is for…”, the tenth book in the bestselling checklist series, won the 2019 National Readers’ Choice Award. Additionally, she’s been nominated for the RT Book Reviews Erotic Novella of the Year for “Undone Rebel” and the Golden Flogger. Having spent extensive time in France, Egypt, Turkey, Ireland and England Lila speaks five languages, none of them (including English) fluently. Lila lives in California with her own Irish Farm Boy and loves receiving email from readers.

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  The BDSM Checklist Series

  Lila Dubois writing as L. DuBois

  Do you know your A, B, Cs?

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  A is for…

  The overseers of LA’s most exclusive BDSM club have a sexy new game that all members must play, and experienced sub Anna has no choice but to participate, despite the fact that she is only months away from being bonded.

  Master Jensen knows who, and what, he wants—Anna—but when he’s assigned the first letter of the alphabet he must prove to himself, and the lovely submissive, that he’s willing to push them both to their limits, and maybe beyond.

  When Anna and Jensen are forced to face the depth of their desires, and the painful origins of their relationship, they’ll learn that the worst pain comes not from a whip, but from the heart.

  * * *

  A is for…

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  Pain or pleasure. In the end it didn’t matter. She craved both.

  Anna kept her breaths slow and even, trying to make as little noise as possible. Drawing attention to herself right now would be like a mouse squeaking in a room full of hungry jungle cats.

  The submissive kneeling beside her shifted, wincing a little. Anna’s legs hurt too—they’d been waiting here for over half an hour, and the concrete was hard against her knees and toes. She wanted to raise her head and look around, but she didn’t dare.

  Slaves and submissives knelt in various states of undress in the center of the large open space. Some sat back on their heels, others were kneeling up, their bodies straight from head to knee. Still others sat cross-legged with their hands laced together behind their backs.

  The Masters and Doms lounged on couches or in chairs along two of the walls. More were in the seating area in the converted hay loft, leaning forward to look down at the bounty of flesh on the ground floor. Some prowled the edges of kneeling men and women like predators circling a heard of prey.

  They were assembled in the barn, the only space in Las Palmas large enough to house everyone. To outsiders it might seem like nothing more than an upscale adobe-style barn, built to match the massive, sprawling mansion a hundred yards away. Las Palmas was a beautiful property north of Los Angeles, named for the twin rows of palm trees that lined the drive and circled the mansion. The barn was only one of the many outbuildings and, despite its name, was nicer than most people’s homes, with brushed concrete floors, air conditioning and teak doors on the ten large stalls. It had been built to house finicky purebred horses, but both the barn and the mansion served a darker purpose.

  Wood groaned as the heavy double doors opened. Anna caught her breath and dropped her chin to her chest. She stared at the top of her own breasts, exposed to just above the nipple by the black corset she wore. Matching stockings, panties and a garter belt completed her ensemble. Outside Las Palmas the lingerie would have been exciting and racy. Here it was the equivalent of a t-shirt and jeans.

  Footsteps clicked on the concrete—two pairs of boots and a pair of high heels. She’d been a serious submissive for several years now, and after spending that much time with her head down, she’d become very good at identifying the sound of footsteps.

  “Masters, Mistresses, thank you for joining us. Subs, focus on us.”

  Anna raised her head. Around her the other subs and slaves shifted to obey, rearranging themselves and focusing their attention on the three people standing in the center of the assembly.

  Master Leo, Mistress Faith and Master Mikel drew the eye and commanded attention. Each was tall and slim. Master Leo and Mistress Faith wore half masks. Master Mikel did not. He had a narrow, strong face and dark eyes, which regarded the submissives with a sort of lazy pleasure.

  They were the owners of Las Palmas, and overseers of Las Palmas Oscuras—The Dark Palms—the name they’d given to the exclusive and secretive BDSM club housed on the estate. Referred to simply as Las Palmas, anyone who overheard a member talking about it and went snooping would find a website detailing the architectural and cultural history of the property.

  “We’ve called you here for a very serious reason,” Mistress Faith said, her voice cool and clear. She was in her early fifties and favored trim, tailored dresses instead of leather pants or latex gloves. She radiated power like a fire gave off heat.

  “We’ve become complacent,” Master Leo added. “Each of us has found pleasure and pain, often both, within these walls.”

  “And yet,” Master Mikel continued, “we do not push ourselves. Comfort and safety is for the mortals out there.” He threw out one long arm, his dress shirt pulling back to expose his strong brown wrist. For a moment Anna thought she could see bruises, like those left by a cuff, but that couldn’t be. “We are gods, gods who are growing lazy and stupid in our complacency.”

  Anna’s heartbeat raced. Though the subs and slaves remained still, she saw the Masters and Doms straightening, some who were seated rising to their feet.

  “If you want to play the same games, if you want the safety of the known, then we invite you to leave. The contract you signed when you joined will remain in effect. Any discussion of who we are or what we do will be met with swift, harsh retribution.”

  There were several long minutes of silence. No one moved. Membership at Las Palmas was limited to a very select few—wealth, beauty and depravity were all required to even be
considered. Anna suspected that many of the people in the room were like her—they didn’t just enjoy this place, they needed it. It soaked up and exercised a darkness within them that otherwise might have run rampant.

  “I warn you,” Mistress Faith said, “the offer will not be made again. By remaining here you consent to the…activity.” The syllables of the word “activity” rolled from the Mistress’s mouth, as if she’d been savoring them before speaking.

  There were a few chuckles, some muttering from the Doms and Masters, but again, no one left.

  “Very well,” Master Leo said. “Let’s explain the rules.”

  Master Mikel went to the door of the tack room. He wheeled out a large board draped in black cloth, and positioned it against the wall.

  “My friends and companions in debauchery.” There was a hint of amusement in Master Mikel’s voice. “Prepare yourselves.” He pulled off the cloth.

  Keep reading A is for…

  Also by Lila Dubois

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  San Francisco Lost

  San Francisco Love

  The Paris Trilogy

  Paris Pleasure

  Paris Punishment

  Paris Promise

  The Vienna Trilogy

  Vienna Betrayal

  Vienna Bargain

  Vienna Bliss

  Masters’ Admiralty Erotic Ménage Romance written with New York Times bestselling author Mari Carr

  Treachery’s Devotion

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