Submit

She was teasing, and he knew it was her way of deflecting from the seriousness of the topic.

“I was practicing a pas de deux. Ballet is strenuous on the body to begin with. You get aches in places you didn’t even know existed.” She started picking at the hem of the blanket. “Long story short, my partner didn’t hold me in the right position which resulted in me falling and landing awkwardly on my ankle. Needless to say, my career was over. I stopped pointe altogether, even withdrawing from school.”

She unfolded the blanket and laid it over her lap.

“Okay, enough with the depressing topic, Mr. Moore.” She smiled, and it was filled with so much sorrow Dietrich regretted even bringing it up.

There were many things he wanted to say to her. Things that would bring light to her eyes again and wash away the disappointment that poured from her. His reaction to her didn’t surprise him, not when he had felt just as strongly when he first met Stellan all those years ago.

Dietrich relied on his gut and instincts to make multi-million-dollar purchases. Those instincts never failed him, not with Stellan and certainly not with Blythe.

He would teach her how to let go, to feel free and hand herself over to him with the trust he needed. Dietrich wouldn’t let her down. In fact, he would help her realize that she could be free if only she relinquished herself to him.

She didn’t need to be burdened when he and Stellan could help her feel only pleasure, emotional and physical. He knew his lover as well as he knew himself, and if he had this strong of a reaction to Blythe, then there was no question so would his sub.

Instead of continuing on with a subject that clearly upset her, he simply said, “Rest up, Miss Winters.” She nodded and let herself close her eyes.

Maybe she realized how easy it was to obey? She certainly did it so well.

He could see plainly that she was burdened with her emotions, but he would soon show her there was no need to carry them alone.

Chapter Six

The plane landed a little after five a.m. local time, just as Walter said, and now they were headed toward Mr. Moore’s villa. The car that had been waiting for them was a sleek Mercedes.

Blythe had only been to a few states, so flying across the ocean to another country was wondrous for her. Everything seemed so grand and wonderful, even with her jet lag weighing her down.

She’d woken up a few times during the night to see Mr. Moore typing away on his laptop, but he had been far too engrossed in what he was doing to notice her. He named off stunning buildings they passed on their drive to his home: Estátua de Dom Pedro IV, Santa Engrácia, and her favorite thus far, the Mosteiro dos Jerónimos.

She wondered if he purposefully took the scenic route because they were spread out pretty well, and it seemed a bit out of the way, but she wasn’t complaining because it was a spectacular sight.

The Mosteiro dos Jerónimos, a church, had sat beautifully alone, with its pointed tips and stunning architecture. Maybe she would have time to sightsee a bit, to walk within the castles and churches that had been around for hundreds of years?

No, there probably wouldn’t be time for that, not with Mr. Moore’s chaotic schedule.

The rest of the ride was made in relative silence, and Mr. Moore spoke on the phone. His Portuguese was flawless, and Blythe found it quite romantic. Whoever he spoke to obviously was someone he cared for if his calm voice and gentle chuckles were anything to go by.

Maybe it was his lover or possibly a fling he met up with whenever he visited the country? She didn’t let it consume her thoughts and went back to watching the ocean roll by her. It was glorious and serene, and she let herself get lost in the pinks and oranges that painted the horizon.

The break of the waves tumbled onto the shore, and the foamy white deposit it left in its wake made for a hypnotizing view. The car pulled onto a cobblestoned, circular driveway, and Blythe marveled at the villa before her. The images she had seen certainly didn’t do it justice. The car stopped, and her door opened only moments later.

She climbed out and knew she probably looked like a tourist as she gawked at the gorgeous structure before her. The villa was more like a mansion, set right on the water. The sandy colored stone that made up the three-story beach home was a few shades darker than the sand only a few feet away.

Their driver, a tall, thin man going by the name of Francesco, had thinning, wavy, black hair and dark brown eyes. He talked quickly to Dietrich in Portuguese. The language was beautiful, and she felt herself get caught up in the melodic quality of it.