Chapter 8: Infinity
Richard
Evelyn had brought us to a fundraiser—not much of a surprise there. She hobnobbed with the wealthy to raise money for her hospital. Every time I glanced at her, I struggled to remind myself that the lithe redhead dug around in people’s brains for a living. Smart and stunning. David was a lucky man.
The event was well attended by her colleagues from Cornell, and many of New York’s elite were also in attendance with their generous pocketbooks on display. The venue for the evening, an art auction, didn’t interest me, but I hadn’t come to look at art. Instead, I circled among the crowd, rubbing elbows with the rich and powerful, while I stalked fresh meat for a dalliance later tonight.
My self-imposed isolation across an ocean provided many perks. Photographers still snapped my picture, and I played my part, but given a moment to slip away, desire would shape my evening prowls rather than thoughts about decorum. What I saw, the things I learned, left me with an appetite for darker urges, but I didn’t risk acting upon those impulses.
The tabloids had already had their fun with my most recent fall from grace. The mags still dredged up the photos of me in the back of that town car while my date’s head bobbed up and down between my legs. Not my finest hour and not one that would be repeated anytime soon. My mother would have my head if I dared to bring more shame upon the royal household. There was no question of whether I should be circumspect, which left a dilemma.
How do I feed the dark desires growing inside me yet keep any evidence of it out of the press? One misplaced word by one of my dates, and it was game over.
I ached for something uninhibited, unhinged, and completely free. Rather than feed the growing hunger gnawing in my gut, I circulated among the crowd, restless and on the move. With a smile plastered to my face, I picked out likely candidates who might enjoy a night in bed with a prince. When my selection narrowed on three potentials, my attention snagged on David and his dear Evelyn.
He stood behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist as he tugged her close. His other hand cupped her elbow. His fingers began a leisurely stroll up her arm, danced along her shoulders, and then teased and tickled her neck. Brushing away a ringlet of her hair, he gently kissed the tip of her shoulder. She, in turn, leaned against him. With a flute of champagne in one hand, her other fluttered down to entwine her fingers with his. The two of them carried on their conversation with the couple standing opposite, never once breaking the flow of their intimate dance.
On seeing them, my desires for an evening tryst dissipated, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I could have any woman I desired, yet I craved an intimacy similar to what my best friend shared with the woman of his dreams. Deflated, I snagged a glass of champagne and tossed the entire contents down my throat.
It was time to slip into the anonymity only the ever-present throngs of New York could provide. Darkness called, and I wanted to feed the beast snarling in my gut. The polite social dance involved in reeling in one of my three chosen potentials made my stomach revolt. Nice and sweet, a meaningless romp in the sheets held no appeal for me. Not now. Not when I needed something much different.
I headed over to David and spoke low into his ear, “I’m checking out.”
“I’m surprised.” David swayed back and forth, holding Evelyn tight to his chest. He lifted his glass and gestured across the room, toward one of the beauties I’d scoped out earlier. “She’s interested. Hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you entered.”
“Neither has practically every other woman in the room.”
That wasn’t arrogance speaking—although I had plenty of that to spread around. I drew stares, always had, and my uniquely royal and single status meant women constantly weighed their chances for significant upward mobility.
With a hand on his shoulder, I told him my plans, “I’m bouncing.”
Loved that phrase, very American, and it fit my mood perfectly. With my thoughts for an easy conquest discarded, a spring lit my step. I was on the hunt for something else. The heavy pulsating rhythms of a club called to me, someplace where I could burn off restless energy and forget about everything I didn’t have.
The genteel sounds of the fundraiser disappeared behind the closing of the heavy glass doors as I exited the venue. A simple wave of my arm brought a taxi, and I slipped inside the car.
“Where to?” the cabbie asked.
My British accent set me apart from the usual pedestrian, but I’d lived here long enough not to sound like a tourist. The key was to give cross streets rather than an address. Giving a street address was the sure sign of a naive tourist and often resulted in roundabout routes, which added to the fare. But, if this cabbie knew Manhattan, he’d have no problems with my instructions.
“Club Infinity.”
An up-and-coming nightclub, Club Infinity catered to an eclectic crowd. The nouveau riche gathered there but only because hard-edged regulars filled out the crowd. Hard-cutting music was Infinity’s claim to fame as well as the more risqué stage shows, which drew in those curious about BDSM lifestyles. That was exactly what I needed—a public place where I could be seen without judgment yet afforded exactly the spice my darker side craved.
As expected, a line snaked from the door and around the corner. Eager hopefuls waited hours for a chance to get inside. Dressed smartly in a suit, I loosened my tie for a more casual appearance. Sophisticated and chic, my approach to the bouncer at the door was full of confidence and pride. Before he could tell me to stand at the back of the line, I leaned in, identified who I was, and slipped the man a hundred-dollar bill. He palmed my money and lifted the red velvet rope barring my way.
“Enjoy,” he said, eyes still bugging.
A few paces took me through an imposing set of stone doors. Between one step and the next, the primal beat of the club transported me off the streets of New York and into an elaborate reconstruction of a medieval fortress.
Stone stretched floor to ceiling, both real and faux. The walls had been engineered to emulate rough-cut granite. The stamped concrete of the floor had been stained to match the walls, and the ceiling soared four stories overhead, replete with arches crisscrossing overhead. Three levels of balconies circled the walls. Each tier ascending not into light, but into darkness where club-goers could escape into their private world.
As far as I could see, gyrating bodies undulated with the hard-hitting beats pounding through the club. The bar sat far to the back, crowded of course, and I made a beeline to procure a drink. There was no easy path. I chose the direct approach and worked my way between those dancing on the floor. Several girls caught my eye, young things with too little experience and far less clothing to keep my attention. One wore a tight dress, which barely covered her ass. The poor thing could barely move without having to tug on the hem, lest her entire dress climbed up to settle around her waist.
My priorities included a drink, and then I would see what came next. As usual, Infinity’s stage show drew stares. Against the back wall, on an elevated platform, dancers pushed the boundaries of what city ordinances allowed with rough and aggressive scenes of couples engaged in sensual play.
I paused to watch the intricacies of the rope work a dominant used to subdue his recalcitrant submissive. These images scratched the surface of what I desired, and given a different life, I might have chosen to spend my evenings in a completely different kind of club.
Threading my way through the dancers, my steps faltered when I spied a woman standing still within the sea of moving flesh. Long strawberry-blonde hair cascaded down her back to pool in soft curls at her waist. A form-fitting red dress encased her well-toned body. She was a petite beauty, and my hands could nearly encircle her waist. Her hips flared outward from there, drawing my eyes down to her tight ass and fabulously sculpted legs, taking my mind on a completely different path. I wanted her bound to my bed, completely at my mercy, and mine to do with as I pleased.
For a woman of her stature, I expected high
heels, but she wore low ballet flats, perhaps more concerned about comfort than beauty. Her dress hid very little of what lay underneath, and I had no problem imagining every sweep and curve. As my gaze roamed her body, the need to possess overwhelmed my senses. Not possess. That wasn’t the right term for what stirred in my gut. Something awakened deep inside me. I didn’t yet have a name for it.
Her exquisite form might be enough to enrapture any man, but the attention she paid to the dancers on that elevated platform intrigued me. The rapid rise and fall of her chest and how she ignored everything around her caught my eye. In the few moments I spent watching, she dismissed two men who had dared to approach. And, while many women in these clubs danced alone, she held herself completely still, all her focus on that stage.
Considering how quickly she’d dismissed the others, it might have been foolish to think I would have better luck. The thing was, I enjoyed a challenge.
When I stepped behind her, she didn’t notice my approach.
I took note of which pair of dancers held her attention and bent down to whisper in her ear, “There’s beauty in surrender, don’t you think? Strength such as that is incredibly sexy.”
She stiffened but didn’t turn around. Odd, I’d expected at least some acknowledgment of my presence.
“You think submission is strength?” she asked.
The pair of performers twirled onstage, the man clearly in charge. His hand gripped the girl’s hair, much like I imagined doing to the beauty before me. Shifting her left and then right, he ran her through a series of dips and twirls, their dance seductive and powerful, erotic yet sensual. The man pressed his hand flat against the woman’s chest and yanked her head back, swooping in to brush his lips against her exposed throat. She bent before him, her entire body controlled by his strength.
“Don’t you?” I asked.
She spun and lifted her chin when she realized how much I towered over her. Those on the dance floor moved around us, letting the rhythms of the club carry them away, while she and I stood perfectly still, encased in the privacy of our moment.
“I—” Her mouth gaped with the struggle to complete her thought.
Meanwhile, she took a moment to take in the width of my shoulders and the expanse of my chest. I knew what she would find because I worked hard to maintain my physique. I also allowed her the time she needed to gather her thoughts because, while she’d enraptured me from behind, seeing her angelic features nearly made my heart stop.
Brilliant eyes the color of bluebells skittered across my body. Her gaze darted everywhere, which left me the perfect opportunity to take in her features. Almond eyes with fluttering long lashes swept against the bridge of her cheeks. A thin, slightly upturned nose rested above petal-soft lips tinted the slightest red. A narrow, elfin chin, brought the heart-shaped symmetry of her face to a beautiful point. She used minimal makeup, which only enhanced her natural beauty. A light spray of freckles feathered across her nose, and her strawberry-blonde hair framed her face, curving at her chin and cascading to drape across her shoulders where it continued its fall down her back.
I couldn’t help myself and reached out to push back a strand of her hair and expose more of her face. “Strength and beauty are rare traits. Incredibly sexy when combined and even more powerful when offered in surrender.”
Her gaze popped to mine, and I swore, a faint blush colored her cheeks, but it was difficult to tell beneath the colored light show flashing over our heads.
I placed my hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face the stage again, thrilled she hadn’t shrugged off my touch.
Stooping down to speak directly in her ear, I brought her attention back to the couple. “He pushes until she gives and then challenges her again, pushing harder until he finds the point where she breaks. She meets his strength with her own. A submissive is strong, and a wise man uses that knowledge to conquer her while she captivates him. She becomes a part of him while he becomes her master.”
Her breaths accelerated, and I took an opportunity to thread my fingers in the silkiness of her hair. I didn’t pull or tug or yank her head back or sweep in for the kiss I craved, but I made her aware of my presence and waited to see if she would meet me with a strength of her own.
She didn’t move but took in a shuddering breath as I wrapped my fingers in the hair at the base of her neck, mimicking what the male dancer did onstage. I placed the pads of my fingers on the bare expanse of her shoulder and walked them down to her wrist, paying close attention to her response. When I reached her hand and she still hadn’t pulled away, I threaded my fingers with hers and lifted so that her palm rested against her belly. Taking a step, I closed the distance between us. I wasn’t on her, like many of the couples grinding together, but I made my intent clear. A small gap remained between the swell of her ass and my rapidly hardening cock. We would get to that soon enough.
While the man and woman onstage deepened their sensual dance and wrapped flesh around flesh, I swayed to the pulsating deep beat, forcing her to move with me. To my surprise, she leaned against my chest and allowed me to lead.
“It’s not real, you know,” she breathed out. “None of it is.”
“It’s as real as you want it to be.” Such words deserved to be whispered into a woman’s ear, but I’d had to speak above the music.
My grip on her hair guided her head to the side, exposing her neck. Lowering down, I gently pressed my lips against her skin, getting my first taste of heaven. “How about a drink, and we can head upstairs and talk?”
She spun in my arms and rested her wrists on my shoulders. “Talk about what?”
“What we saw on that stage.” I pulled her against me, this time giving her an idea of exactly what was on my mind. “How those dancers spoke to you.”
Her gaze dropped and settled somewhere on my chest. She barely came up to my shoulders, and I could easily see over her head.
“Talking is fine. I like your accent, but I’m not sure about anything more.” A deep sadness clung to her words, which made me determined to discover more about this unexpected find.
“That’s a shame because I’d very much like to explore something more.”
Her gaze cut to mine, and her lips parted with what I hoped was interest. Desperate to get her alone and continue our conversation, I shifted the focus of our current conversation. She looked ready to bolt.
“What would you like to drink?”
“Whiskey, please,” she said, once again glancing up.
For a moment, I thought to lean down and taste the delicacy of her lips, but her arms fell from my shoulders, and she gripped my hand. Without another word, she tugged me toward the bar. I was more than happy to follow. My time to lead would come soon enough.
Chapter 9: Whiskey Neat
Rowan
What the hell am I thinking, leading a strange man to the bar? Now, that question deserved an answer, but I had no intention of considering a response. Until that call came from Infidelity, my days belonged to me, my nights as well.
No relationships? I was fine with that, but what about a meaningless one-night stand?
And, holy hotness, was this one a doozy. His words about strength and surrender had had my nerves fluttering and my blood heating. And that accent? It’d curled my toes and made my stomach dance. So yummy. I could do whatever I wanted and never have to see him again. That appealed to me.
The ability to control this one thing screamed at me because, for a year, the one word I wouldn’t be able to say was no.
Karen had assured me Infidelity wasn’t like that. They didn’t sell sex, but who were we kidding? Someone rich enough to shell out twenty thousand a month for a companion certainly expected more than conversation. I needed this night, and then Infidelity and their client could have me.
Not that I was an expert in one-night stands. There’d been no time to date since coming to Pratt. I’d been too busy studying, ensuring I remained at the top of the class. Then, everything had ha
ppened with my father, and I’d been working my ass off simply to tread water and keep my life afloat. Never had the idea of giving up entered my thoughts. With all the chaos of the trial and what had happened later, my future hinged on success at Pratt.
One night at a bar wasn’t going to lead to anything long-term, and it might prove one very important thing. I chose whether to tell this guy to take a hike. I chose whether I’d let him buy me a drink. I chose whether I’d allow something more.
Me.
Not my new employer.
Not their client.
No one but me owned this night.
I must have been insane to consider something as crazy as Infidelity. No reasonable explanation existed for why I’d traded my free will for cash. But there was a motivating factor that came in the rare smiles of my twin. Freddy had no idea how fragile his world was or how easily it could be lost.
Anger spurred me to grip this stranger’s hand and tug him toward the bar. Alcohol was a great anesthetic, and I needed to become, as Pink Floyd would say, comfortably numb.
What a hand it was, too—strong, muscled, and sure.
He returned my grip with the confidence of a man who knew what he wanted. Although he kept a tight hold of me, he didn’t hurt my delicate bones, showing he could temper that strength. There was just enough of a presence to remind me that he was bigger, stronger, and exactly what I craved. He seemed kinky, too—something I’d never tried but always wondered about.
What an odd conversation we’d shared. It was like he’d sneaked a peek into my soul, uncovered my desires, and sifted through my mind until he found exactly what I craved. How did he pull that from me? I wasn’t a submissive, not in public, private, or within any of my very few relationships.
My father had trained me to be strong and independent, perhaps knowing I would be the one to see to Freddy after he was gone. He’d raised me to act with deliberate intent and always have an eye on the future. When everything had fallen down around me, I had known success hinged on completing my studies. If I’d been weak, I might have taken Henry Porter up on the marriage offer brokered through mutual family contacts. I didn’t want to think about Henry, the law firm of Hamilton & Porter, marriages of convenience, or anything else.
The Fidelity World- Nondisclosure Page 5
