Three and a Half Weeks (43 page)

Rising gracefully from the table, she steps away to the require
d distance and smiles at the man approaching her.

As soon as he is within her hearing distance, he begins to bark orders in a hushed tone of voice. “Turn around slowly.” She complies.

Pointing to the chair she just vacated, he says nothing else so she takes a seat and watches as he joins her at the table. He leaves his chair about a foot away from the table. Obviously, he doesn’t trust her. Tsk tsk.

Calmly unbuttoning his suit jacket, Ian focuses piercing eyes on his shapely adversary across the table. He’s not here to mince words, obviously. She sits patiently, waiting for his cue.

“The order for which you expressed concern yesterday afternoon was not cancelled—”

As her lips part to voice her objection, he holds up his hand to prevent it. “Allow me to speak, please, or we’ll get nothing accomplished here— I don’t have a wealth of time. The order was put on hold for twenty-four hours so…” he glances at his watch, “by my calculations, you have approximately three hours, give or take a few minutes on either side until it goes back into effect. Should you wish for me to rescind it entirely, you must
follow my instructions to the letter. I should also add that the operative who accepted the assignment is already stateside. Have I made myself crystal clear?”

She nods, waiting to hear his demands. This meeting was not going as it did in her imagination.

“Fine. This is how we’ll proceed: first, before we leave this restaurant, I will administer to you a strong sedative. The medication will take about a half-hour to begin to have effect and will probably last about four hours, at which time you will be dosed again. We will leave the café, drive directly to your home and pick up your passport and a few changes of clothing. From there I’ll take you to my private plane, which you will board, along with an escort of my choosing. Your escort will ensure that you remain unconscious until the flight concludes in Moscow. Once there, you will surrender your passport to said escort and he will phone me. I will then cancel the order.”

She tried to disguise her horror at his demands. “That will take considerably longer than three hours, Ian.”

“Yes, it will. You, however, will be safe and sound on a plane in the sky. No one can reach you there. This, my dear, is my best offer. Take it or leave it.” He leans in closer to whisper his last words. “I want your answer now.”

She smirks. “You do realize that I can place a similar
order
upon your head, right? What makes you think you hold all the power?”

He shrugs casually. “I have my reasons.”

“I’m not leaving the U.S. This is my home, Ian.”

“Not anymore. You forfeited your right to stay here when you began your blood vendetta against my family, Yenin. Either you leave… or you take your chances.”

He sits back into his chair, his eyes traveling in a circuit, scanning the surroundings. When he directs his attention back to the woman and sees her glaring at him, without making any moves, he places his hands on the edge of the table and begins to get up. In rising, he says, “I’ll interpret your silence as a refusal then. As I said, I have no time to waste on the likes of you. Good luck.”

“Ian, wait! Please,” she whispers hurriedly, “sit back down for a moment.”

Turning back, he sits slowly, never taking his eyes from her face. “I’m waiting.”

“I’ll do it, Ian; I’ll go. But may I just tell you that I’d decided to stop all of this animosity between us while I was waiting for you?”

“How nice.” In his hand he holds out two small yellow pills. “Here you go. Bottoms up.”

Something about his breezy fucking attitude pushes her buttons—hard—and instantly her blood pressure rockets into the stratosphere. Her heart is pounding so fiercely that the swollen river of blood rushes through her ears as her anger escalates ever higher. Who the hell does he think he is? Abruptly she bolts up from the table and stands directly in front of him, swinging her hair back, battle-ready. “You know what? Fuck you, Ian. I’ll take my damn chances. But make no mistake, there will be a price on your head, too, whether I live or die. I can be just as nasty as you.”

His only reaction is a smirk and a raised brow. “Oh, you can be far nastier, trust me. The difference is I subscribe to the belief that actions speak much louder than words. And I never waste valuable time on empty threats.”

Her face now tomato-red, she glares at him with venom, spins on her heel, and flounces out of the restaurant, her high heels tapping out an angry staccato beat on the terracotta floor tile.

Ian looks at his watch: plenty of time for Jarvis’s team to be in position. Nearing noon, he’d taken care of all of his most pressing business. Now it was time for his reward. His eyes glint in anticipation at the prospect of his reunion with Ella. He pulls out his iPhone.

The text message from Ian comes in at 12:02 P.M. and reads:
meet me on the top-floor restaurant of the Knickerbocker Club-Portland. Give them my name to gain entrance. Wear a simple dress with no undergarments and definitely wear high heels. Be there by 12:45; if you don’t see me upon entering, wait for me in the lounge off the bar. Ian.

Perhaps I’m neurotic but I’d rather hear his voice to ensure the message is truly from him. All of this Russian mob crap has me on pins and needles. Since I’ve showered already, I just have to select a dress and put on some make-up. No underwear? What the hell is he planning?

I ask Mason to confirm the message is from Ian in case there’s a reason he didn’t call. Before Mason can even put his hand on his phone, Aretha starts singing and it’s Ian.

“Ella, I realized after I sent the text that you’d probably rather hear my voice than read a text. It’s from me and I want you to follow the instructions.
Comprende
?”

Relief makes me giddy at hearing his voice and knowing he’s close. “Si, senor.
Hasta la vista, baby, at 12:45.” I hear a chuckle before I disconnect and begin a hunt for a killer dress.

Fourteen minutes later, I’m in the elevator with Mason. He insisted on escorting me to the club entrance. I’m mortified because my dress barely hits mid thigh and I’m sans panties.
Feeling cool air on those parts—out in public especially —is unnerving.

The dress I chose is a gunmetal
-colored chiffon draped dress. The built-in silk shift clings to the body but the outer chiffon swishes enough to conceal what I’m hiding—or what I hope I’m hiding anyway. I added light gray strappy sandals with five-inch heels. My hair is worn loose but I braided some of it last night so it has kinks in it, and I wore very spare make-up since it’s the afternoon: a bit of bronzer, pink lip-gloss and a titch of eyeliner. The only jewelry I slapped on is a large silver cuff on one wrist and a watch on the other, plus my rings that I wear daily. Ready or not, here I come, Ian.

Turns out he’s ready, of course. Mason leaves me at the entrance of the sedate limestone building and I’m whisked up to the top floor in a whisper-quiet elevator. It’s so silent and so smooth that I can’t tell when it stops until the doors swish open. Right there, in perfect view, is the most gorgeous man in all of Portland… and possibly North America… and possibly Planet Earth, sitting on a plush settee in a crisp navy-blue suit, snowy silk shirt, and copper tie, smiling at me. How does he
manage to look so flawless when he got dressed out of a suitcase early this morning? I always look like I’ve recently slept on a park bench or in a cardboard box when I travel, unless I take the time to utilize those ridiculous hotel room irons that never get hot enough to cause a sunburn.

Attempting to keep my cool when what I really want to do is hurl myself at him, I sashay over to where he sits, bend straight so as not to embarrass myself while entertaining others, and give him a quick kiss on the lips. “I would have preferred your homecoming to be a bit more private, Ian.”

Unapologetically eyeballing me up and down, he grins, obviously approving of my outfit. “Ah, you’ll have fun, trust me, Ella.” He stands up and extends his hand to me. When I place my hand in his, he brings it to his lips and gently brushes it with a kiss, keeping his smoldering eyes trained on mine. It makes my legs a bit wobbly and that’s never a good thing in concert with stiletto heels. “Come. Our table is ready.”

We’re seated at a corner window table with four place settings. “Are we expecting company?”

“After lunch, guests will be joining us for dessert and coffee.”

“Aha. And may I enquire as to whom those guests will be?”

“Yes, you may.”

I wait and he says nothing. Rolling my eyes to annoy him in return for his annoying me, I ask, “Who are our guests, Ian?”

“Our guests are Lissette Simmons, wedding planner extraordinaire, and her assistant Mykonos will be accompanying her.”

I drop my voice to a low but harsh whisper. “So why, pray tell, am I not wearing any underwear? I thought I was coming here for sex!” Being deprived for three days has made me testy.

He laughs.
Laughs!
And then reaches for my hand, squeezing it. “Baby, you’re not advanced enough for clandestine public sex. But someday…”

I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean, I’m not advanced enough?”

“Ella, I have to bind and gag you to keep you quiet when you climax. You have to learn how to do it with no one noticing before we can try something as advanced as that which you are suggesting.”

“Then why?” I tap my fingers impatiently. He knows what my question is.

Amusement still gleaming in his pretty eyes, he shrugs, “Just because you’re not there yet doesn’t mean we can’t start training you. We’ll begin slowly. Now, let’s order lunch and enjoy being together again,
mon chéri
.”

“Sweet-talking me in French? So obvious, it’s gauche.”

Chuckling, he says, “I got used to it around Daniel. Since we’re both fluent, we conversed in French when out and about, thereby decreasing anyone eavesdropping. Came in handy.”

I sip my mineral water as the waiter brings the wine over. Since it’s lunchtime, Ian ordered a Merlot by the glass rather than bottle. Watching him take a small taste, swish it in his mouth, and close his eyes, makes me feel needy. I squeeze my thighs together. Judging from his expression, I take it he likes the wine selection. I want him to taste me the same way.

I continue to eye him suspiciously, wondering what exactly he has running through that Machiavellian mind. He must be a great poker player for his face gives nothing away… ever. Finally I can’t bear the suspense any longer. “Tell me, Ian, did you do things like this, what we’re doing whatever that is, with your previous girlfriends… submissives… whatever?”

He gently shakes his head. “Ariel, is it ever a good idea to discuss previous lovers with current ones? I think not.”

“Well, fortunately, I’m not your current lover but your fiancée and I would like to know more about you, sexually and otherwise.”

“And you won’t find it upsetting?”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle it.” I huff, deciding that no matter what he says, I won’t react. Visibly.

“All right then, you’re on. Yes, I’ve been fond of these little… adventures for some time now. One of my favorites involved a submissive who had a job interview via Skype. I was under the desk…
supporting and encouraging
her the whole time.”

I gasp; I can’t help it, damn it. “Why would you do that? That’s just horrible.”

“She had self-control issues. We were attempting to address that deficiency.”

“Did she get the job?”

His lips twitch. “Unfortunately, no. The interview did not go very well. She came across as distracted… scattered, even.” He makes a stab at a sympathetic expression but gives in to the blackness in his soul and grins devilishly.

“I’m not surprised. Any other adventures you’d care to share?”

“There was the one in the crowded elevator—I wouldn’t mind trying that one with you sometime.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. We traveled from the 75
th
floor to the lobby. I believe she reached orgasm by floor 10… but it might have been even closer.”

“And no one knew?”

There was one young guy who was watching her out of the corner of his eye. He might possibly have known. Otherwise, no. She took her punishment very quietly and gamely.”

“Punishment?”

“Yes, she had displeased me. I felt she should be embarrassed.”

“Displeased you how?” I ask breathlessly.

“By asking too many questions about previous lovers. What would you like to eat?”

I kick his shin under the table, forgetting I’m wearing sandals. “Ouch!”

Tossing his head, he just lets loose with a howl of laughter at my expense. His laugh is so contagious that I can’t help but join in. I’ve really missed him a lot.

All through lunch I’m aware of my underwear-less status but he acts as if I’m fully dressed. What can he be planning? It’s driving me crazy but I wait, wishing I’d brought my panties in my purse. That would fix him. It may seem like not a big deal but it really makes one feel naked without that reassuring strip of fabric covering that so private of places. Then there’s the whole bra-less thing going on at the top. The silk shift is rubbing up against my nips and keeping the girls in a near constant state of arousal. Add that to the equation and it makes for one uncomfortable Ella.

Ian doesn’t appear to even remember how he had me dress. Fine! I’ll just keep my legs crossed and I’ll forget, too. I manage to do just that and enjoy the lunch immensely. The fish is cooked to perfection, the salad crisp, the vegetables fresh. Almost as soon as the plates are whisked away by a very efficient waiter, two people present themselves at our table. Ah, the wedding planners.

Introductions are made as I size them up. The woman is attractive but all business: her dark blond hair is pulled back in a severe knot and she wears a no-nonsense suit and black pumps. The man, Mykonos, is quite handsome—Greek, perhaps? Just call me psychic. He’s tall and dark but thin to the point of famine-chic, and thoroughly androgynous. By his demeanor and gestures, I’m certain he’s gay—and that probably means he’s really good at wedding planning, though I know I shouldn’t generalize.

Ian and I stand to greet them. “Lissette, this is Ariel, my fiancée. Mykonos, I presume?” he asks the young man who nods effusively, making goo-goo eyes at Ian and confirming my suspicion. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Ian Blackmon and this is my fiancée, Ella Strong.” We all shake hands and sit down. Lissette sits to Ian’s immediate right, pulling her chair close to his, so we can all look at pictures. Mykonos sits to her right, across from me. Opening a black leather portfolio, she begins showing us photos of her previous weddings.

I’m craning my neck to see the various themes of the receptions and exclaim about the Roman one, complete with ruins. It’s so beautiful, I have to give her credit for a fantastic job. Ian sees the delight on my face and his hand reaches over to squeeze my thigh. I grin at him, thinking our wedding is going to be absolutely perfect. That’s when his hand starts traveling… from my lower thigh to my upper thigh to my naked vajayjay. I swallow my gasp of horror just in time and it ends up sounding like a strange hiccup. My hand flies to my mouth, face scarlet, as I mutter, “Excuse me,” to the planners. I’m going to kill him tonight so wedding plans are truly redundant at this point.

But my reaction does not deter him: he keeps his hand in place and continues to explore, his finger now inside me and he’s doing other things with the palm of his hand. Closing my eyes in utter shame, I inhale deeply, and finally work up the nerve to look up: Mykonos is staring directly into my face with an expression that could only be described as smug. Oh yeah? What kind of a name is Mykonos anyway? Isn’t it a Greek island, for God’s sake?

Surreptitiously, I slide my left hand over Ian’s at the exact same time as I lean over to point at something in her book with my right, commenting on the flowers in the photo as I simultaneously dig my nails into Ian’s hand in an attempt to arrest his motion. Without any visible reaction whatsoever to what has to amount to vicious pain, he continues his ministrations as he asks Lissette a question. I have to give credit where credit is due: the motherfucker is a professional.

I snap my legs as tightly together as humanly possible but still he continues without interruption and now, though I despise admitting it, I am swamping. I’m so turned on that I must accept the reality that I am a wanton exhibitionist and yet somehow pick up and go on with my life. I stop resisting and just relax into it but as I feel an orgasm approaching, I break out in a cold sweat even though my body is so hot it feels feverish.

That’s when Mykonos “accidentally” drops his napkin, having conveniently gotten frosting on his upper lip, residue from his hefty slice of German Chocolate cake. So obvious a ploy, it’s pathetic. He bends down to retrieve the napkin and I know Ian will stop now.

But he doesn’t stop! At all. In fact, he picks up the pace. Now I know Mykonos must know but Lissette is still clueless. I clear my throat loudly.

“Excuse me.” All three turn to look at me. “Please excuse me; I’m just stepping away to the restroom.” And as gracefully as I can
manage under the untenable circumstances he’s put me in, I rise and walk away. I can’t wait till I get Ian alone.

The cab pulls up in front of the condo building just before three o’clock. After Ian pays the fare, he opens the door, gets out and then assists me. His arm around me, we walk into the lobby.

Nuzzling his face into my hair, he says, “Ella, it’s such a beautiful afternoon. What say you to an evening picnic on the catamaran? We can have our discussion as we watch the sun set.”

“Oh, Ian, that sounds so nice, so romantic.” I give him a quick kiss and caress his cheek, my love for him almost overwhelming me.

Yes, I’ve forgiven him for his earlier behavior but only because he finished what he started. When I returned from the restroom, I discovered that he’d thanked Lissette and Mykonos for their time and advised them that we would need to think about exactly what we’d like and talk to our parents to determine the number of guests to be invited. As soon as we had that information, we’d contact them for a follow-up. I got back to the table just in time to thank them myself and offer my goodbyes. As they exited, Ian took my hand and led me to the rear of the restaurant.