Freed (Assassin's Revenge Book 3) Read online

  We walked past a neighbourhood boulangerie and I remembered the way she’d moaned in pleasure as I’d held a bag with croissants out to her that long-ago morning. “Let’s go in,” I said on impulse. She’d lost a lot of weight in the intervening two years and I didn’t like it.

  She let herself be dragged into the bakery and we took a seat. When the waitress came by, I ordered us coffees and pastries and she sighed. “Alexander,” she protested weakly, “I can’t survive French bakeries without gaining a ton of weight. I know I’m supposed to pretend that it’s effortless being thin, but it really isn’t.”

  “Just eat,” I told her. The waitress had placed slices of tarte tatin in front of both of us and she was eyeing her piece with intent hunger. My lips twitched a little at her expression.

  “Well,” she said reluctantly, “you are my Dominant. This is an order, right?”

  I laughed out aloud. “Sure, cherie.”

  She made an adorably scrunched up face, wrinkling her nose at me. “Okay,” she sighed, relaxing for the first time that day, “that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t really understand her. Two years ago, I’d found her body curvy and lush and irresistible. An intriguing mix of tender softness and toned muscles. Now, she looked like a brisk wind would blow her away. I had my suspicions that this was part of her disguise so that I wouldn’t recognize her.

  She made a little moan of pleasure as she dug into her tarte and I rolled my eyes. “Do you like music, Jenny?” I asked her. “Want to go to the symphony tonight?”

  “I don’t know anything about classical music,” she replied hesitantly. She looked briefly upset before her expression shuttered.

  “Want to try it?”

  She nodded. “Yes, please. I’d love to.”

  I glanced at my watch. “We should hurry then,” I told her. “The concert starts in two hours.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Is it far away?” she asked. I shook my head and she grinned. “How long do the women you know take to get ready?”

  “Forever.”

  “In that case, Alexander,” her voice was teasing, “I’m about to blow your mind. Because I can get ready in fifteen minutes. Ten, if you insist.”

  “Is that so?” I asked her with a grin of my own. I sensed a dare in the offing.

  She nodded confidently.

  “A wager then, cherie? Any more than ten minutes, and you’ll pay your penance in the playroom.”

  She furrowed her brows for a brief second. “Safe words?”

  “Always. I don’t play without them.”

  “In that case,” she rose to her feet, “bring it on, Alexander.”

  I tossed some money down and held the door open for her with a smile on my face. I had no use for submissives who flinched when I frowned. I liked Jenny so much better when she was challenging me.

  Chapter 2

  Alexander:

  “Thirteen minutes,” I said. I laughed inwardly at the look of chagrin on her face. “But worth every second of it. You look spectacular.”

  Though I preferred her as a redhead, the midnight blue floor length gown suited her. Her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail and her makeup was light. Her lips were red and for an instant, the only thing I could think of was those lips wrapped around my cock.

  Don’t be a dick, Alexander, I chided myself. I walked towards her. “Are you ready to get punished in the playroom?”

  “I thought we were going to the symphony,” she shot back cheekily.

  I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out aloud. “We are,” I replied. My gaze dropped to her bare neck. “You aren’t wearing any jewelry,” I pointed out.

  She made a face. “Do I have to?”

  She didn’t like feeling owned. More than once, she’d made her feelings clear on that and I understood. Had we been going to a neighbourhood bar to drink some wine and listen to a band play, I wouldn’t have insisted. She had every right to wear what she wanted.

  But I was insanely rich and the symphony would be crawling with women who wanted me and would make no secret of it. Her couture gown, my bespoke suit, the jewelry – all of this was armour. “Please? It would please me very much.”

  Her expression became deliberately neutral. “Of course,” she acquiesced. “What should I wear?”

  The necklace I pulled out from a box at the side table was immensely old. When the newly formed French republic had decreed a sale of the Crown Jewels in an attempt to ensure that there would never again be a king in France, the gems were removed from their settings and sold piecemeal. One of those stones was the large yellow diamond I held in my hand, now dangling from a delicate filigree of gold.

  I had bid for it in an auction a few weeks after I’d made my first hundred million dollars, though it hadn’t been an act of celebration. It had been an act of defiance. I knew I wasn’t allowed real relationships and there was never going to be a woman I could permit myself to get involved with. But that day, I’d bought the diamond in a symbolic protest against those constraints.

  It had sat in a bank locker ever since then. Today, in an act of uncharacteristic impulsiveness, I’d retrieved it and brought it home, because I wanted to see it around her neck. This woman who’d been in my thoughts for two years.

  “Come here,” I said. I moved her hair away and fastened the clasp around her neck, dropping a kiss on that bared spot before I pulled away. “Before you start protesting, it’s just a loan,” I told her. “Also, I’m supposed to warn you by the insurers that it’s quite valuable and you should try not to lose it.”

  “How valuable?” Her tone was wary.

  “Valuable enough.” It had cost as much as the fucking jet and was far less useful, though I didn’t see the point in telling her that. It would only freak her out. “Shall we?”

  She took my outstretched hand. “Why do I have a feeling you aren’t telling me everything, Alexander?” she asked dryly.

  Probably because it was true. “The symphony is being patriotic tonight,” I said, sidestepping that conversation. “They are playing Debussy and Ravel. It promises to be quite good.”

  “Hey, I’ve heard Bolero before,” she responded with sudden enthusiasm. “Isn’t that Ravel?”

  I smiled at her glee. “You know more about classical music than you think then, cherie.”

  She shook her head. “My memory is just really good,” she replied. I had a feeling she was telling me something important about herself, but before I could focus on it, she smiled a bright smile. “Let’s go? We don’t want to be late.”

  ***

  We weren’t late. We got there with plenty of time to spare. I saw her eyes widen as she took in the unparalleled opulence of the Palais Garnier. “I’ve never been here before,” she whispered.

  She’d make a terrible deep-cover operative. Of course she’d never been to the Palais Garnier. According to her cover story, this was only her third day in Paris. She was good at working in her imaginary sister into conversation, but beyond that, she’d do tiny things that didn’t quite add up.

  I could understand. Deep cover was exhausting. I’d maintained a cover of my own for so many years that I’d forgotten how hard it had been at the beginning. So many times, I’d wanted to look at people in the eye and shout out – I know who you are. I know your secrets.

  She didn’t seem to realize her slip-up and I didn’t pounce. I wanted her walls down. I wanted to know who she was working for and what she really wanted.

  Really? My conscience prodded at me. Is that the only reason? Is that why she’s wearing the diamond around her neck?

  “The Palais Garnier was used as the setting for Phantom of the Opera,” I told her. “Would you like something to eat or drink? There’s a restaurant upstairs.”

  “I’m supposed to tell you that I’m full from the pastry you made me eat,” she replied ruefully. “But I’m actually starving.”

  She was noticeably more relaxed aro
und me than she had been earlier in the evening. I couldn’t explain why it mattered but it did. “Come on then, Jenny.”

  If I had it my way, we would have eaten somewhere else. The L’Opera restaurant on a concert night was a place to see and to be seen. The wealthy preened there, with young women on their arms. There were more diamonds in that room then at a DeBeers convention. I rarely ate there, finding the atmosphere fake and pretentious beyond belief.

  The waiter led the way to a secluded booth where we would be guaranteed our privacy. Unfortunately, we were intercepted by someone I definitely did not want to run into. Pierre Baudot.

  Heir to a cosmetics empire, dissolute playboy and wannabe Dom, Pierre had tried year after year to convince Lori to allow him to attend her auction. Year after year, Lori had refused him entry, noting that he treated his women like property.

  But Pierre did know about the auction and he was not stupid. He could put two and two together. Instinctively, my arm went around Jenny’s waist. I wanted to protect her from this.

  “Ah, Alexander,” he came up to us. “Ca va?”

  “Pierre.” I didn’t keep the disdain out of my voice; the man knew exactly what I thought of him.

  “Et vous êtes?” He held out his hand to Jenny.

  “She doesn’t speak French,” I said in English. “Jenny, this is Pierre Baudot. Pierre, Jenny Fullerton.”

  “Ah, you are visiting, yes? Conveniently for three months, like Alexander’s other women?” His eyes roved all over her body, resting for an instant too long on her cleavage. The look in his eyes was covetous and knowing.

  I wanted to punch Pierre in the face. I felt Jenny stiffen next to me, then she put her arm around my waist. “Good to meet you,” she said. Her voice was cold. “Alexander, we should eat?”

  My kitten had claws. Fancy that. I suppressed a smile and nodded to Pierre. “Au revoir,” I told him. I had no doubt that I’d run into him again. Some people, like bad pennies, kept showing up.

  In the booth, she looked at me steadily. “He knows about the auction?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Is he not rich enough to participate?” Her voice was curious.

  “He treats his women like possessions and Lori doesn’t approve,” I responded. “You didn’t find him charming? He’s wealthy enough. Lots of women like that.”

  “He scared me.”

  I nodded. “You have good instincts then. Pierre thinks he can buy women.”

  “You are wealthy enough and you actually bought me,” she pointed out.

  “Have I ever treated you like a possession, Jenny?”

  She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “You haven’t.” Her eyes met mine. “I’m sorry. May I pay the price in the playroom?”

  “No.” My voice was harsh. “I understand that trust is organic, that it comes over time. It is earned, not given. But I’m going to say this again and I’ll keep saying it until you do believe it. I’m not going to punish you for having a conversation with me.” I looked at her. “Do you think my ego is so sensitive that I’m going to beat you for disagreeing with me?”

  She trusted me two years ago in Paris. I wanted that moment again. I wished I knew what was different this time.

  She flushed. “I do trust you not to hurt me,” she whispered.

  “Do you?”

  Food and wine appeared in front of us. I took a sip of the deep red as I waited for her response.

  “I’ve never been afraid of you in bed.” Her eyes were lowered on her plate. “I recognise that there’s a difference between you and Pierre.”

  If we both were honest with each other, we wouldn’t be dancing around, playing word games and trying to avoid the misunderstandings, but I couldn’t reveal the truth without knowing who she was and why she had found me. Until my detectives uncovered her identity, we were stuck in this pas-de-deux.

  It had been so much easier two years ago.

  ***

  I gestured to the chandelier in the centre of the theatre as we walked in. “It fell once, killing a member of the orchestra. They wrote that into the Phantom of the Opera.”

  Her mouth formed into a perfectly expressive O; her eyes widened. “Really? Or are you just making it up?”

  I shook my head. I held her hand as the symphony got underway. Her eyes were closed as the music started. Her shoulders swayed unconsciously to the melody, her foot tapped a soft rhythm. I didn’t watch the stage – I watched her. I couldn’t pull my eyes away.

  She looked sad when it was done, another unexpected reaction. I was going to lean in and ask her if she was okay, but unprompted, she spoke first. Her voice was very soft. “I wish I got to go to the symphony more…” she said wistfully.

  Her cover story was that money was tight and that any available funds were going to her sister’s treatment. After all, that was the reason she was supposed to be at Lori’s auction. Of course, with each passing moment, I believed that story less and less, but I let her stick with it. For now... “Are tickets too expensive?”

  I expected her answer to be ‘yes.’ I’d more or less given her the perfect reply, one that didn’t require any effort to answer. Going to the symphony was not cheap in most cities.

  She surprised me instead with an answer that felt very close to the truth. “I don’t know who I am, Alexander,” she said. Her eyes were bleak. “My life is stuck on ‘pause.’ I put all my dreams on hold a few years ago and now I’ve lost them. I don’t know what I like anymore. When you asked me what my favourite book was, I couldn’t tell you because I didn’t know. Favourite TV show? I haven’t watched TV in so many years.” She took a deep breath and seemed to be fighting back the urge to cry, and my hand tightened on hers in sympathy. She leaned against my shoulder, her head tucked in under my chin. I felt a stab of pure protectiveness. I wanted to take care of her. I wanted to make everything better.

  “When you asked me today if I liked the symphony, I had no answer for you,” she continued, her voice a whisper against my chest. “And I don’t even know how to dance. I feel so empty.”

  My bright star. I stroked her arm. “You know how to dance,” I contradicted. “You danced with Rachid in Bangkok. I was watching.” I kissed her hair. “You did great.”

  “He taught me,” she responded. “A half-hour of lessons does not a dancer make.” Her voice was wry. “I thought you might beat him up. Or punish me.”

  I was utterly confused. I could tell she didn’t mean to voice that thought, but we were sitting in my private box in the Palais Garnier, we were entirely alone and her shields were down. “Why?” I asked her, puzzled.

  “Because I was dancing with another man.”

  My lips thinned. I couldn’t abide the kind of possessiveness she was describing, the one that reduced her to an object. “Jealousy is an emotion for the insecure, Jenny. I don’t need to keep you in a cage. If you want to fly away, you are free to do so. If you stay, I want it to be because you want to be here.”

  She wasn’t here for the million dollars. The reason she was staying with me was something else, and I needed to get to the bottom of it. Two years ago, she’d come home with me because she’d wanted to. I wanted that authenticity back. That honest desire.

  “No,” she agreed. “I’m slowly coming to realize that.” She took a deep breath. “I bet you regret bidding on me.” Her voice was rueful. “The auction had so many other girls that weren’t carrying so much baggage. Susan, for example, had quite the crush on you. She would have made a great submissive.”

  I didn’t have a choice on whether to bid on her and it wasn’t Lori’s request that had made the decision for me. The instant I had looked into her green eyes, my options had been stripped away. I had to seize the second chance. “Susan? Is that what you think?” I responded instead.

  “I’m surprised you even know who Susan is.”

  “There were fifteen women in that room. Susan’s attended three times.”

  She stiffened slightly under me. “
If you were interested enough to know that, why didn’t you bid on her?”

  She was jealous? I couldn’t help a small grin at that thought. If I were being perfectly honest, my answer would have been - Because you were there, bright star. And everyone else just faded to the background.

  I gave her a different answer but one that was just as true as the first one. “Because she had stars in her eyes when she looked at me. I don’t get involved and I don’t toy with people’s feelings. Susan is the kind of woman that would fall in love and that would be pointless and futile.”

  She pulled away. Her eyes were lowered and her expression hidden from me. “You like playing the field then? Variety is the spice of life? Why have one woman when you can have many?”

  There was a note of judgement in her voice and it stung. I shouldn’t have cared. If she wanted to believe the worst of me, perhaps I should have just let her. But two years ago, I hadn’t been able to lie to her about the way I felt, and it was the same now. I was lying through my teeth about facts, but the underlying emotions? There could be no subterfuge there. Not with her. Not from the first moment I met her.

  I took a deep inward breath. “No,” I said. If Jean-Luc could have heard my next words, he would have punched me in the face for endangering our mission and I would have deserved it. “Do you ever have a goal in life that’s so important that everything else must fall by the wayside, lest it distract you from your purpose?”

  From the way she stiffened next to me, I could tell my words had resonated. I would have paused to inquire why, but once the dam had burst, the words poured out. It was as if my soul needed to explain that no, I didn’t need an unending line of women to be entertained. I was human. I yearned for love and companionship as much as the next person. Given the loneliness of my childhood, possibly a lot more than the next person. But I couldn’t allow myself the luxury of straying from my path.

  “Three months is all I can permit myself,” I said. “So I pick women who are aligned with that. Susan would not have been able to walk away at the end with ease. I am many things, but I am not cruel.”