Page 11 of Vienna Betrayal

She had only a moment to register the snake-quick movement of the crop before the folded leather tip struck the outside edge of her left breast.

The snap of sound was quickly followed by a burst of heat wrapped around a small spark of pain.

She twisted to the side and gasped, shocked more by the fact that he’d done it than by the small bite of pain.

“Shoulders back.”

Alena flexed her fingers and licked her lower lip.

“Alena.” Her name was hard and short, a command, punctuated by the sound of the crop swishing through the air.

Still curled away from him, she winced and braced herself, but no strike fell.

After a noisy exhale, Alena finally faced forward.

The crop came up under her chin, lifting it until she was looking up at him.

Their gazes met, and she was struck by how virile her quiet man was.

Chemistry. It was just sexual chemistry…albeit potent sexual chemistry.

Staring up at him, for a moment she forgot why she was here. Her thoughts focused on what he’d do next, how he’d use her, command her.

Alexander stared down at her from beneath dark brows, his eyes the green of a cider bottle rimmed in gold.

“You’re lovely,” he said quietly. “But better suited to someone softer.”

Alena blinked. “What?”

He lowered the crop and bent, bringing his face down to hers. She stared at him, heart pounding and mind whirling as she processed what he’d said.

His gaze moved over her feature by feature, and she could feel his breath as he exhaled. “Too bad,” he whispered. “But what I would do to you…” He ran a finger down her cheek, then stood.

“Thank you for the honor of your company,” he said formally.

And with that, Alexander Wagner turned and walked away.

* * *

He heard soft,rapid footfalls approaching from behind, and Alexander stepped to the side of the hall and paused. He wanted to give Alena space to pass him.

The long halls of the small, elegant hotel—which was closed due to remodeling on the lower floors and kitchen—were elegantly lit by evenly spaced antique sconces. The hotel was from one of Wien’s—Vienna’s—baroque periods, and the juxtaposition of detailed wallpapers, ornamental lighting, plush rugs, and carved molding contrasted peculiarly with the medieval-style dungeon set up in the ballroom and the various Moroccan lounges.

The changing rooms were at the far end of the hall. That was most likely where Alena was heading.

It was too bad they weren’t compatible. Something about her called to him. The devil on his shoulder—who was most decidedly a sadist—was screaming that he’d made a mistake, that he should go back and take her, claim her.

It was because of that very voice that he’d left. She hadn’t been able to accept even a small amount of physical pain. Her list had said no hard impact play. It should probably have said no impact play at all.

He wouldn’t subject her to a scene with him. Even at his most mild, his scenes involved the use of impact implements, and she made him feel anything but mild.

The footsteps were close, and he politely averted his gaze, pretending to study the elaborate vine pattern of the wallpaper.

“Alexander.”

He jerked in surprise. Alena whirled to a stop facing him, the cloak flaring dramatically before settling around her.

“Hello, Alexander.”

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