My gaze wanders up the broad expanse of him, halting in the vicinity of his chin as I scan my mind for something to say.
Fancy meeting you here.
I can explain . . . Some of it, at least.
Just, please . . . touch me.
I inhale, really not sure what I’m about to say when he beats me to it.
“Don’t,” he commands in a tone not at all like the Carson I’m familiar with. The man who is quick to smile and always ready to tease. “Not here.” His large hand appears before me as the devil whispers, “Come with me.”
I place my hand in his, finding there isn’t anywhere I wouldn’t follow him right now.
20
Fee
My hand still held fast in his as I struggle to keep up with his long strides, aware of the people we’re passing. Their expressions are a mixture of enquiry and calculation. Jealousy, even.
“Where are we going?” As my heart continues to beat so hard it rings in my ears as arousal and alarm comingle into a heady internal stew.
“Somewhere we can talk. Without distraction.”
That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. I push aside the implication because no, I can’t talk about what I’m doing here. Not after what I’ve just witnessed. If he’d caught me just ten minutes before, my conscience would be clear, and my knickers wouldn’t be sticking to—
Ten minutes.
“No, stop.” In a hallway now, I pull on his hand, pull with the full weight of my body. “I don’t have my phone. I was only meant to be here for an hour.”
As his feet come to a halt, I almost bounce into him, into his broad back.
“What did you hope to achieve in an hour?”
“Not whatever it is you’re thinking.” My retort is delivered to the back of his head, my uncomfortable heels bringing my height a little closer to his. As I try to pull my hand from his, his grip just tightens. “Lulu is with a babysitter, and I already had a mini heart attack when I found out I had to leave my phone at the entrance.”
He turns to me then, his eyes an angry shade of midnight. “You didn’t read the instructions?”
“What instructions?”
“The member’s area of the website.”
“I must’ve missed that bit,” I snap back, my voice rising in intensity if not volume because he’s not at all endearing himself to me currently.
“What parts did you read?” He tugs on my hand, and I stumble into him, my free hand finding its way to the firm expanse of his chest. My clutch drops to the floor, and I find myself flattening my palm against his shirt, wondering if his heart is beating as hard as mine as I inhale a lungful of his scent. Why does he always smell so good? That damned cologne of his with the underlying scent of whisky and mint.
“So you didn’t read the rules and regulations. The expectations.” His deep baritone vibrates under my hand. “Maybe you stopped at the sales pitch when you were sold a sexually liberated paradise?” The backs of his fingers trail down my face, his words low and seductive. “Exclusive and hedonistic. A utopia for fucking.”
“What about you?” My words sound even, despite how I feel, despite how I’m back to staring at his sternum. “Maybe I should ask what parts you paid particular attention to.”
“I wrote the rules, beautiful. The reason you’re wearing a white ribbon is because of me.”
“I.” Clap my mouth closed, then try again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Because he didn’t choose it for me, Beth did. Surely, he doesn’t mean he and Beth contrived to get me here. As my sluggish brain struggles to process all this, his fingers stroke the sensitive dip behind my ear. It doesn’t help my cognitive skills, and I find myself biting back a moan as his lips follow suit. A press of his lips, the touch of his tongue, and I’m melting against him, my fingers twisted in his lapels.
“They said you didn’t date.” His sultry whisper winds its way through me as his hands clasp my hips. “Maybe they don’t know you prefer to watch than participate.”
Something hot bursts inside my chest at his accusation, thick shame and need trickling down to my belly as my mind works over his words. The significance of a white ribbon; it all now makes sickening sense. People don’t pay to come to a night like this to watch; this isn’t a spectator sport.