Bound in Blue (2 page)

He’d only had a few sips…hadn’t he? Where was
his slave girl? He needed her. If he passed out here, alone, what
would happen to him? Just as he reached the edge of panic, she was
there, touching his elbow.

“Master? I brought you this.”

She held out another drink. He eyed it
suspiciously. “Is that soda water?”

“Yes, Master. Mongolian spirits are very
strong. Perhaps that drink does not agree with you?”

She leaned down and peered into his eyes. He
subdued the urge to grab her, his lifeline to the world. “You
drugged me.”

“No, Master. I swear, it’s the
har
.
They told me to give you full strength but this will be better.”
She looked around, a furtive glance. “Please. Just wait a few
moments and the effects will pass.”

He hoped to God she was right, because he
wasn’t feeling so hot at the moment. He took the drink and gave her
the other one. “Thank you.”

“Yes, Master.”

He stayed upright long enough for her to
leave, then leaned on his elbows and sipped the sparkling water.
When he finished, she brought him another. He drank all of it,
feeling his vision, his thoughts and most importantly, his control,
return in slow degrees. Through all of this, the waitress hovered
and flitted, watching him. A half hour later, he was almost himself
again.

“Thank you for saving me,” he said the next
time she came to his table. “If I’d drunk much more of that, I’d
have been under the table.”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “In Mongolia,
alcoholism is a serious problem. The liquors are...what’s the
term...very high proof?”

“Yes, proof. Alcohol content. At any rate,
thank you for protecting me from myself.”

“You’re welcome. Would you like some other
cocktail? Something less potent?”

“I think I’m off alcohol for the night.” But
he didn’t want her to leave. He didn’t want her to go off and
ignore him. “More sparkling water would be great.”

Up on stage, the maid was forced onto a
spanking bench, her skirt tossed up and over her back. When his
waitress turned to go, he stopped her with a sound.

“Are you ever in the shows?”

She turned back. “No, Master.”

“But you wear a collar.”

“I have to.”

He felt disappointment. “You don’t do this in
real life? Fetish? BDSM?”

“I am submissive, yes.” She glanced at the
stage, where the French maid was finally getting her ass beaten by
the schoolmaster. “Just not like this.”

“Hm. That’s an intriguing comment.”

He heard her soft intake of breath. She
stared into his eyes and he saw something that pleased him.
Interest. Maybe even longing. Just as quickly, the revelation was
shuttered. “I’m sorry, I have to keep moving. You’re certain you
are better from the drink?”

Yes, he was better. Too much better. He was
sober enough to want her with a needling ache. “I’m totally
better.” He lowered his voice. “I wish you’d tell me your
name.”

She wanted to. He could tell she wanted to.
He wasn’t misreading her longing looks, her attraction. She
fluttered her eyes closed. “I can’t. I’m not allowed. I’ll get you
another sparkling water.”

She moved away just as a customer across the
room stood and beckoned her with a sharp voice. Even when she went
to him, the older man shook his finger and scolded her.

Jason didn’t know what the man said to her,
but heads turned toward them—and toward him. His waitress bowed and
apologized to the customer. Soon, two of the suited bouncers
approached, trying to smooth things over. As Jason watched, they
nodded to the complaining man and yanked his girl toward the
back.

His girl.
Why did he think of her that
way? Because she’d been calling him Master for the last hour? Or
because of something else?

It didn’t matter. Either way, he wasn’t
letting them manhandle her like that. He was on his feet, heading
for the corner where the three heavies surrounded her. They barked
at her in a rough stream of foreign syllables, and she yelled back,
gesturing toward the tables and then toward the place he’d sat.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

She turned to him, her face tense with anger.
“They’re angry because they wanted me to serve you strong alcohol.
They wanted to get you drunk, take advantage of you and get your
money, because you’re American—”

One of the men pressed a palm over her mouth
to muffle her words. No, that wasn’t okay with Jason, not at all.
He knocked the guy’s hand away from her face, and then they were
scuffling, pushing at each other.

“Don’t touch her,” Jason said, even though he
doubted the guy could understand him. “Don’t fucking touch her like
that.”

The bouncer tried to knock him back but Jason
was bigger and stronger. And angry. But before he could give the
guy the beating he deserved, an army of bouncers convened on him,
hauling him toward the door. Okay, he was getting thrown out. That
was fair, but he wasn’t leaving until he knew she’d be all right.
He cast a wild look over his shoulder, but she was gone. Where had
they taken her? “Let go of me,” he yelled. “Where is she?” Everyone
stared as he struggled to free himself. Even the scene onstage had
stopped.

Then she was there, storming along beside
him, a bag slung over her shoulder. She took off her collar and
flung it at the biggest man’s face, along with a stream of furious
words. The man yelled back at her, a heated exchange that probably
included both the words “I quit” and “You’re fired.” After the
doormen extracted payment for Jason’s drinks, he and his waitress
were forced out the door.

Fucking hell. It was cold outside, and she
stood in nothing but a bra, garter skirt, and stockings. He took
off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her until she could pull
some jeans and a sweater from her bag. People hurried by, minding
their own business.
Nothing to see here. Just got kicked out of
a fetish club.

“That was fucking ridiculous.” Jason fumed
when she handed his jacket back. “Is that true what you said? That
they were trying to get me drunk?”

“They do it all the time, to all the tourists
who wander in there.”

She’d almost said
stupid tourists
. He
was glad she stopped herself, because he already felt humiliated
enough. “We should go to the police.”

“The police won’t do anything.” Her gaze
darkened, her blue eyes snapping in anger. “And I won’t get my
money. All that work, three weeks, for nothing.”

“I’m sorry. I guess that was my fault.”

She gave him a look of exasperation and
walked away.

“Hey.” He shrugged into his jacket and
followed her. “Let me make it up to you. How much money were you
due?”

She put her head down, walking faster. “I
don’t want your money. It wasn’t your fault, not really. And I
hated that job.”

“I owe you. You saved my ass in there with
that
horror
or whatever it was called.”

“
Har
.”

“Will you stop a minute?”

She halted and turned to him, her arms
crossed tight over her chest. Inside, he’d sensed some chemistry
between them, but now…

He broke out his most charming, seductive
smile. “You can tell me your name now, can’t you?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Would you like to get something to eat? I
want to make this up to you but I don’t know how.”
I’d like to
fuck you too, and explore your beautiful body, and kiss those
pouting lips.
“There’s a place at my hotel, a restaurant with a
bar. It’s not too far from here.” He was propositioning her. They
both knew it.

She studied him in silence. What did she see?
A stupid American? Some businessman looking for a one-night stand?
“I’m not hungry,” she said in a flat voice.

“How about some coffee then? We should hang
out for a while.”

“Why?”

“Because…”
Because my boss told me I had
to sample the pleasures of Mongolia.
But that wasn’t why. There
was something else in play here, some weird, aching attraction that
wouldn’t go away. “Because you helped me,” he finally said.
“Because I’m a flailing, clueless American in Ulaanbaatar and I
just got you fired, and I’d like to make it up to you, if there’s
any way.”

“There’s no way. You can’t make it up to
me.”

She took off again. He lunged and grabbed her
elbow. “Please, wait.”

She angled herself away from him, but she
didn’t go. He stared down at her, wondering why he was doing this
hard sell. He didn’t usually have to. Women threw themselves at him
in Paris, due to his reputation as a skilled Dom. Women liked his
body, his build. He was tall and muscular, and exceptionally fit
from his background in acrobatics. How long since he’d petitioned a
woman like this, begged for sex? He hadn’t begged yet, but he might
if it came to that, if that’s what it took to possess this lovely
creature
just once
. One time, that was all he needed, or
he’d spend his whole life wishing she hadn’t gotten away.

“Do you have to leave right now?” he asked.
“Where are you going?”

“Home. It’s late.”

“It’s not that late.”

“It’s cold and I just got fired.”

“I can warm you up.” He didn’t mean the words
to sound sleazy. Oh wait, yes, he did.

She shook her head. “You’re a tourist. You’re
going to leave. I don’t have time for this.”

She set her jaw, her lips pursed into a heart
shape he wanted to kiss. She wanted him. He knew it, but she
wouldn’t have him. She was too angry, too conflicted. And he would
leave in a few days, as she said. She didn’t want a hook-up, and
that was all he could offer her.

“Okay then.” He gave up, because he believed
in control, even control of his own passionate urges. “Let me give
you some money and find you a cab.”

“No.”

He let out a huff of frustration. “Tell me
your name, at least.”

“No.”

“You’re full of
no
s. To be honest, I
preferred the
Yes, Master
s. They were pretty great.” He put
a thumb under her chin and tilted her face to his. “Are you okay?
Have those guys roughed you up before? Was it a…a bad place to
work?”

She swallowed hard, her gaze flitting away.
“It was an awful place to work. This is an awful place to live.
You’re lucky you get to leave.”

Surely she would fit in his suitcase. He
could take her home, put a collar around her neck. “My name’s
Jason,” he said, taking out his wallet for a business card. “Jason
Beck. If you ever need anything, I live in Pari—”

She pushed his hand down before he could give
it to her. “Please, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

* * * * *

For a moment, he looked so angry she thought
he might slap her. But no, he wasn’t that type of man. He was
civilized, disciplined. Controlled. He returned the card to his
wallet as she saved his name in her memory.
Jason. Jason
Beck.

When things got bleak—and they were always
bleak—she would repeat it to herself and remember there were men
like Jason Beck in the world, men with big, graceful bodies and
kind eyes.

But to go with him to his hotel, to accept
the one-night stand he was offering, that would only bring
regret.

Push and pull.
She’d always liked that
English phrase, and now she understood it. Jason Beck was like some
physical force of nature. The harder she pushed him away, the more
she felt pulled to him. He had pushed and pulled at the club,
pushed away Tomor when he tried to silence her. He’d tried to
protect her.

That was an entirely new thing.

“If you’re going to leave me with nothing,”
he said, pocketing his wallet, “at least give me a name. Any name.
Otherwise I’ll make up something ridiculous to remember you by,
like Fantasia Dee-lite, or Cinnamon Buns.”

A sense of humor too. She let out a sigh. “I
suppose you could call me...Sara.”

“Sara? That’s an English name.”

“If you wish.”

His eyes narrowed and his lips turned down at
the corners, not in a scary way, but enough to see the dominant
personality there. She was certain he was dominant. His posture,
his questions, the way he’d defended her at the club, even his
persistence in the face of her refusals, all of it communicated
dominance and power. This man was used to being obeyed. She
wondered what it would be like to do a BDSM scene with him. She
could find out if she wanted to, if she wasn’t so tired of loss, of
hurting.

“Silly Sara,” he said. He slid a hand across
her cheek, then cupped her face. She studied his Western features
in the dim glow of the surrounding shop lights. Wide-set,
long-lashed blue eyes, a straight, handsome nose, and full lips
that curved in the most seductive way. His shoulder-length brown
hair was pulled back, but some stray strands escaped. Under the
streetlight she could see other colors reflected in them. Gold,
mahogany, brass.

“Why did you call me silly?” she asked.

“Because you won’t come to the hotel with me.
You want to. You just won’t.”

“I can’t.” A stupid, vague excuse, but she
couldn’t be more specific. She couldn’t confess that one night with
him would probably destroy her, because nothing afterward could
ever live up to it. She hated this sexy, powerful, enthralling,
foreign man. She also wanted him more than she’d ever wanted
anything in her life.

“I’m very kinky,” he said. “You would have a
lot of fun with me, because I think you’re very kinky too.”

She looked around self-consciously. There
were people everywhere, coming and going from the clubs. “That’s
good to know. Let go of me, please.”

He didn’t let go of her. “Do you have a lover
here, Sara? Someone who satisfies your needs? I hope so. I hope
that’s why you’re turning me down.”