Page 73 of Vienna Betrayal

Chapter 13

He couldn’t sleep.

He wanted Alena again, and not just for sex. He wanted to hear her call him “sugar’” while she teased him. Wanted to ask her about the scar he’d noticed on her knee, if that was why she didn’t wear high heels.

She was right here, just one floor below him, and yet he was tossing and turning in bed, pining for her as if she were on the other side of the world.

Disgusted with himself, Alexander got out of bed and padded into the bathroom. Thinking about Alena, even if it wasn’t thinking of her as a submissive, had his cock half erect and tenting the front of his boxers.

Alexander splashed cold water on his face and the back of his neck.

He stared at himself in the mirror. She’d left an hour ago, and if he hadn’t fallen asleep by now he wasn’t going to.

Before he thought of all the reasons not to do this, he went to the closet and grabbed her pashmina.

He couldn’t let her leave without it. She might need it. He should return it to her.

He grimaced. Returning a scarf was no reason to wake someone up in the middle of the night. An utterly stupid excuse to go down there and wake her up.

Still holding the scarf, he got back in bed and spent the next hour willing himself to sleep.

It didn’t work.

He hated this feeling that he’d lost her, that she was now somehow beyond his reach. First of all she was only one flight of stairs away. Second, if he wanted to see her without manufacturing some stupid excuse, he could set an alarm and be there to see her off.

You’re never going to see her again.

Alexander pressed her pashmina over his face, half hoping he’d suffocate, putting himself out of his emotional back-and-forth misery.

He would see her in a month. He’d been in romantic relationships in which he saw the woman less frequently than once every four weeks.

A month. He’d wait a month and then they’d be able to scene together.

Unless she got another partner.

Alexander sat up.

He was a fucking idiot.

This was why he couldn’t sleep—they hadn’t said anything about scening together at the next club event. Was that why she’d turned to look at him?

He needed control, and yet he’d been so lost in the tangle of his own emotions he hadn’t stepped in to take control of this very simple thing. It was so blindingly simple that he couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to figure out why he couldn’t shut his brain off.

He’d been distracted by trying to convince himself he hadn’t fallen in love with her.

Jumping out of bed, and no longer caring that it was closer to dawn than midnight, he pulled on some gray joggers and, carrying her pashmina, jogged down the stairs. Determination brought him all the way to her door, but then he hesitated.

She’d said she needed some sleep since she’d be getting on a plane in a few hours, for a flight that wouldn’t be long enough to let her sleep. It was rude of him to wake her up just because he wouldn’t be able to get a good night’s sleep until he knew, without a doubt, that she’d be subbing to him at the next event.

Secondly, what if she said no? Or worse, what if she said yes, but only because she wanted to avoid turning him down in person.

He paced down to the far end of the hall, disgusted with his indecision.

He should just stay away from her. Earlier, when he’d told her she shouldn’t trust him, he’d scared her enough that she’d started to run.

Why was it that every time they were together, the night started off with one of them trying to walk away? Surely that had to be a bad sign.

Alexander propped his shoulder against the wall and stared at the door to her room, imagining what she looked like when she slept. Imagined waking her up by sliding his hands and mouth over her skin.

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