Page 60 of Vienna Bliss

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 of 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.