The Importance of Being Alice (12 page)

“Oooh, anxious for it, are you?” She smiled and held up the parrot. “Shall we start with the nipple clamps?”

He glared at the parrot. “I distinctly remember telling you no just a few minutes ago. I haven't changed my mind since then.”

“I know, but it seems like too good of an opportunity to waste.” She giggled; then, before he could protest, she spread the parrot's legs and clipped each foot to his shirt. “OK, that's just funny as hell.”

He looked down, sighing to himself at the sight of the parrot dangling spread-eagle and upside down from his shirt. “It's so hilarious I'm surprised I haven't ruptured a spleen or two in reaction.”

She laughed, a sound he relished, even in his present ignominious circumstances. “I'm so going to get a picture of us before I let you out. Consider it my blackmail picture of you.”

“I'm sure it will be worth millions. Would you consider me churlish if I asked you to continue with whatever you have planned for me? These stocks are a bit low for someone of my height, and I suspect being bent over like this won't be good for my back.”

“Got a bad back, huh?” she asked, placing the pirate hat on his head before running her fingers down his sides.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

She moved around behind him. He rolled his eyes to the side in an effort to see what she was doing.

“Poor Dirk, with all those sore muscles. Maybe I should massage them.”

Her fingers grasped his ass, making him jerk upward against the top rail of the stocks. He swore at the pain of the wood against his neck. At the same time, a muscle in his back, protesting the unusual attitude, gave a twinge of protest.

“Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to startle you like that. I just couldn't resist because your butt was right there, and to be honest, I've been wanting to do that for what seems like forever.” Alice's voice was contrite. “Did you hit your head?”

“No, my neck, but if you could unhook this thing, I believe I need to straighten up before my back begins to spasm.”

“You're a baron,” she pointed out, coming around to the front of the stocks. “Barons aren't supposed to have bad backs.”

“I'm also six foot four, and hover around the fifteen-stone mark, both of which mean I'm pretty much guaranteed to have back problems, so if you could release me, I'll do a few stretches that the physiotherapist recommends, and then we can switch positions.”

“Not so fast there, Lord—damn, this is a stiff latch—Erogenous. I barely had any chance to molest you, and . . . dammit! That broke my nail. . . . And you can ogle my butt without me being in the stocks, not that I think you should be ogling it anyway, because it's not particularly . . .”

Her voice trailed away to nothing. Elliott's back gave another warning spasm. He turned his head as far as he could. The hat slipped down over one eye, giving him an unintentionally rakish appearance. “Alice, I realize you
enjoy playacting and such, and I hate to appear to be such a feeble creature that I can't stand doubled over for more than a few minutes at a time before my back fails me, but I assure you that it will soon become uncomfortable for me—”

“I'm not playing with you, silly. I know backs are nothing to mess with when they go hurty,” she interrupted, her head bent over the metal latch that closed the stocks. “This stupid thing is stuck or something. I can't pry the bit up that needs to move so it'll unhook.”

His back gave a massive twinge. A sense of panic filled him when he tried to pull his hands free, but apparently, the people at this club ordered their stocks from a source that believed in truly confining the participants. “Use something to pry it up, Alice,” he demanded, wincing against the pain jabbing upward along his back.

“Like what?” she asked, spinning in a circle as she looked around the room.

“I don't care what you use. Anything! Break the damned thing if you have to.”

She took one look at his face and ran for the door. “I'll get someone to help.”

That was all he needed, he thought as he tried to flex his back in an attempt to forestall more spasms. There he was, doubled over and confined in a German sex club, a lavender and indigo captain's hat on his head, parrot hanging from what appeared to be his nipples, and a grimace of pain on his face. The way his day was going, Alice would have a blackmail photo to keep her in wealth the rest of her life.

Ten minutes later, three of the club personnel, two maintenance men, and a cluster of bystanders applauded when the hinge was unscrewed and removed, allowing
Elliott to be released from his bondage. He straightened up with an audible groan, his hands on his back in an attempt to stretch the cramping muscles.

“I'm so sorry,” Alice said for the fifth time, hovering around him in obvious desire to help him, but not knowing how. “I'd never have locked you in that damned thing if I thought it would hurt you. Oh thank you, Herr Keller. I much appreciate you getting that off Elliott.
Danke
,
danke
, everyone.”

It took another fifteen minutes of stretching, and having Alice walk on his back, before he could stagger out of the club, Alice clutching his arm in case he needed her. He wanted to laugh at the idea that she could prop up someone of his size, but to be honest, her fussing around him was the only thing that made the experience worthwhile.

They left the club, the parrot, hat, and cat-o'-nine-tails in a carrier bag that swung between them as Alice assisted him down the street. He couldn't quite straighten his back entirely, but it wasn't as bad as it could be, so on the whole, Elliott was hopeful that he'd be right as rain after a night's rest.

“Are you angry?” she asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Me? No,” he said, honestly surprised at her question. He had tried hard not to give her the impression that he was angry about the accident with the stocks; he knew full well it was due to faulty equipment, and nothing she had done. “I don't blame you at all, and I'm sorry if you took my silence for condemnation. I was just trying to remember if I brought any muscle relaxers with me.”

“Oh.” She bit her lower lip. “Regardless, I feel terrible that our playtime ended so badly. But at least the sex
club gave your room rental back, so it wasn't as bad as it could be.”

“It could have been quite worse,” he agreed magnanimously.

“And those two guys who felt up your butt while the maintenance dude was working on that hinge were kicked out because they violated the ‘must have fondlee's consent' rule, or so that pink-haired woman who spoke English said, so at least they won't do that to the next guy trapped in the stocks.”

“I will sleep easier knowing that.”

“As for the photos, I have Herr Keller's assurance that they won't post any of the pictures of you on their Web site. I'm afraid I couldn't confiscate the phones of the people who stood around taking videos, but no one but the manager knows who you are, and I made him promise he wouldn't tell anyone, so at worst, at very worst, all that would happen would be a few videos are put up on YouTube of some unknown British tourist who got stuck. There should be no mention of your name, so none of your friends will ever find out this happened.”

He sighed. He didn't want to think about all those people with their damned phones.

Alice glanced worriedly at him. “I will be happy to walk on your back again once we get you back to the ship. That seemed to make it feel a bit better, didn't it?”

“A bit, although I'd prefer that you sat on my front rather than walked on my back.”

She blinked a couple of times. “Did you just proposition me?”

“Yes, yes I did, Jasmine of the Midnight Sea.”

Her eyes lit with amusement. “Oooh, someone wants
to play despite a hurty back, and the guys with cameras, and the unwarranted butt-gropage.”

It wasn't easy, but he trotted out a smile. Truly, none of the horrible events were her fault, so it wasn't fair to blame her for what had turned out to be a nightmarish visit. “I thought it only right since I ruined your pirate experience.”

She stopped, and despite the fact that they were on the middle of the pavement, with people streaming to and fro around them, she kissed him, her breath warm on his lips as she said, “You really are one in a million, Elliott. I don't know of another man who would have withstood all that indignation, not to mention real pain, and not bitten my head off at least once during the evening.”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug, and put his arm around her waist, pulling her in close to his body, her scent working its usual aphrodisiac magic. “You weren't to blame. Besides, it was an enjoyable day up to that point.”

“It was, wasn't it?” She looked pleased for a few seconds; then a shadow seemed to come over her mood. “What . . . uh . . . you never did tell me what the family problem was. If that's not being too nosy, and assuming that it was a problem you were dealing with.”

Elliott frowned at the reminder. He didn't know if the budding relationship with Alice was going to go anywhere, but he knew that because of her situation, he'd have to leave the pace up to her lest he push her too far too fast. And interference from a brother sent to investigate would be bound to put her back up—it certainly made Elliott feel itchy just knowing his mother was sending in siblings to spy on him. “Not a real problem, no. More a situation that had to be dealt with.”

“Oh? Nothing serious, I hope.”

Alice looked as if she'd like to know more, but if there was anything he'd rather talk about than his family, he couldn't think of it. “No, just the usual distractions of being the oldest of twelve.”

“Twelve! Man, your parents . . . oh, jeez, that was rude.” Alice's eyes had widened, but she gave his arm an apologetic squeeze. By that time, they had approached the ship. Luckily, no one else was present to watch him lumber in.

“There are only three of us related by blood. The other nine are adopted,” he told her, waving her forward to go up the gangway to the ship. “My mother was a firm believer in adoption, and my father wouldn't dare contradict her desire to adopt every needy child she came across. No, thank you, I'm fine. Just a little incident, nothing serious.” This last was spoken in response to Tiffany, who emerged from the bar to ask if he was injured.

“You're back early,” Tiffany said, frowning. “The schedule was quite clear in stating that you are responsible for your own dinner tonight.”

“I'll grab something takeaway for us,” Alice told her, tugging him toward the stairs. “Don't worry about us. Oh, would you happen to have some ice for Elliott's . . . sprain?”

“I will bring you some shortly, although room service is discouraged,” Tiffany replied with obvious disapproval.

“Thanks. I think between the ice and the muscle-rub stuff I have, Elliott should be just peachy.” They managed to escape any more of Tiffany's disapproval, but only because Alice took control of the situation, sending him to the shower to loosen up the aggravated muscles.

“It always does my legs good when they cramp up after a long run,” she told him, pushing a large clean towel into his arms. “No one else is on the ship, so go ahead and take a nice long shower, and when you're done, I'll rub some of the muscle stuff into your back. We can ice it later, if it's still bothering you. You eat cow, right?”

“I beg your pardon?” He paused in the act of folding his shirt after removing it.

“Beef. You eat it, right? I ask because I've only seen you eat ham and chicken, and I didn't know if you were anti-cow-consumption or not. There's a burger place at the end of the dock, and I thought I'd run down there and grab some dinner for us.”

“Oh, yes, I eat beef. No onions, though, please.”

“Gotcha.” She made a shooing gesture. “Go shower. Hopefully it'll stop you from walking like Quasimodo.”

He tried to stretch his back. It protested the action. “I sincerely hope so. I don't relish the idea of spending the rest of the trip looking like my grandfather at his most frail.”

When he emerged from the tiny bathroom, the room had been transformed.

“You've been busy,” he said, toweling his hair as he looked around. The two twin beds had been shoved together, his laptop had been moved over to where their luggage had been stacked into a makeshift desk, and the table was covered with a scarf that had been around Alice's waist the day before. On it lay a collection of fast-food items that had Elliott's mouth watering.

“Yup, I thought since I wasn't going to insist on you keeping your distance anymore, we might as well be more comfy at night. Not that I expect to . . . you know . . . tonight, what with your ouchie back and all.” She clipped
the parrot to the curtains and gave him a once-over. “Although I have to say, you look much better. You're standing straight.”

“I found that I did have a couple of muscle relaxers with me, and took two. That and the shower have returned me to human again.” He sniffed. “Is that strudel?”

“Yeah. The Germans sure know how to stock their fast-food joints—fresh pastry for dessert. You said you had a sweet tooth, so I got a couple different kinds.”

“Sadly, I do. This looks excellent.” By the time they finished eating, the muscle relaxers were really beginning to kick in, but there was one thing he very much wanted to do before he gave in to the pull of the drugs.

He helped Alice clear up the trash, then proceeded to remove his shirt and trousers, placing both out of the way in one of the drawers. Alice was watching him with interest when he said matter-of-factly, “I believe I owe you a bend over the capstan.”

“You do?” Her brow furrowed for a moment before she understood. “Oh, you mean you want to . . . but your back is sore.”

“That is why I shall allow you to be on top,” he said, lying down on one of the beds. “Not that I'm opposed to this position in normal circumstances, you understand, but it seems advisable to take it easy, so if you have no objections, you may mount me at will.”