French Blue (17 page)

“What about the painting?”

“Ah. I’m afraid any desire to do that went out of my life along with Caro. Don’t ask me why it went—the shock, I suppose, or maybe I was depressed—but I’ve never been able to pick up a brush since.”

“There must be help for you? The hospital—can’t they offer counselling.”

“Maybe, but I’m not the counselling type, am I? You can see that.”

Lisa shook her head. It was useless to push him, but she wanted to scream at the waste of talent and rail at the doubly cruel blow that had struck him; the illness and Caro leaving him. She couldn’t hate Caro for it, and Olivier seemed to have reconciled himself to the fact, but still, there had to be some way to get him painting again. It must have ripped out his heart to give up.

“So, now you know.” He held out a hand, indicating the door. “Shall we go now?”

Lisa hesitated for a few seconds before nodding. It was useless to argue now, but she wasn’t going to give up.

Back down in his room, she sat on the bed. “I suppose I’ll be punished for disobeying your orders and violating your privacy?”

She had never seen him so sad or regretful. “No, you won’t.”

“Does this mean you’re going to punish me just for asking? For trying to help?”

“No, I’m not going to punish you for that.”

But he was, unintentionally. Her punishment was sharp and hurtful. He’d withdrawn from her just when she thought they might get closer.

“I want to be corrected for what I did. For invading your space, for breaking into the studio. Thrash me with the cane and or flog me with your martinet. I know you have them. I’ve seen them in the closet at the apartment when you were out, so you must have some here. Go on, you know you’re bloody longing to!”

“No!” he shouted. “Stop this now.”

She trembled. “What?”

“You know what. You don’t want to be punished. You want to make me…”

“Yes?”

“You want to provoke me into a reaction. Anger, hurt, frustration, and I won’t do that, Lisa. I won’t punish you out of personal anger or revenge. That’s dangerous, and it’s not how I work. What’s going to happen is that you will go and get changed for dinner. We’ll have dinner and talk politely and make love.”

He smiled, back in control again. “You can see what a week of vanilla does for you. Go and get changed.”

A week of vanilla. Of tenderness, politeness, missionary sex, Olivier treating her like a goddess. He took her to the opera, booked her into an exclusive spa, made her buy shoes in the Galeries Lafayette and held her hand as they walked along the Seine.

The bastard.

He wanted to kill her with kindness.

She was maddened by his politeness, stung by his careful handling of her.

She ached for the sting of the crop across her arse and the pinch of the nipple clamps, longed to be at his feet or taste the cocktail of tension and shame she experienced before he fucked her from behind.

“It’s wonderful, it’s idyllic, but please, can we go back to normal?”

“What’s normal?”

“You being a cruel bastard. Paddling my arse and tormenting my nipples.”

“Using the vibe in your tight little pussy?”

Her cheeks fired. “Shh.”

“Embarrassed? Shall I tell everyone in the chocolaterie how ungrateful you are? That I’ve showered you with gifts and pampered you, and you repay me by asking to be thrashed?”

“Olivier!”

Heads turned, brows creased.

She squeezed his hand.

“That hurts, Lisa.”

“Good. Please lower your voice.”

“Are you saying that you’d rather have the wicked, cruel Olivier than the nice guy?”

“You
are
being cruel and wicked. Right now.”

“I just bought you an ice cream. I don’t see how that’s cruel.”

“Gah!”

She stomped off, knowing he’d follow.

He found her by the bridge.

“You want things back how they were?”

“Yes, damn you.”

“Then okay. Eat your ice cream and come home. You just earned yourself twenty minutes with some very expensive nipple clamps.”

“Oh shit. No, not those. Anything else.”

He held up his hand. “Thirty.”

She gasped.

“
Oui, maître
.”

He smiled. “
Bien
. And as I’m in a good mood, you can wear those ridiculously expensive shoes as consolation.”

She’d won—and she’d lost too. She’d got back her Dom and exchanged one form of torment for her torment of choice.

Chapter Thirteen

“Do you know what’s causing the holdup?”

Lisa rapped on the taxi screen, and the driver, tapping impatiently on the steering wheel, turned his head and gave a Gallic shrug.

“Some student protest or other. Who knows?”

Lisa glanced at her watch. She’d spent a long weekend with Bella and Abi and promised to be back in Paris by six thirty for an appointment with Olivier. Admittedly, she’d stopped to do some shopping on the way, but she’d thought she had just enough time to make it. She smiled. “Just enough” was the word. She’d deliberately not allowed enough time but hadn’t bargained on something unforeseen like this that would surely now make her very late indeed.

It couldn’t be helped. She sank back into her seat and tried not to fidget. The past few weeks had been intensely pleasurable, but there had been an undercurrent of tension between the two of them. Olivier had said no more about his illness or Lisa’s invasion into his most intimate space.

Tough. He might paddle her, he probably would paddle her, but she’d got through it once; she could handle it again. Perhaps a bit harder or a few extra strokes. She’d manage. And afterwards he’d make up for it. How he’d make up for it…

At last, she reached his apartment building, jogged up the stairs and rang the bell. Through the door, she heard voices and strained her ears while she waited for Olivier to answer. There were definitely two men, definitely French, and speaking so rapidly she had no way of making out the words.

Olivier had a visitor. Her heart sank, yet she let out a breath of relief. No correction, then. No pleasure either. How did she feel about that?

There was no time to think anymore, because Olivier opened the door.

“Bonsoir, Lisa.”

Bonsoir, not bonjour. Evening, not hello… Her skin prickled, but he smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips.

Inside the salon, a man lounged on the chaise longue, cross-legged, with a coffee in front of him. Instantly, she knew he was obviously Olivier’s brother, also jaw-droppingly handsome, yet perhaps his looks were a little too austere for Lisa’s tastes. He had an equally charming smile, however, and as she walked farther into the room, he got up and crossed to meet her.

“Lisa, this my brother, Alex, if you hadn’t guessed.”

Alex kissed her cheeks. “I had guessed,” she said, the tension ebbing from her body. With Alex here, playing—and punishment—were out of the question for a while. This was a social occasion now.

“You’re rather late, Lisa. I was worried about you,” said Olivier, casually.

Lisa kept her tone light, yet her body had begun to tingle in anticipation of what Olivier might have in store for her once Alex had left. “I should have phoned, but I was so caught up in…everything, and besides, you obviously have had Alex here to keep you company.”

She expected Olivier to offer her a drink, but he didn’t.

“I did ask you to be back at six thirty.”

Her hackles rose. “I know.”

Lisa stopped. She glanced at Alex. He’d surely be embarrassed at witnessing a lovers’ tiff, but he sipped his coffee and seemed unperturbed.

“Can you remember what I said about being here on time?”

“Yes, but… You don’t
really
mind, do you?” She gave him a knowing glance.

“Not the lateness so much as not calling me.”

“I’m sorry. I was fine. See, I’m here now, and I guess you guys have had so much to catch up on.”

She smiled and caught Alex’s gaze, but it gave no clues.

“We did and we have. But that’s not the point. I was worried that something had happened to you.”

“Well, it hadn’t.”

“No, but I’m still going to have to give you a correction.”

She let out a gasp. “What?”

“You were expecting that when you chose to disobey me, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose so, but…not
now
.”

She sought for an ally in Alex, expecting him to be outraged, but while his face was serious, he also seemed completely unsurprised at this turn of events. Realisation hit her like an express train, and her legs almost buckled.

Alex was a Dom too.

And she was going to be punished in front of him.

Lisa’s gaze flicked from one gorgeous Lemaitre brother to the other. The situation morphed into something surreal. Surely Olivier wouldn’t actually do it—and his brother wouldn’t actually stay and
watch
. Her heart rate took off like an express train, but her muscles clenched so violently they snatched her breath away. It was barely possible, but it was true. She was so turned on and horrified.

“It’s Alex you’ve insulted. I still haven’t decided. Why don’t we ask Alex?”

Ask Alex? No. Leave her fate in a stranger’s hands?

“You can’t do that!”

“I’m your Dom. I can do anything I want.”

“But…but…”

He held a finger over her lips. “But nothing. Now, personally, I think an infringement like this calls for the ultimate sanction.”

“What? You can’t be serious.” Her eyes darted to Alex, who lounged on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, his arms casually spread along the back of the furniture.

“Believe me, I am.” He turned to Alex, sitting there like a judge deciding her fate. “What do you think, Alex? This is a pretty serious offence. Being late on purpose when I’ve asked her to be on time.”

Alex shook his head sadly. “Is it a first offence?”

“Sadly, no.”

“So. Repeated defiance?”

Shit, they
had
to be joking. “That’s it, the pair of you. Very, very funny. Now I’m off to have a shower. Have a laugh while I do and get it out of your systems.”

Lisa made to march off, but an arm snatched at hers and stopped her in her tracks. Olivier held her firmly. “Do you see either of us laughing,
Ms.
Archer?”

No. No, she had to admit she didn’t, and the sharp stab in her womb was both shocking and exquisite. Her knickers dampened instantly. She was absolutely loving the game.

It was a game, wasn’t it?

Olivier pulled her closer, reading her mind. “This is not a game,
cherie
. You crossed a line, and if you hadn’t guessed it by now, neither I nor Alex can allow that to happen.” He dropped her arm. Lisa threw her arms around her body, horrified yet dissolving with excitement.

“Now, where were we, Alex?”

“Deciding on Lisa’s punishment.”

“Yes, that was it.”

Lisa opened her mouth to swear, but Olivier silenced her with a warning glare.

Alex leaned forward and heaved a sigh. “I presume you’re deciding between a spanking or something more serious?”

WTF?

A lump of rock had settled in Lisa’s throat. Goose bumps broke out on her skin. They were serious.

“Exactly.” Olivier looked at Lisa. “But I’m afraid that not even a paddling worked the first time.”

Alex clucked his tongue in disapproval. “Mmm. In that case, it’s clear the situation calls for sterner measures.”

Lisa stared at him, struggling not to scream at that handsome, arrogant face. She hadn’t the smallest doubt that her safe word would end this scenario instantly and have Alex offering profuse apologies and probably, being British, a cup of tea, but she didn’t want tea and sympathy. She wanted to continue the game, right up until the last possible moment, because there was no way, no matter how turned on she was by the threats, that she would actually allow Olivier to discipline her in front of his brother.

No way on earth.

“I think,” said Alex at last, blowing out a breath, “that you were right to mention the ultimate sanction.”

“You know, Alex, I tend to agree with you.”

Alex shook his head, and Olivier said something in French to him, far too rapid and colloquial for Lisa to decipher. By the frown of disapproval on Alex’s face, it was obvious Olivier had said something about her previous misdemeanours.

“What? What are you saying?”

Olivier captured her hand in his and pulled her close, looking down at her, his eyes filled with disappointment and sadness. He had to be acting. He could not really mean what he’d threatened, and he could not possibly intend to carry out the threat.

“What’s going to happen?”