Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club #4)

by Nikki Sloane

  “Yeah, a friend recommended him,” I said. “How’d you hear about Silas’s gallery?”

  “One of his paintings is in the federal building, a few floors down from my office. Turns out his sister’s a U.S. Marshal, and she gave me his name.” He finished the glass of wine in his hand. “So, Miss Regan No-last-name, what do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a sales assistant at an exclusive night club.”

  I gauged his reaction carefully. The hesitation that appeared was quickly replaced with intrigue. “Exclusive?”

  He hit on the keyword just as I hoped he would. Appealing to his pride and status was a surefire way to get him hooked. “Yes. We have to be selective about who can become a member.”

  His eyebrows tugged together. “Why?”

  “For a lot of reasons, one of which is our clients prefer discretion.” I let out a breath and leaned close, setting my hand lightly on his arm. “It’s so they can enjoy safely, without consequences or judgement.”

  His voice was hushed. “Enjoy what?”

  I made a show of glancing around, hinting I was letting him in on a big secret. “An experience you can’t get anywhere else and pleasure like you—” I drew back and pretended to be embarrassed. “What am I doing? I shouldn’t talk about it. We’ve got a lot of powerful members, but you work for a congressman.”

  I weighted my words, acting as if I was impressed with Bennett’s office. There was a spark of desire in Roland’s muddy-colored eyes, not for me, but to be included in this mysterious and exclusive club.

  “Don’t worry about that. Your secret’s safe with me.” His voice was tight with what I assumed was excitement. “I mean, as long as we’re not talking about something illegal.”

  “No, we’re not.” This was true in a basic sense. The blindfold club was set up completely legit on paper. The girls never touched the money or negotiated purchase price directly, and the johns were instructed they were bidding on a bottle of wine. Whatever happened between the girl on the table and the purchaser after the sales assistant left was between them.

  “But,” I continued, “the club isn’t for everyone. There are plenty of people who are closed-minded, and we don’t want membership to tarnish anyone’s reputation.”

  I ran a hand through my hair, shaking out the kinks, and glanced around again, keeping up the guise I was suspicious. Then I dipped my hand into my purse and pulled out a business card, keeping it tightly hidden in my palm.

  “I’m going to give you my card, but please promise you’ll tear it up if you’re not interested.” Now is when I chose to go in for the kill. How he reacted to my next move was everything. I slipped my hand inside his jacket, placing the card in his interior pocket, brushing my fingertips over his chest as I withdrew. “The place is a fantasy, any desire you want. All you need is an open mind. Sounds good, doesn’t it?”

  I nodded, knowing this would get him to nod in agreement with me.

  His eyes were big and his expression surprised, but his head moved, bobbing right along with mine, even as he visibly swallowed hard. Now I had to make my exit to leave him wanting more.

  It worked out so perfectly it was like it had been orchestrated. Silas emerged from the people and I gestured to him. “There’s the owner,” I said to Roland.

  As Silas approached, I uttered a quick goodbye and used the opportunity to slink away. I stood in the far corner of the gallery, my gaze occasionally drifting back to the two men who appeared deep in discussion.

  The guests in attendance began to thin, and I went to the table at the back where I could snag a bottle of water. The FBI agent in me demanded I leave, but the woman whose sex drive was out of control pleaded to stay. And what would I be going home to? My vibrator and whatever free porn I could find quickly. Why do that, when I could stay and fuck the gorgeous artist who’d already proven he knew his way around my body?

  I drank the bottle quickly, tossing it in the bin for recycling, and went back into the party, this time studying the art that was obviously Silas’s. He seemed to love patterns. Designs emerged from everyday items in his photographs and drawings, and now I realized exactly which painting Roland had referred to. I’d been involved in a briefing last year with the Marshals, and I’d seen the striking black and white photo of the sun reflecting off the Willis Tower windows. A pattern glowed against the black.

  The back of my neck tingled. It always happened when my subconscious was aware of something before the rest of me.

  Holy fucking shit.

  Victor Bennett stood a few feet away, his gaze studying me.

  Bennett was mid-forties and kept himself in shape, a product of his divorce, it seemed, or possibly gearing up for re-election. Or maybe the stress of all his shady deals was getting to him, although he didn’t look stressed. He wore a tailored navy suit, which made the American flag pin on his lapel pop. God, he always seemed to have that pin, like it was a uniform. Did he have it on his pajamas too?

  His dark hair was parted down the side and styled expertly. He wasn’t unattractive, but I found his eyes a little too close together, and his smile gave me the creeps. Other women might call him handsome, but not me.

  My intense dislike of him wasn’t grounded in anything concrete, but I’d heard enough murmurs and there’d been too many coincidences. He’d gotten far too close with the CEO of a major healthcare provider, and his voting always seemed to favor his friends. And I’d witnessed enough of the same behavior from others who’d been corrupted by power to see those traits in him. The lavish parties, the excessive vacations, the way his supporters always seemed to land coveted positions. Crooked politicians were a way of life in Chicago, and I knew with certainty Victor Bennett was one of them.

  His black eyes sharpened as if he were assessing me for flaws. My stomach turned. I didn’t care how smooth he thought he appeared. This guy had the same aloof, elitist look of a prison guard, telling me I should feel lucky to breathe the same air as him.

  FBI training dictated I should go and strike up a conversation, but my feet wore shoes made of cement.

  “Regan.” It was Roland, who had materialized at my side. “Would you like to meet the congressman?”

  I gave a tight smile, swallowed back the nausea, and nodded.

  “Victor Bennett.” The congressman threw the words like he was lobbing a grenade. “Nice to meet you.” He made a production of checking his expensive-looking wristwatch. “Kirk, we need to go.”

  “Got it.” Roland’s gaze returned to me. “Maybe I’ll see you again some time?” His hand patted his chest, right where my card sat inside his pocket.

  “Hopefully,” I answered, forcing a playful tone.

  Bennett cast a final look my direction, and his expression was unnerving. I watched the men go and . . . what the hell was that? I couldn’t tell if he wanted to fuck me or murder me.

  Silas was on the other side of the room, chatting with Andre, but the conversation came to an end and the sexy-as-fuck artist began his approach.

  “I’m going to be another ten minutes,” he said. “If you want, you can hang out upstairs.”

  “In your place?” My voice was dubious.

  He shrugged. “Yeah.”

  He didn’t have a clue he was offering an FBI agent unsupervised time in his personal space. Dangerous. If I wanted to, I could probably discover all his secrets with a quick, ten-minute investigative search. Although I wouldn’t mind learning more about him, I shook my head.

  “I’m fine. Do whatever you need to.”

  His eyes flashed with a devious look. “I plan to.”

  Chapter

  TEN

  I sat on Silas’s workbench, the one covered with multicolored paint splatters, and watched him work. After the showing had ended and the guests left, I helped Andre and Silas with cleanup, which wasn’t a big deal, but they were appreciative. Really I’d done it to stay busy. I was operating right on the cusp of coming to my senses and fleeing the gallery, so it was a welcome
d distraction to put used wine glasses back into racks.

  The wire had been shut off and tucked inside my purse, shoved all the way to the bottom, just in case. The action had been a bit of a relief. Even though the recording was worthless, having the audio off was like being off the clock.

  I could almost be the real me tonight.

  Silas moved to the tempo of the music he’d put on, but he seemed to do it unconsciously. The rock song was guitars and drums, with a rough, bluesy feel. It fit my mood perfectly because it sounded like a good song to fuck to.

  He’d done some of the photography setup before the party. There was a large white backdrop in a corner of the space. The thick paper lay flat on the floor and curved upward to the ceiling so it was seamless. I admired the view as he finished placing the final lighting stand. He’d shed his dress shirt and revealed the white undershirt beneath that clung to his perfect form. My eyes followed his movement, and I wished he’d lose the pants next.

  “Let’s talk about this favor,” I said.

  He kept his focus on the sophisticated camera he worked to install on a tripod. “Let’s.”

  “You said you’d make sure my face wasn’t in any of the pictures and you were going to Photoshop out the tattoo.”

  “Yeah. I’ll crop out or airbush anything in the raw pictures.” He had a remote in his hand. There was a flash from the rigged lights on either side of the backdrop, and the sharp snap of the camera’s shutter.

  “I’m going to need to make sure that’s done,” I said. “If you’re not correcting the photos tonight, I’m going to hold onto the memory card until you can.”

  That got his attention. “What?”

  “You seem like a trustworthy guy, but I can’t have a naked picture get posted and haunt me the rest of my life.”

  He looked moderately offended. “Regan, that won’t happen.”

  “I know it won’t, because those pictures stay in my possession until you’ve altered them.”

  He put his hands on his hips, hinting at his frustration, but . . . tough shit. I’d worked too hard to risk my career over a bad decision. And if I was honest with myself, this night was going to be one really bad decision. Hopefully so wrong and naughty, I’d never feel regret about it.

  “Okay,” he said on a sigh, but his expression suddenly brightened. “You’ll have to give me your number, then, so we can arrange a time.”

  Shit. “Or we could just do it tonight.”

  “No. We’ll be too tired.” He was rather cocky about it. “And there’s been a change in plans. Your cop eyes noticed I didn’t bring any of Paulo’s work in here, right?”

  Silas’s mysterious smile made me nervous, and my tone cautious. “I did notice that.”

  “Joseph’s birthday is soon. Noemi wanted to have some boudoir pictures taken as a gift.”

  It took me a moment to keep up. “And she wants you to shoot them?”

  I couldn’t imagine she’d feel comfortable posing for Joseph’s friend, or a man in general. And . . . seriously, brain. Why the fuck was I annoyed at the thought of Noemi posing in lingerie in front of Silas? So what if she was young and beautiful? I barely knew him, and we weren’t together.

  “No,” he answered. “I don’t think she’d planned on that. It was supposed to be a surprise, but Joseph found out, and now he wants me to photograph the two of them together.”

  Silas’s attention returned to his setup, and he snapped a few more test shots, then studied the screen to check focus or lighting.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m not following. What does that have to do with,” I waved my hand toward the backdrop, “all this?”

  “I’ve never shot anything like that before. I’d like to practice . . . with you.”

  “How—” I got that same sensation I had when going into a meeting underprepared. “We’ll pose together?”

  His smile had to be better than the devil’s. “Think you can handle that?”

  The challenge in his words got me to hop down off the table. “I’m sure I can.”

  “Awesome. I’ve been waiting all day to say this, Regan.” His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Take off your clothes.”

  He’d spun me off guard, and I’d taken a breath before it sank in he’d just issued an order. I didn’t take those from anyone but my superiors, and I opened my mouth to remind him once again—

  “Please,” he corrected.

  I stood in his dimly lit art studio, my gaze focused on him, and tried to remind myself for the final time I was a foolish, horny woman, and what I was about to do could backfire spectacularly. Yet all I could think about was how quickly I could get his hands on my body. I slipped off my jacket and tossed it on the table.

  Silas went to a cabinet of deep drawers and tugged the one open that was labeled “Photography shit.” He retrieved a large wad of white fabric, stepped onto the backdrop, and unfurled it. It was faux fur, like a fluffy bearskin rug. It was spread on the floor, and then he moved back to his camera, checking its placement in the viewscreen.

  And when he seemed satisfied, he turned his undivided attention on me, like he didn’t want to miss the show. I grabbed the bottom of my blouse and camisole and lifted up, until I had them off and cast aside. My bra was steel-colored and sheer, barely better than being topless. But he wasn’t looking at my tits.

  His heavy eyes followed every curve of the tattoo he’d put on me, and I shuddered under the weight. His expression was engulfed with desire, and thank God he seemed to struggle with it as much as I did mine.

  His voice was low. “It looks so fucking good on you.”

  I inhaled sharply when he stalked toward me, and then I got my wish. The softly calloused skin of his palm was placed on my shoulder. His simple touch was . . . sexy. It warmed all of my nerve endings, and when his thumb brushed over the ink, those nerve endings burst into flames.

  He stared at the tattoo while I peered at his silver eyes. The flecks of dark blue scattered among the icy gray were so . . . pretty. Not that I’d tell him that. With his hand on me, I was rapidly dissolving into the idiot version of myself.

  His fingers traced my bra strap. “Keep this on.” Those fingers slipped along the bare line of my collarbone and his eyes followed the path. “I can’t wait to photograph these.”

  “My tits?”

  “Your freckles.”

  Heat burned in my cheeks. Like most redheads, I had an abundance of freckles, and plenty of self-consciousness to go along with them. But of course Silas would like the abstract pattern of tan dots on my pale skin.

  The space between us was suddenly gone. His hand continued the journey upward until it was buried in the hair at the nape of my neck and gently tugged so my head was tipped up to meet his intense gaze. His lips were so close to mine, I could feel his hurried breath rolling over my skin.

  “I’m going to direct you, is that okay?”

  I laughed softly. “Yes. You have my permission to tell me what to do.”

  “Yeah?” He was back to staring at my mouth again. “Take off your pants and go kneel on the rug.”

  But he didn’t release me. His expression was one of confusion, like he wanted me to follow his request and also stay exactly like I was.

  “You gonna let me go?” I teased.

  “I really fucking want to kiss you.”

  A short laugh burst from me. “Okay, then. Do it.”

  He shook his head. “It’s a bad idea. Last time I had a really hard time stopping. We need to get through the shoot first.”

  “You’re putting it on pause.”

  He gave me a lazy smile. “Yeah. Most definitely to be continued.” He let go, looking reluctant, and gave me space to do what he’d asked.

  “Christ, the floor’s cold!” I said as I took off my heels and stepped my bare feet on the smooth concrete, which had to be a few degrees warmer than ice. Was it weird to be nervous about taking my pants off? He’d already seen my naughty bits, not all at once, but still. God, I was b
eing such a girl. A man would whip off his pants and be proud to show himself off, and I’d spent years trying to emulate male confidence at my job.

  I shoved the pants down to my ankles and extracted one leg at a time, then confidently added them to my pile of discarded clothes.

  Silas’s Adam’s apple bobbed as if swallowing hard. Did he like what he saw? The sheer panties hid nothing. I strolled toward the backdrop that was bathed in light, walking tall.

  He’d told me to kneel, which wasn’t going to be easy for me. I watched women submit to men all the time, but I’d envied the men. The rush of power of controlling someone else’s pleasure or drawing it out . . .

  I’d done extensive research on BDSM when I’d gotten the assignment. Some of it had made me anxious, and other parts I’d found intriguing. They’d turned me on. Left me wondering what it would be like to be the top in a scene, the one dictating how it went.

  Joseph had figured me out within the first five minutes of our interview, but it’d taken me longer to accept it. I didn’t do submission. A large part of me wanted to explore the other side, but Matt had made it clear he wasn’t interested in that.

  I took a deep breath and lowered to plant a knee in the soft rug. My focus went to the darkened figure behind the camera who was obscured by the bright lights. Silas seemed like he didn’t have a submissive bone in his body.

  “Good,” he said, when I’d sat back on my heels. There was a soft pop of the lights and the loud shutter click.

  “Good? I feel super awkward.”

  “Put your hand on the rug beside you. Lean your weight on it.”

  I did and giggled. I had to look ridiculous. Whenever I tried to look sexy, it usually resulted in me looking the least sexy.

  Silas stepped into the shot, gently grasped my shoulders, and angled them. “Right here. Perfect.”