by JC Harroway
My heart kicks at my ribs, part excitement, part burning eagerness. But he’s right. On paper I shouldn’t want anything more with him than to have a working relationship.
‘Well, we all have our secrets. I didn’t know about the record, but it’s no else’s business who I employ.’
Is it rude to ask what he did?
‘But we’re not talking about just my professional services. You want more than that.’ He tilts his head in that way of his, an unapologetic half-shrug. ‘Why don’t you ask me what I did?’
I focus on his eyes, trepidation creeping over my skin. ‘Did you go to prison?’ I ask, wanting the details, but also certain they won’t change the way I feel about him.
He smiles, that glittering glint of challenge in his stare. But now I see vulnerability too, the same emotion I see when he talks about needing control. It’s more than a sexual kink. It’s a way of life...
‘Yes. A long time ago,’ he says. ‘I was eighteen. I served my sentence. I’m rehabilitated and reformed in the eyes of society.’
I can tell there’s a part of him that doesn’t completely believe those words. I’m struck speechless. Not because I’m appalled, but because he’s letting me in at last. This is the mistake he regrets. A part of the real Nick—the one he keeps locked down with his rules and his control and his restraint.
Why does it feel as if he’s still punishing himself? As if he genuinely believes I’d change my mind about us because he made a mistake half a lifetime ago?
‘What did you do?’ I ask. I’d be stupid not to know. It can’t be that serious, otherwise it would have surfaced in the background check I’d had performed before I hired him.
His grin is cold and doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘I was a stupid young man. I had no real male role model, so I made up my own version of what it is to be a man.’
I wait, my stomach tight with nerves. I can’t believe Nick, the man I’ve known all this time—professional, dedicated and patient—is capable of a heinous act. But I don’t really know him despite the hours of one-on-one time we’ve spent together. ‘Taciturn’ is an understatement. Still, I’ve always known him to act with honesty and integrity.
He must see my confusion.
‘Don’t worry—you’re right to feel physically safe with me,’ he reassures me. ‘I’d never hurt you or anyone else.’ He takes a sip of water and I feel what this costs him. I’m about to tell him that it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t have to talk about it, when he speaks again.
‘I got provoked into a fight. I threw one punch. That’s all it took for the other guy to be hospitalised.’
‘Did you start it?’ My voice is barely more than a whisper. Is this why he loves control? To protect himself from making another mistake? Understandable, but surely a little excessive, given the passage of so many years? Years in which he’s paid his debt to society, served his country and built a successful business protecting others and inspiring young men to avoid the same fate.
He shakes his head. ‘I was protecting the girlfriend I had back then—Julia. Some guy picked a quarrel in a bar. I thought the only way to defend her was to be a tough guy.’
‘Well, that’s understandable.’ Part of the reason I feel so safe with him is his dominating physical size. If I needed someone on my team, I’d want Nick. But it’s hard to imagine him losing his head. I’ve never seen him even close to angry.
He shrugs away my comment. ‘Now I’m smart enough to do things the easy way. I should have walked away. Saved myself a lot of grief.’
‘How long were you in prison?’ I ask, feeling unsettled despite my rationale that he’s a reformed character. But he’s right—the press would have field day if they caught any whiff of a relationship between us. My father would pop something—violent crime is always a political hot potato.
Actions cost votes, girls. Make good choices. Even now I can hear my father’s caution, from every time my sister and I left the house growing up. We couldn’t attend parties in case there was under-age drinking or drugs. We had to vet the school friends we brought home. We even had to sit through hours of coaching on what not to say if asked.
But now I have Nick talking, finally opening up, I want to know him even more.
‘Four months.’ He looks away as if reminded of painful memories beyond a brief period of incarceration.
I’m lost for words. I live a privileged life. Always have. I have no idea what prison is like. But Nick’s still very much haunted by his past.
‘When I got out, I joined the army,’ he says, a faraway look in his eyes. ‘Learned discipline and self-respect. Grew up.’
My chest aches for his pain. There’s more to the story. I want to push but I respect his privacy, and I feel the return of his emotional distance like an electric fence. ‘Well, like you said, you served your time. You turned your life around. And now you mentor youngsters and run a business protecting others. And here we are.’
‘Yes, here we are, Lady. With nothing in common and a million reasons why going to that club tonight is a bad idea.’
But, rather than turn me off, his story makes me respect him more. He’s more real now. Flawed. A good man who made one mistake. My attraction hasn’t dampened in the slightest, if that was his plan.
‘I disagree. We both have secrets. Both made mistakes. I think we have lots in common—chemistry for sure. I assure you, my eyes are wide open. I know what I want, Nick.’
And what I want seems to change, become less clear and more complex, with every hour I spend in his company. Taking one last leap of faith, I speak the most burning need.
‘I want you to know that you can talk to me, if you need to. That you can trust me.’
‘I don’t need to trust you,’ he says, those dark eyes of his back to being intense and penetrating. ‘I just have to protect you.’
Of course he would retreat after confiding something so personal. And he’s still on the clock. But tonight...after hours...is a different story.
‘Well, protecting me means staying close and keeping your eyes open, right?’ I say in a playful tone. Things need lightening up. A reminder that his confession hasn’t deterred me. ‘I’d say we’re a perfect match in that regard. You being such a kinky bastard.’
A blast of genuine laughter erupts from him, dousing me in its brilliance until I catch my breath. I don’t think I’ve witnessed it up until now. His unrestrained smile is a thing of breath-taking beauty, changing his entire face and revealing deep grooves around his mouth. I want to know this Nick with twice the ferocity, his multiple facets as compelling as they are complex.
‘Kinky bastard...?’ he asks, traces of playfulness lingering around his lips. He selects an olive and tosses it into the air before catching it between his teeth.
I nod, the atmosphere around us now charged with sexy flirtation and possibility. I wish I could just lean across the table and kiss him. Instead, I finish my wine. ‘So, is there dancing at this club of yours?’
‘Dancing isn’t on the schedule.’ He tucks into the food with gusto.
‘No, it isn’t.’ We reach for the same slice of salami at the same moment and our fingers brush, sending jolts of delight to all my erogenous zones. ‘But the schedule doesn’t count after hours.’
He mutters the F-bomb under his breath, conceding defeat with a slump back into the chair. ‘Fine. You dance. I’ll watch.’
I wink, already planning my outfit. ‘Sounds perfect.’
CHAPTER NINE
Brooke
RATHER THAN BEING hidden down some dingy back alley, the venue Nick suggests is housed in the Palazzo Pietro, a neoclassical building more in keeping with a library or museum than a sex club. But, for all its grandeur, Nick assures me that Club Vivace is prohibitively discreet.
As an extra precaution Nick insists we forgo the main entrance for the service access. At
the reception, I tremble with leashed energy and anticipation, my skin sensitive against the fabric of the slinky little black dress that I chose for the occasion. I’m too far out of my comfort zone to pay much attention to Nick’s conversation with the receptionist as we check our mobile phones and sign the paperwork required for admittance. Nerves that I’ll be recognised battle with the excitement clenching my stomach, but I take full responsibility for being here. Nick is finally gifting me a glimpse of his private self.
The heavy thump of dance music vibrates the walls and floor under my feet as I walk behind Nick down darkened womb-like corridors. My legs tremble with every step, but exhilaration dances low in my belly too. I’ve always wanted to come to a club like this. I never dared risk it back in London, so close to home. I’m too well-known and most days have paps camped out on my street. Just because Nick knows the owner and smuggled me in through the back door is no guarantee that I won’t wake up tomorrow to discover my face and those of my parents plastered all over the Internet. And, with every negative story that’s written about me, there’s a risk that my sex scandal will be resurrected.
Despite the privacy measures taken for members’ peace of mind here at the club, exposure of my private life resulting in harm to my parents is my deepest fear. Personal attacks sting worse than professional criticism. My mother was reproached for seeking cancer treatment at a private hospital, something that created added heartache at a stressful and terrifying time. No doubt if she’d chosen the National Health Service she’d have faced scorn for taking someone else’s spot when she can afford to pay.
Sometimes you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.
Icy chills of dread rush over my skin. I swallow hard, wishing I could I hold Nick’s hand for comfort. This risk is worth it, because he’s brought me somewhere important to him, and I feel closer to him than ever. But I very much doubt that he’s the hand-holding type. Nick’s touch is carefully doled out—on my wrist, that single astonishing kiss and the almost reverent brush of my arm this morning that he thought I hadn’t felt. And, because of its rarity, he’s ramped up my yearning and anticipation so I’m crazed for his touch.
We arrive at the very heart of the nightclub. My eyes dart round for hints of what to expect, but it’s just like a regular club—crowded bar, dancing bodies distorted under the frantic strobe lighting, deafening dance music. It’s also full of dark and intimate nooks and corners.
Nick guides me to one of these near the bar. I order a couple of shots, knocking them back for Dutch courage while Nick sips a beer. Then, with the taste of vodka in my mouth, I cast Nick a final seductive look and head onto the dance floor.
Operation ‘Seduce Nick Out of His Trousers’ is on.
Let the fun begin.
I’ve always loved the abandon of dancing. The energy at Club Vivace is contagious. Everyone else seems lost to the sultry beat. I close my eyes and dance. I forget that I might be recognised. Forget who my parents are. Forget that I’m Brooke Madden.
Knowing Nick is probably watching me, planning whatever is in his dirty mind, sends flutters of anticipation deep into my pelvis and makes my nipples tingle against the fabric of my dress. The heady feeling of liberation returns, stronger than before. I’m dancing alone in a Milan sex club, lost in myself, and I’ve never felt more alive. By bringing me here, Nick has provided a safe haven so I can be myself. And he can be himself. He likes to watch, and I’m addicted to performing for him.
I raise my arms over my head, sensually swaying my hips from side to side, slowly enough to seduce. I feel the weight of his stare from across the room. It touches every inch of my body, sparking electricity as surely as if it’s his touch. It feels like my very first major runway walk in the euphoria stakes—dazzling and exhilarating.
I open my eyes and our stares collide, his dark and dangerous. I freeze, so taken aback by the look of sheer unadulterated need on his face. For a split second he doesn’t look like Nick. He’s a tortured stranger. One with pain and doubt, desire and urgency, in his eyes.
The rest of the club fades away.
Heat and passion and understanding pulse between us like an invisible force field. I catch my breath, fire pooling between my legs. I move in his direction, no longer interested in this game of cat and mouse. I want him close. I want his touch. I want to connect with that broken part of him that speaks to me.
Now that he’s shown me that he too is hiding his vulnerabilities, his pain, my need is almost unbearably vicious. Almost overwhelming. Yes, I still want to test his restraint, the control he wears like a straitjacket, but now that I know it’s a shield protecting him from his past mistakes I also want to catch him when he lets go.
There are no guarantees in this life when it comes to what really matters. No fail-safe protection. Not wealth or status or power.
All we have is today and the hope of tomorrow.
Nick’s eyes narrow at my approach, as if he sees my intent. Where I’ve lost my trust in others, Nick seems to have lost his trust in himself. He’s stuck. Trapped behind barriers he’s constructed in order to keep me, and probably everyone else, at arm’s length.
I want to give him what he’s given me—a safe space to be himself. Acceptance. That’s why I needed him to bring me to a place where he feels in control. To show him that he’s as safe with me as I am with him.
I reach him, hunger and desire pounding through my blood with every beat of my jacked-up heart. ‘Dance with me,’ I say, trying to convey my desperation in my eyes. I want his lips, his touch, the brilliant passion I see him struggle to contain.
‘Not here.’
I nod, my body on fire for him to show me everything that he is—the good and the ugly. My soul’s yearning to connect on a primal level. Just a man and a woman.
‘Okay. Show me where,’ I whisper, anticipation building like a roaring blaze.
He places his beer on the bar and takes my arm. I’m instantly weak with ecstasy at the possessive and gentle curl of his fingers around my bicep. My legs wobble. Only his hand—big, sure and warm—grounds me and keeps me upright. When we exit the nightclub area, his hand slides the length of my forearm until we’re holding hands. I grasp his fingers, my insides flipping cartwheels when he grips mine in return. It’s every bit as comforting as I imagined. He may need control, but inch by inch he’s allowing me closer.
He glances my way, questions in his eyes. I smile. I’m being led into the unknown and I want him to see that I go with him willingly––no, eagerly.
No doubts.
Beyond the main nightclub lies a warren of dark corridors and rooms, most concealing their secrets behind closed doors. I hurry after Nick’s longer strides, arriving at another dark corridor, this one lined on one side with windows set into alcoves.
My breath dries up, nerves strangling me as we pause at the corridor’s entrance. Nick faces me, stepping up close and keeping hold of my hand.
‘You sure you want to be here, Lady?’ His searching stare moves over my face as if he can read the tumult inside.
‘Yes.’ I crave the reassurance of his beautiful smile. But it’s a luxury and, like all the best things, more breath-taking when it does make an appearance. ‘Call me Brooke tonight, please.’
There’s no room for teasing nicknames or going back to our former professional distance. Even if it means employing someone else for my future security needs, I want to be more to him than a famous woman whom it’s his job to protect. I want him to know me as I truly am. To be real to him, just as I want to see him undone. Unrestrained. Exposed.
He gives a single decisive nod of surrender. Then he grips my face with both hands. I think he’s going to kiss me and my knees almost buckle. But, where his stare carries a new intensity, it’s still shuttered.
‘Everyone using these rooms enjoys being watched, understand?’ His eyes trace my mouth as he speaks, as if he�
�s recalling our first kiss, as I am. As if craving a repeat. How can he hold himself back...? I know he feels the same burning desires I do.
I nod, excitement throbbing in my throat and robbing me of speech.
‘They can’t see us, but they know when someone is watching—there’s a sensor. A light comes on.’ His low, steady voice boosts my confidence. ‘We can stop wherever you like, or just walk on. It’s your decision.’
I nod. My blood pounds so hard I feel faint. ‘I trust you,’ I assure him, reaching up to peel his palm from my cheek so I can once more hold his hand. Perched on the precipice of something new with him, I’ve never felt more alive. More free. Despite stating that he needs to be in charge of this, he’s giving me all the control of the situation, all the choice. Any nerves or lingering reservations flee.
We move down the darkened corridor. I grip Nick’s hand more tightly, my steps small, hesitant, as I enter the first windowed alcove.
My stomach plummets. The room beyond the glass is dimly lit but empty. In the low lighting I make out a luxurious bedroom with a four-poster bed and black satin sheets.
I move on, aware of Nick’s ragged breathing beside me, his body close, his hand gripping mine as if he too is nervous. My body hums with arousal—new and dizzying levels. I understand now why this feeds his self-control because, while the anticipation is a thunderous roar in my head, I feel empowered. Strong. Invincible in a way nothing or no one in my life has ever made me feel.
Until Nick.
At the second window I suck in an involuntary gasp. This room is occupied. My first conditioned reflex is to step back. My back makes contact with Nick’s solid chest. I sag into him behind me with relief at the thundering of his heart. His arm comes around my waist, and I grip his hand once more, entwining my fingers with his, grateful I’m not alone in this exhilaration.
A man and woman occupy the room. Both are naked. The woman sits on the edge of the massive bed, braced on her straight arms while the man kneels on the floor between her thighs, performing oral sex.