She gestured around the open plan central living area.
“You’re correct.”
Alena reached out and stroked his cheek. “Back to being my quiet man?”
He shrugged, slightly uncomfortable, even as he was secretly pleased she’d referred to this space as being “him”.
The fifth floor was his private space. No one except his valet and the cleaning staff, under the watchful eye of the house manager came up here. He had his own kitchen and oftentimes cooked for himself, which never failed to make his mother sneer.
The interior designer had taken his sparse directions and somehow created a space that felt right.
The open floor plan had kitchen, dining room, living space, lounge, and library all occupying the same large rectangular space. A dozen evenly spaced windows looked out over the trees and greenery of the park, and had been treated to prevent anyone from being able to see in, even if he had on all the lights, and reinforced with pressure sensors and bulletproof coating at the insistence of his security team.
Alena walked slowly around the room, which was done in shades of blue and green with pale silvery gray accents.
The floor was blue-veined gray marble, the modern but very comfortable couch a deep gray-blue with gray and green accent pillows. Alexander usually tossed them into a chair to get them out of the way, only for the maids to return them to their rightful places on the couch.
The colors reminded him of his family’s residence near Beleu Lake in Moldova, where the landscape was dozens of shades of green from the grass to the leaves of the trees, and the sky above and lake itself added cerulean and azure to the palette.
Alena abruptly stopped and looked back at him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t ask if I could explore. May I?”
He gestured for her to go ahead, then went to the kitchen and opened the oven to check on the plates he’d put in there—on instructions from his chef—to keep warm.
He cooked for himself, the important part of that statement being for himself. His chef had prepared the meal they were about to eat.
When he turned around, Alena had slipped out of her shoes, leaving them by the door. Something about her wandering around his home barefoot made him want to scoop her up and kiss her. Not a pre-fucking kiss, but a kiss just to tell her, without words, how he felt.
She trailed her fingers over the backs of chairs, then drifted to the library area, where two reading chairs waited, surrounded by beautifully crafted bookshelves. Alexander walked over to join her, ducking his head to look at the cover of the book she’d plucked from the shelves and was currently reading.
It was a noir mystery book, written in English.
“Hardly worthy of this,” he said softly, gesturing to the shelves.
“There’s nothing wrong with reading for pleasure.” She closed the book and slid it back into its spot on the shelf. “You have a fancy library with books I doubt anyone ever reads downstairs. Why not focus on pleasure here?”
She leaned back, resting her shoulders against a shelf. Alexander braced his hands on either side of her, as he had that first night in the hallway.
“You are the pleasure I want tonight.”
“Are you planning to have your way with me before doing me the courtesy of feeding me dinner?” She pressed her hand over her heart in mock offense, her accent slow and thick.
Alexander grinned, feeling lighter than he had since breakfast. Since the last time he’d seen her.
“I will feed you, before I have my way with you.”
“Or maybe I’ll have my way with you.” She cocked her head to the side and frowned. “That’s what we agreed on right? You topped me last night, so tonight I get to be the Domme, and you’re the sub.”
Alexander froze.
Alena held the puzzled expression another few heartbeats then broke into a grin. “I wish I’d had a camera to capture that expression.”
“I was not amused.” He’d damn near had a heart attack.
“I was.” Alena ducked under his arm and padded across to the kitchen area in her bare feet. Her shawl slipped from her arms, landing on the floor.
When he’d called her the captured queen, she’d asked who that made him.
And now he couldn’t get the image of himself kneeling at the foot of her throne, his armor dented and dusty from battle, out of his head.
