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“No, you don’t really know. This is not some simple fantasy to tickle your prurient fancy, Laney Priestly. You were warned by two men I trusted to drop your goal of finding me—you should have heeded their warning. You have no idea what you’ve stumbled on, what you’ve demanded of your life by confronting me this way.
“There is nothing romantic or idealistic about serving me. It can be hard, miserable, demeaning work, that will give you very little of the sexual pleasure you seek. If you thought this was a game of sexual pretend “—oddly his words mocked the scene on Marquis Island with Alex— “you are sadly mistaken. If you think this is about your sexual fulfillment, you’ll soon discover it is not. It is about my pleasure, and that of the men who have joined my circle of sadists. If you derive any pleasure at all, it’s not because it’s my goal to make that happen.”
He stopped long enough for Laney to come back with a reply.
“If it was your plan to scare me off, sir, you are doing a very good job of it.”
“Is that so?” he mocked her. “Why now? Reality finally bite you in the butt?”
She had no reply. Her head was throbbing, confusion filling her brain. Her fears mounted and tears ran down her cheeks streaking her carefully applied make-up.
“You want the bracelet off now—that’s not up to you anymore, you lost that chance when you started on your ill-fated odyssey. If you think you can walk away just because this arrangement suddenly doesn’t suit you, you are wrong. If you think you can walk back into your old life as a high paid East Coast lawyer, you have underestimated the man you’re dealing with. You have underestimated my power.
“Oh, I see that razor sharp legal mind of yours start working double-time, don’t think you have recourse with your government. Let me assure you, you are no longer under their protection. You’re here. In my house. You leave only if I let you leave. If I so choose, I could have you arrested—just as I did a few days ago—and incarcerated for as long as it pleases me. Your State Department would take little interest in returning you from foreign soil once they saw the charges filed against you.” He raised his brows evilly. “Or, I could just keep you here as my captive, where no one would ever find you.”
Suddenly lightheaded, she could feel her dizzying trepidation practically send her careening to the floor.
The Marquis grabbed her by the arm to keep her upright. “Cut your silly theatrics, and listen to me.”
“I’m sorry,” she quietly whispered.
“There is not a soul on this planet other than the people in this room who know where you are, and they won’t tell anyone unless I tell them to. The shopkeeper in Paris probably told you that he didn’t know my whereabouts; he wasn’t lying. The bastard Kafka who kidnapped you probably told you he’s my enemy. He is right, but he would not know me if we were sitting side by side on a park bench. You wonder what happened to the bastard and his revenge… you can be sure he’s been taken care of, although not in the way he planned.
“Welcome to my world, my sexual underground. I operate free of encumbrances from any government. You might say I’m in the world, but not of it. And you’re in my world now. You’re stuck here, victim to me. I’m sure that’s not what you intended when you practically beat upon my door. Whatever romantic notions you might have entertained about the sexual activities you have been introduced to through your association with me—or because of that bracelet—you can be sure that my properties find little of that here.
“You think maybe that young fisherman…what was his name?”
“Alex Greenwood,” she answered softly.
“Yes, that’s right, Alex Greenwood. I doubt he’ll be much help to you. Turn around.”
She gazed back at him stunned.
“I said turn around,” the Marquis prompted.
She turned, her eyes scanning several men she’d only glanced at before, and then suddenly focused clearly on the man she recognized.
“May I introduce you to Alexi Ruschke.”
“Alex!”
No shorts, no t-shirt, no baseball cap or knapsack of sandwiches—no fishy smell, no boat, no island. Instead what stood before her, leaning aloof and casual against the doorjamb, was a man who could have walked from the pages of GQ, the polished exec she might see any night at New York’s Four Seasons with an elegantly dressed female on his arm.
“Laney,” he nodded his head.
“What are you…”
“Turn around, Laney, and look at me,” the Marquis interrupted. She continued to stare at Alex Greenwood in his black suit and starched shirt, trying to make contact with the man who’d given her so much pleasure. “Turn around,” this time the Marquis barked the order and she obeyed him, although she could barely concentrate now on his endless rant.
“What to do with you now is of some concern to me,” he went on fearlessly. “You are tainted and imperfect with that bastard’s tattoo on your thigh, upstaging the one your own husband branded to your flesh. It will cost you as much as the foolish theft of my books.” He finally looked as though he was winding down. “I think, gentlemen,” he gazed off beyond her, “that it’s time to see this one punished. Tonight, we’ll have a subject who will serve our sadistic needs with her masochistic ones.” And returning back to Laney, “Take off your clothes.”
This was all happening way too fast, but her hesitation only warranted another curt remark, “Take them off or I’ll have it done for you. You have no right to wear what you haven’t earned.”
Laney moved without hesitation now, struggling from the pink satin blouse and the burgundy skirt. Her fingers simply didn’t want to work as she began, but at last she was freed from the clothes and they were lying on the floor. The color of her complexion turned rosy with an embarrassed blush, as she felt the dozen pairs of eyes fixed on her. She could even feel her ears burning hot. Worst of all, she imagined Alex Greenwood behind her, looking directly at her bare ass. She was glad that she didn’t have to face him. Of all the people in the room, Alex was the one she dreaded the most. The rest were strangers. Even the Marquis didn’t matter the way this one man, this bogus fis
herman, did.
While Laney’s thoughts were focused on Alex Greenwood aka Alexi Ruschke—he was more of a mystery to her now than ever—the Marquis inspected her carefully. Her blush deepened from the scrutiny, but he made no comment other than to say in his same curt, clipped voice:
