Page 58 of Vienna Bargain

“We made a bargain.”

“I tortured you.”

“We had an impact play scene.”

“I raped you.”

“I’m not a prisoner here, you’re not my jailor. This wasn’t rape. It was two consenting adults having sex.”

“You are the one who used those words. Torture. Rape. I told myself I wouldn’t, but in the end I…”

He didn’t say “broke” but the word hung there.

Alena bunched his shirt in her fists. The leather collar was still around her neck, the lock that prevented her from taking it off catching the afternoon light that spilled in through the windows.

“I said those things because it was…” She fell silent.

Alexander went towards the desk, planning to sit, then remembered he’d used her there. The window overlooking the patio and nature preserve were out too. That’s where he’d threatened to whore her out. His stomach rolled.

Maybe he’d burn this whole wing of the building to the ground. He went to the other window, looking out on more of the preserve and the ridiculous profile of the Bavarian-castle inspired wing.

“Alexander, it’s not a game.”

Her words were soft and serious, with a weight to them he’d never heard in her voice before. He tensed, but didn’t turn around.

“It’s not a game. I treated it like one, and because of that…I hurt you.”

She considered this a game? No, he wasn’t sure of much, but he knew she hadn’t been pretending during their scenes, both in the underground safe room and just now.

“My name is Magdalena Moreau. I go by Alena, since Magdalena is hardly an easy name, especially when I was little.”

Alexander froze, listening.

“You knew that, from my passport—well, my legal name at least—and I suspect you know even more about me than that by now. I’m also sure your people are having trouble finding any real, useful information.”

“Yes.”

She laughed softly. “My quiet man.”

Hearing those words made his heart clench.

“My father is U.S. senator Augustin Moreau, from the great state of Georgia. Conservative. Pious. So of course he has several illegitimate children. I’m one of them.”

Now Alexander turned, because there was old pain in her words. “The U.S. Secret Service scrubbed your records.”

“Some of them, yes. For a while, after I graduated college—and was an adult so could make no legal claim on him or his money—he deigned to acknowledge me. Pretended I was a long-lost niece. That’s when I started using Moreau.”

Alena stood in the center of the big room, looking small but composed. The fact that she wore nothing but a man’s dress shirt—his dress shirt—and a BDSM collar didn’t detract from her poise.

The hurt in her words was old, and carrying that kind of foundational pain was something he understood.

“If you wanted to know my dirty secrets, look under the name Magdalena Mooren.” She stressed the N sound. “My mother’s name.”

“Mooren to Moore,” he said quietly.

“The best lies are ones that are close to the truth.”

Hearing her admit it was a lie didn’t bother him the way he’d thought it would.

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