by Melissa Jane
“You don’t need to—”
“Now! Go get ready. The night’s calling our names.”
“Nope, that’s not the night, that’s my bed.”
When my sister squares her shoulders and folds her arms, I relent. While I love peace and tranquillity, Samantha could lead an army to battle with a simple eye twitch. I’ve learned she always wins those battles. “Fine,” I concede, “I’ll throw a dress on.”
“And do something with your hair,” she calls as I take to the stairs.
“What’s wrong with my messy bun?”
“Is that what you’re calling it? It looks like a rat’s nest for lazy people.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this mean to you,” I yell flatly from the top.
I hear her voice while picking out my dress. “Come on, sourpuss. This could be a night you won’t ever forget.”
“I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE you have a driver,” I say closing the car door to the Mercedes and straightening my dress.
“Perks of the job,” Samantha replies like it’s no big deal. “Come on. Stop fiddling.”
“My dress feels too short. I should have gone for the black one, it has more length.”
“We’re not auditioning for Little Women, and besides, you’re now considered separated, so show some leg.”
“That doesn’t mean I need to act like a ho.”
Samantha throws me an eye roll. “My nerdy sister could never be a ho. That’s my job.” She giggles and takes my hand, leading me to the long line outside the nightclub. Instead of joining the wait, she bypasses the crowd and beelines for the bouncer. The big man greets her with a smile, and she whispers in his ear. His hand indecently snakes to her lower back, where fingers stop just shy of her ass. I stand awkwardly as the two interact on one side while fielding off glares from those still stuck in the line on the other side. They both laugh at something funny no one else is privy to, and the bouncer lifts the red rope, allowing us through.
“Geez, sister… you’ve really been stepping it up in the world.” I truly am confused over the sudden and drastic changes in her life. It’s a good thing considering the state she was in not so long ago. But I’m still suspicious because no good thing ever comes without a catch. And there’s no subtle way of asking without causing offense. “Is this another perk of the job?”
Samantha hooks her arm through mine. “It’s a perk of being sociable. Something you’ll learn now you’re single.” I don’t quite believe her, for the simple reason she never had any of this a few months ago, and now suddenly, she’s been endowed with perks otherwise out of reach. “Besides, those people outside don’t know it, but they’re not waiting for where we’re going.”
“I don’t understand.”
She throws me a winning smile. “You don’t have to. Just follow me.”
We walk down a flight of stairs, a stunningly beautiful chandelier greeting us in the otherwise dark foyer.
“This isn’t your regular club,” I say more to myself as I take in the elaborate surroundings.
Samantha shoots me a knowing look as the woman dressed in a see-through black lace dress holds open the door, gesturing for us to enter. I give a small smile as we pass, unsure of what to expect on the other side.
Samantha leans in close. “Drinks are expensive here to cover the costs of having capped numbers, so it’s never too crowded which is good. Keeps all the shit out on the street. As you saw out there, they don’t let just anyone in.”
I look around the room, taking everything in. Those who are allowed in are dressed beautifully in designer-brand suits, dresses, handbags and shoes—enough money that could feed a small nation.
“Now you understand why I got you to wear Givenchy.”
I nod, thankful she did. The lights are low and intimate, the walls adorned with oil paintings. The music isn’t the typical type you’d find in a club. It’s sensual, a heavy bass reverberating through my body rousing senses that haven’t been awakened for some time. We move through the people, my heart pounding with both excitement and apprehension. This club almost has a ‘dirty little secret’ feel to it—if the dirty little secret involves provocativeness and luxury. It’s most definitely sexy and so is everyone in it.
We find a free table, and before we place our purses on the leather top, we’re approached by a strikingly handsome waiter. Before my eyes land on him, they dart around the room only to notice that all the wait staff fall into the exceptionally high-caliber category of good-looking, each presenting their own version of sex appeal.
“Good evening, ladies,” the waiter greets with a husky voice I can’t help but smile at. I wonder how many times that voice has gotten him laid. His eyes are alive and dance over us with a flirtation that would leave any girl hot between the legs.
“Evening,” Sam and I reply in unison.
“What can I get you both to drink? Our martinis are extra dirty tonight.”
“I. Bet. They. Are,” my sister coos. “We’ll take two.”
I turn to her, wide-eyed. “You hate martinis.”
She shrugs. “I might just learn to love them. So… what do you think of this place?”
“It’s… amazing,” I say, eyeing the obvious imbalance. “The men certainly outnumber the women, don’t they?”
I turn in time to see Samantha shrug at the question. “They do? Oh…”
Her reaction causes me to frown.
Did she not notice the men in this place are three to one?
I watch as the fellow patrons interact, a masculine hand resting on the curve of a woman’s hips, the way they inch closer as they speak private words to each other before being joined by another man who seems equally as invested in what the night has to offer. The way eyes linger on sensual bodies while drinking in every inch of their bare skin, fantasizing about what treats lie underneath their designer wear. How sipping champagne takes on a quality of its own, now risqué and titillating.
“It’s almost surreal. It’s not a swingers club, is it?”
Samantha laughs. “No, but the people who come here aren’t your average run-of-the-mill. They have money and know how to spend it. They have sex appeal and know how to use it. They know people in high places, and this is a safe place for them to come and be sociable without any limitations.”
“I didn’t even notice a sign when we walked in.”
“Othello. This place is called Othello.”
“And just what are we doing here in… Othello?”
I certainly am not as wealthy as these people nor do I know people in high places.
My sister winks. “I have connections. But if you’re looking for that type of club, I—”
“Ladies,” the waiter returns with our martinis and places them on the table. “Complimentary from the gentleman at the bar.” He winks before disappearing into the crowd.
We look in the direction the waiter pointed, but see no one who looks familiar or who wants to be acknowledged for their generosity.
“Well,” Samantha raises her glass. “Cheers, my sister. To new beginnings.”
I clink mine with hers. “To new beginnings, whether they’re wanted or not.”
NOT LONG IN, I call a ban on any Shawn talk. After a few more dirty martinis, I’m tempted enough to call him, just to hear his voice, even if he does just give one-word replies. Even if hearing his voice is simply listening to his voicemail. While not drunk, I feel my raw emotions bubbling to the surface, and the last thing I want is to make a decision I’ll later regret. That decision being, begging Shawn to fix things. Because I already know the answer, and I’m shit out of luck in that respect.
Samantha seems taken in conversation with a handsome stranger who might be a good fifteen years her senior. With his sprinkling of salt-and-pepper hair, and amazing jawline, the age gap could be forgiven. Sam places a hand on his arm, keeping it there long enough to make her intentions loud and clear. Whatever floats her boat.
“Well… this is a pleasant surpr
ise,” the familiar deep sound says from behind while lips graze my ear. I don’t need to turn to know who it is.
“Mr. Alexander,” I greet, ignoring the tremor of delight coursing through me. “This is a surprise.”
“Call me Kane,” he rumbles, his stubble tickling my cheek.
“Kane,” I repeat, breathily. “Is it you buying our drinks tonight?” The same sexy waiter had returned three more times with martinis, and on each occasion saying they were courtesy of the man at the bar, who’s managed to remain incognito.
“You’re new here. I want you to enjoy the night.”
I move to face him, but he’s already rounding on me, taking my hand in his. “And how exactly do you know it’s my first time?”
Kane leads me to the dance floor where other couples are intimately dancing. I feel a sudden rush of nerves, but when he pulls me against his hard chest, he successfully distracts me from my thoughts. His cheek once again brushes mine and a small involuntary moan escapes my lips.
“All virgins have that look of wonderment about them.”
Dear God… have mercy.
I’m caught in a sensory overload. The man smells divine, his cologne making me welcomely heady. One hand rests on the small of my back, the other cupping my cheek, holding me in place while he murmurs against my ear.
It all feels so carnal.
And so wrong.
“You must come here often if it’s that noticeable to you.”
He doesn’t pull away or break his hold. Instead, I find myself leaning closer to him.
“I protect anything that’s mine.” There’s a promise in his tone which leaves my knees quaking. “And this is only a preview of what’s to come.”
What does he mean by that?
This has me leaning far enough away so I can see his dark eyes. “This is yours? This is the place you want redecorated.”
Kane shakes his head, pulling me closer against his body, his hips moving against mine. It feels so wickedly illicit.
“This is one of my many businesses, Blythe.”
Oh, how I love it when he says my name like that.
“Many?” I ask, hoping he’ll elaborate. “Do they all cater to the rich and famous?”
I feel him smile against my cheek, and I wish I could see it.
“I’m the creator of my own world. I get to determine what I want in it and who. And Blythe, you’re in it, no matter what you say to the contrary. Speaking of which…” he says, beginning to steer the conversation in a different direction, but I’m still reeling over his bluntness, “have you changed your mind about working with me?”
This time, I shake my head. “Kane, I have to stick by my decision. I can’t work on this project. It’s far too grand a task for me to do blind. And if you’re unwilling to budge—”
“Do you trust me, Blythe?”
“I don’t know you, Kane.”
“Then let me change that.”
“Me saying no to the job isn’t about whether or not I trust you. It’s because I don’t want to fuck it up when you’re willing to invest so much into it.”
“I understand, it’s your reputation on the line, but my offer still stands. In fact, I’ll increase the commission. I’ll ensure you’re very well looked after. You have my word.”
I shiver hearing his last sentence, and he feels it, gliding both his hands up and down my arms.
I step back, thinking it’s time to go before I lose my self-control. Why does he affect me in so many different ways, and why do I allow it?
He takes my hand and angles me so he can still graze my ear. “What’s one thing I should know about you, Blythe Cooper?”
I pause for a moment because no one’s ever asked me such a question. “I hate liars.” When he doesn’t respond, I seek his response to the same question. “And you? What’s one thing I should know about you, Kane Alexander?”
I feel that same smile, his lips grazing my cheek as he gently kisses me for a long lingering moment. “I always get what I want.”
5
“You look like shit,” Amanda announces, quickly closing my office door behind her.
“Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“‘Cause… well… it’s true. I guess. Here...” She hands me a compact, and I study my reflection before retrieving my lip gloss, which will only minimally improve matters.
Maybe she’s right. I haven’t had much sleep since the night at Othello and the unexpected encounter with Kane Alexander has left me restless. I’d tossed and turned in bed feeling an unhealthy array of emotions, and a needy pang of desire between my legs that just won’t abate. He consumed any dreams I did manage to have, causing me to wake hot, sweaty and tangled between the damp sheets. Needless to say, I now feel and look like shit.
When Shawn made no contact and refused to call me back even on our anniversary, any guilt I had was quickly dismissed.
If he can check out, then so can I.
“Oh, and you have a visitor,” she says a little too quickly for my liking.
“Who? Don’t I have a meeting in ten minutes?”
“You do, but I think this may take a little longer.”
I put down my compact mirror, eyes slowly widening. “He’s here, isn’t he?”
She nods, wearing a wicked grin. “In all his Zeus-like sexiness.”
Shit.
I exhale heavily and square my shoulders, warning myself that if I don’t remain indifferent to his charms I’ll personally slap myself. “Send him in… but wait!” Amanda turns before reaching the door. “If he hasn’t left in five minutes, interrupt and say I have another important meeting to get to.”
“On it,” she says before exiting. I move things idly around on my desk, fidgeting because I don’t know what else to do with my hands. I catch his cologne before I see him, and I’m suddenly taken aback as to how weak at the knees he makes me and how my clothes smelled of him when I returned home.
“Blythe,” he greets, walking in with yet another stunningly beautiful bouquet of flowers. Amanda’s right on the money. Kane’s always seen in the latest runway suits that somehow seem to meld perfectly to his already-perfect body. There’s simply too much perfect going on for the average woman to cope with. He places the flowers on my desk before gently kissing my cheek. He takes his time, his mouth inching closer to mine each time I see him.
“Kane, yet another surprise… and these flowers are beyond gorgeous, but you don’t have to—”
“There just flowers, Blythe,” he says before taking a seat, one ankle hooked over a knee. “You’ll know when I really spoil you.”
His suggestiveness causes me to choke on my own saliva, my mind wandering to all sorts of dirty things I’m too ashamed to mention. Taking a sip of water, I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Kane laces his fingers and considers me a moment. “I told you last night that I always get what I want.” When I don’t respond, he continues, “You know you’re the only person for my job. It’s not that there aren’t others just as capable, but the difference is… I want you.”
I swallow hard and he watches the movement.
“I want you, and I’ll do just about anything to have you accept my invitation. And while I can’t take you there, I will try to answer any questions you may have, but obviously some are off-limits.”
I swallow again and nod. He really isn’t going to expose any more of the mystery—at least not the juicy stuff—however, a healthy commission could really be useful right about now.
“Okay,” I start. “What does your business involve?”
“Think of it as a feast for the senses.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“No.”
Okay.
“Operating hours, day or night?”
“Both.”
“Can you give me a basic rundown of what a typical day or night would look like?”
He shakes his head. “Off-limits.”
&n
bsp; “Your clientele?”
“Rich, indulgent, hungry.”
“So, a restaurant?”
His lips twitch, a smile glinting from his dark eyes. “Of a kind.”
That would be a no.
“Is it somewhere I would go?”
Kane bites his bottom lip in an attempt to hide his smile. One sexy, long finger gliding rhythmically over his chin. “No.”
How can someone make one simple word like ‘no’ sound so damn sexy?
“But… that could change.”
Heat blushes my cheeks, and I have no idea why because I have no inkling as to what he’s suggesting.
“Let me take you out for dinner,” he says, cutting through my indecent thoughts.
I’m thrown by his invitation because I still want to dive deeper than the superficial into this world he’s so protective over. But dinner with Kane Alexander! As much as I’m tempted, more so because I haven’t had this type of attention for over a year, I’m not prepared to further complicate things. Amanda will be so disappointed in me.
“Kane… I… I’ve got a lot going on at the moment, and—”
“How is Shawn?”
The question is like a slap across the face, and I get the strange feeling he knows more than he’s letting on. Like the answer to his question.
I lean back in my chair, aware I’ve absently been twisting my wedding ring. “Ah... Shawn is doing fine. And, we… are also… fine.”
Kane sees right through my lies but keeps his thoughts on the issue to himself. Instead, he leans forward, his voice a gravelly, thigh-clenching tune. “Blythe, some men don’t appreciate what they have. Even when they’re close to losing it, they happily lay waste to it. Other men treat their woman as their queen. They worship, honor. They ensure their wife excels professionally, challenges them spiritually, and leaves her body trembling with endless waves of pleasure until she’s on her weak knees begging for more. That’s how it should be. So, fine shouldn’t cut it for you.” He stands and winks, and I feel my insides flip. “I’ll leave it to you to determine which type of man I am.”
6
