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Chapter 4

"Hey, sweetheart! Something wrong with your hearing? I said, another round over here for me and my redhead."

The female bartender shoots a dirty look at the asshole at the end of the bar. "I'll get to you next, sir. I'm waiting on another client."

"Client," the man mutters to his friend with contempt. "Since when is a guy at a bar a fucking client?"

The redhead is a little street-worn but in the dim light of the bar, she doesn't look half bad. After a few drinks, she'll look even better. At this point, Gregory Matthews can't afford to be choosy anyway. He fits the description of the proverbial beggar right about now: jobless, homeless, bank-account-less. The only thing he has going for him is a halfway decent car and a credit card on his ex-wife's account. Thank God the bitch hasn't realized it yet and cancelled it. By the end of the month, it would be gone, too—unless things work out in his favor. He'd come back to Seattle to see what was what with Kim but no sooner than he paid her a little visit did she disappear into thin air.

When he finds her, he'll make her pay for that major inconvenience.

Meantime, he'd get as much off the credit card as he could and, for tonight at least, he'd shack up with the redheaded tart he met at the other end of the bar an hour ago. Smooth scotch, a warm bed, and a willing woman—all in all, things were looking up.

Lucien sits in the parlor of his Paris flat staring into the flames of the brick hearth. He's trying to squash down the frustration he'd felt of late. He thought some good music, a relaxing fire in the grate, and a glass of port would do him well. But his conscience would give him no peace.

It was Natasha. At first he'd applauded his clever maneuvering with the woman. She used him to get at Grey and Lucien paid her back—a simple tit for tat. But now? Now he feels remorse over the fate he'd consigned her to and perhaps even more important… he misses her. He has feelings for the blonde beauty and her absence is making him depressed. He thought if he could get the Arab to release her, he could instead become her master or whatever it was Aziz fancied he was to her. Lucien would love to have the proud Natasha at his beck and call.

Trouble was Aziz unequivocally refused to give her up. He was being unreasonable, of course. If Lucien didn't know better, he'd think that the damn Bedouin had feelings for Natasha, the way he went on and on about how valuable she was to him, how he'd spent time and money, not to mention patience, on training her to be a good slave. After a while, Lucien couldn't listen anymore. It was a coup that he even got Aziz's telephone number to begin with. In this trafficking ring, everything was handled under a cloak of anonymity and no one was going to give Lucien any information about any buyer. Fortuitously, he paid off his building manager's son to help him break into the apartment of the go-between, and he accessed his files—and not just the transaction involving Natasha but a whole host of them he thought might come in handy someday.

Perhaps it was a mistake to contact Aziz directly. Now the bastard had a heads up that Lucien wanted the girl back. If Lucien decides to do something drastic to get her back, the Arab will be forewarned—not a helpful thing.

He'll just have to sit tight for a while and see what happens. Meantime, he expects to hear from Mrs. Grey née Steel very soon. He had that woman contact her for a reference. Lucien chortles. He wishes he could have seen the look on Ana's face when Caroline Henry's call came in. He only did it to piss off the new Mrs. Grey, hopefully enough to warrant her calling him.

He misses her, too.

His two favorite women in the world, and both of them now effectively gone from his life—no wonder he'd been receding of late into hardcore sex again. His new online name even reflected his level of frustration: the Marquis, after the Monsieur de Sade. Yes, perhaps Lucien would visit some lucky mademoiselles tonight and vent some frustration. The new cane he'd ordered came in yesterday and he was anxious to try it out.

Ana peruses the contents of her closet, wondering what Christian will choose for her to wear to the fundraiser tomorrow night. She can't imagine what would be his first choice since most of her dresses are either too casual or too short to meet his standards. Maybe he'll buy her something new? Oh, for sure. What was she thinking to seriously entertain the notion that he'd just saunter into her closet? The man had much more sense than that.

Oh, God, she knows he has supremely good taste but what if she hates what he chooses? She shrugs at the thought; she'll just have to wear it and that's that. The suit she'd selected for him—unbeknownst to him—was probably too casual for tomorrow night so she might have to wait to see it on him but dress him she would. Fair is fair. Thinking about him dressing her for the event made things tingle inside her. What else will he have her wear? Christian is sneaky that way.

Jenna Buckman, personal shopper at Neiman Marcus, waits in reception to show Mr. Grey her selections for Ana's wardrobe. A few minutes earlier, Katey Spiegel, the VIP client liaison at J. Crew, had visited with her choices. Christian has to admit this is considerably more fun than dealing with the myriad details of business transactions all day. Moreover, for a nice change, things at Excalibur are running as smoothly as the silk dress Ms. Spiegel showed him a little while ago. Christian could afford to let down his guard for a few minutes and have a break from his daily grind. The J. Crew dress was a silvery blue sheath covered by beads in a 1920s' flapper-esque dress style. It came with a matching cloche-style beaded cap, which couldn't be worn to the event but the detachable flower on the hat could be woven into hair. The shoes she'd selected to coordinate were bejeweled vintage Blahnik stilettos. They had a strap across the toes and then a perpendicular strap going up from the strap to around the ankle. He knew Ana's legs would look stunning in them. Ana could rock any shoes but in these she'd be killer.

The most important accessory to her outfit, however, would not be seen by anyone save him. Christian smiles as he considers what Ana's reaction would be to that piece of jewelry. When the package came from the special jeweler, he could barely wait to rip it open. It met all of his expectations and he was fairly sure it would meet with Ana's as well. His eyes sparkle at the prospect. He usually dreaded these boring fundraisers but with the game he and Ana were playing, tomorrow night can't come soon enough for him.

He depresses the button on his intercom. "Janine, please show Ms. Buckman into my office. I'm ready to meet with her now."

Aziz sits at the table and contemplates the upcoming evening. Natasha had been behaving very well, swiftly learning all of the proper responses to his many prompts. She was a quick study, beginning to understand a considerable amount of Arabic, as well. Of course, she had encouragement. He chuckled. Perhaps he'd discovered a new method of language acquisition? A cat-o'-nine tails used for negative reinforcement was proving very effective, he'd found.

He actually disliked putting her through this experience tonight. It had been weeks since he'd had to whip her but he had a very strong suspicion she'd fail in her obligations tonight and he'd be required to beat her yet again.

The reason for his pessimism is that it would be the first time she'd be asked to grovel at his feet in front of another Westerner. Not only that, but the man would be accompanied by his wife, so Natasha would be forced to be subservient to another woman. If he were a gambling man, he'd bet on her failing in this respect.

Natasha had demonstrated rather quickly that she understood she inhabited a man's world, by and large. She'd obviously learned to work through the system to have her way. Aziz suspected that even before she met her fate with him, she'd been forced up against that fact in her life and accepted the parameters accordingly. Whether she liked it or not was immaterial. She was obviously a survivor and a pragmatist and experience in working within the system in place definitely showed. Maybe in Russia she been subjugated in some way? He'd been informed by Michel Rimbaud that she was an alpha female in her world—he saw breaking her and molding her into his slave a challenge.

Aziz is doing tonight's test for two reasons: first, he had to be able to trust that no matter what situation was thrust upon her, Natasha's behavior would be predictably obedient, and second, this meeting was requested of him by the French go-between who'd handled Natasha's sale. It would be rude to say no. From the limited information he'd been given, a married couple from Germany was interested in acquiring a female slave now that they were moving to Qatar and they felt it would be in their interests to procure a Western girl so as not to put Arab noses out of joint. They'd requested an audience with someone who had purchased a slave through Rimbaud's group. Aziz was who he'd asked.

They'd been in touch recently due to a small wrinkle: the Franco-American who'd initially arranged to put Natasha on the market, was having second thoughts as to the wisdom of his actions. Aziz snorted in disgust. The young idiot had more money than sense—a dangerous combination. Money begat power; power could so quickly become absolute—the bearer of such great power must have the intelligence, the common sense even, to rule over the masses. This Lucien Phillips was exceedingly affluent but did nothing to earn his wealth. Moreover, his indecisiveness could be costly for others. Aziz would take any measures required to ensure a positive outcome for himself and Monsieur Rimbaud. Mr. Phillips had better beware. When the younger man had the unmitigated audacity to directly contact him recently, he tried to impress upon him the serious transgression of his actions.

His musings are broken into by the soft voice of a female servant, one of Natasha's handmaidens.

"Master Aziz, you wanted to speak to me?" Mena stands in front of him, her eyes cast toward the floor.

"Yes, Mena. Would you please prepare Natasha for company? I expect guests to arrive at about 8 p.m. this evening."

"Yes, Master Aziz. I will have her ready."

"Good. And, Mena, do a full prep. Leave her topless and use a fringe skirt for a bottom. Otherwise, no clothing at all—just jewelry and cuffs."

"Yes, Master Aziz. She will be ready by 7:30."

"Good. You may go now."

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