Caress of Darkness

by Julie Kenner

Members Only

  I don’t know what the plaque refers to, but since I do know that Raine lives here, I assume that the residential brownstone was at one time some sort of gentlemen’s club, a not uncommon thing back in the nineteenth century, after all.

  There is a keypad mounted beneath the plaque, giving the building an anachronistic feel. There doesn’t seem to be any sort of bell, however, and so I lift the tail feather and rap sharply on the door.

  I hear nothing, but considering how dense the door sounded when I knocked, there could be a brass band playing back there and I wouldn’t hear them. A minute passes, then another. I am just raising my hand to knock again when the door opens inward, revealing a white-haired elderly man in black and white livery.

  “Madam,” he says with a slight bow. “How may I be of service?”

  I am not usually the tongue-tied sort, but I’m feeling a bit like I’ve been tossed backward in time, and it takes a moment for me to thrust myself back into the twenty-first century. I’d assumed this building had been converted to apartments. But considering the limo, now I’m thinking that Raine must own the entire brownstone. “I’m looking for Mr. Engel,” I say. “Is he home?”

  He studies me for a full minute.

  “I didn’t realize my question required such thought,” I say, then immediately regret it. I’m not generally rude, especially not to staff, but I’m still feeling shaky and this man’s odd reaction to a simple question hasn’t calmed my nerves.

  “May I inquire as to your business?”

  I start to snap that it’s not his business, but manage to bite back my tongue. “I’m Callie Sinclair,” I say. “My father is Oliver Sinclair, an antiques dealer. Mr. Engel came to my father’s shop yesterday, and I have some information for him regarding a piece he was inquiring about.”

  “I see. Please, come in.” He steps back and holds the door open, allowing me to enter a dark-paneled foyer. The room is shaped like a semicircle, with a set of double-doors facing me from beyond a round marble pedestal. A huge glass bowl sits atop the pedestal, filled with glass pebbles in various shades of red and blue and purple. It’s a lovely centerpiece—and provides the only ornamentation in the room—but what makes it truly spectacular is the flame that burns inexplicably inside the bowl, sending tongues of fire licking over the rim, despite the absence of any obvious fuel.

  I follow my guide around the pedestal to the doors, and then through them. Immediately, the atmosphere changes. Soft strains of jazz fill the air, along with the muted, almost chocolatey, scent of cigar smoke.

  The low buzz of conversation surrounds us, along with the gentle tinkle of ice in crystal. We pass through a lush seating area with low wooden tables surrounded by plump leather chairs. Groups of men and women sit there, sipping drinks and talking earnestly. Many of the men and a few of the women hold the cigars that account for the subtle scent in the air. Considering that the scent is in no way overpowering, I have to assume that there are hidden ventilation systems in the ceiling.

  I see a wall of polished wood humidors running perpendicular to a dark mahogany bar behind which is a set of mirrored shelves filled with dozens of bottles of high-end scotch, along with all the standard other distilled liquors as well.

  A tall woman in a black sheath dress comes over to greet us. Her gaze skims over me. “Mr. Daley? Is there a problem?”

  I realize for the first time how I am dressed. I’d showered before coming here, and now I wear jeans, Converse sneakers, and a T-shirt my father bought me last Christmas that says Lawyers do it with appeal.

  Bottom line, I really don’t fit in.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t realize this was a club or—”

  Mr. Daley’s sniff cuts me off. “Ms. Sinclair would like to speak to Mr. Engel. Do you know if he is in residence?”

  “Callie Sinclair?” she asks, and I nod, a little shocked that this woman I’d assumed to be the club’s hostess knows my name. She turns her attention to Mr. Daley. “He’s in the VIP room. I’ll escort her.”

  Mr. Daley nods, then leaves.

  “I’m Jessica,” the woman says, with a bit of a sparkle in her eyes. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

  “Thanks. I’m feeling a little like I fell down the rabbit hole. I thought Raine lived here. I would have dressed better if—”

  “You look fine. Come on.”

  I follow her through the club, with its dark wood and equally dark leather. A few people frown as I pass, obviously noting how out of place I look. Most, however, pay no attention at all. They are drinking and talking with friends, reading the newspaper, chatting on cell phones.

  “What is this place? Dark Pleasures?”

  “A very select club,” Jessica says. “It provides a sanctuary for those who are granted membership. A respite from the world outside. We have resources for the corporate types who want a working lunch, as well as everything necessary to kick back and just relax for a while. Not to mention an excellent jazz band on Friday nights and the most exceptional Sunday brunch in the city.”

  “And Raine is a member?”

  We have paused in front of a solid oak door marked with a gold placard that announces VIP access only. Jessica punches a code into the keypad and I hear the lock release. “Raine? Not exactly. You could say he’s more like an owner.” She pushes the door open. “Please. After you.”

  I step inside and am immediately struck by the fact that while the basic decor is the same as the area we just left, the similarities end there. This room includes a number of paintings and antiques that I immediately spot as high-end originals. But despite the money that practically oozes from these walls, the area itself seems more low-key than the main part of the club. There is a vibrancy in this room. A sense of camaraderie. As if I have entered someone’s living room and not a public club, even a public club that is select in its membership.

  The bar in this room is unmanned, so that anyone can simply make a drink, and it is in that direction that Jessica now heads. “Don’t just sit there,” she says to the stunningly gorgeous man leaning casually against the bar. “Make Ms. Sinclair a drink. Callie,” she says, turning to me, “this is Liam.”

  From what I can see, Liam is one-hundred percent muscle and about the size of an NFL fullback. He has deep-set eyes and a wide mouth. He’s clean-shaven, with raven-black hair that he wears long so that it brushes his collar. He’s wearing black slacks and a white button-down and looks as wild and dangerous as a fallen angel.

  “What’s your poison?” Liam asks.

  “Scotch. Thanks.”

  He grins at Jessica as he pours my drink. “She’ll fit right in.”

  I must look confused because Jessica turns to me. “Scotch and cigars. That’s what Dark Pleasures is all about. Though I think you’ll learn there’s so much more to it than that.”

  “Oh, no, I just need to deliver a message—”

  “I’ll go get Raine.” Liam passes me my drink, then brushes his hand over Jessica’s cheek, and I see both heat and affection pass between them. Something hard and cold settles in my gut. Because I want that, too, and I can’t help but fear that I’m going to spend my life making all the wrong choices and never have it.

  It suddenly occurs to me that Jessica never told Liam why I was here. “How does he know I’m looking for Raine?”

  “It’s Liam’s job to know everything.” She winks. “Makes it damned inconvenient when I’m Christmas shopping.” She leads me to two chairs on either side of a small table. “I would introduce you around, but I don’t want to scare you off.”

  “I don’t scare easily,” I say, though I have to wonder if my words are true. After all, I ran scared from Raine, didn’t I?

  I turn in the chair to look around. There are four men sitting around a table at the far side of the room. There are papers scattered on the table in front of them, and one—with hair as dark as Liam’s, but with a lean, Hollywood bad-boy appearance—is clearly in charge.

  “Why so
few people?” I ask. “Because it’s still too early for the happy hour crowd?”

  “The VIP section is extremely exclusive. Consider yourself privileged. We rarely allow guests in at all.”

  “Oh.” I consider that. “And I guess I have a double strike against me since I’m a woman?”

  She laughs. “Not in the least. And I’m not the only female VIP member, just the only one who lives permanently on the East Coast. Dagny’s in Los Angeles, and Rachel lives in Paris. But on the whole, you’re right. A girl gets lonely swimming in a sea of testosterone. Maybe I’ll have some company soon.”

  Her expression is so welcoming and earnest that I can’t help but laugh. “You do know I’m just here to talk to Raine about an amulet?”

  “And here he is.” She nods toward the opposite side of the room from where we entered. I turn in my chair and see that a hinged bookshelf is moving inward to reveal a hidden hallway. And, of course, Raine.

  I swallow, suddenly at a loss for words. Yesterday, he’d been dressed casually. Today, I think he could take on corporate America. As he strides toward me in a perfectly tailored suit, he seems to exude the kind of power and confidence that can make things happen with little more than a glance.

  “Hello, Callie,” he says, but what I hear is “I want you.”

  I try to reply, but my mouth is too dry. I remember the drink that Liam poured for me, and I take a sip, grateful for both its burn and its wetness. “I—I found something. About the amulet, I mean.”

  He tilts his head as if debating a thorny question. Then he sits down across from me, making me realize that somewhere along the way, Jessica slipped off. “All right,” he says. “Tell me.”

  “I found a reference to it in my father’s journal. Here.” I pull the leather bound book out of my purse and pass it to him.

  “The rainman,” he says. “Me?”

  “I assume so. Does the next part make sense to you? ‘With him, what is hidden will be revealed’?”

  He shakes his head. “No. It doesn’t mean a thing.”

  I frown. “Are you sure?” I’d been so certain that coming here would solve the riddle, and I’m not doing a good job of hiding my disappointment. Then again, neither is he.

  I tilt my head as I watch the emotions play across his face. Confusion. Disappointment. Resolve.

  “This is more than just a collector’s piece to you, isn’t it?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he says, but then he says no more, and we’re left with the silence that hangs between us, thick with possibility.

  I slip my hands beneath the table and wipe my palms on my jeans.

  “Right. Well, I’m sorry it didn’t mean anything to you.” I push my chair back and stand. “I should go.”

  He reaches out and takes hold of my wrist.

  “Raine, please.” I am aware of nothing except his touch. The rest of the world has simply melted away. “Please,” I repeat, a little desperate this time. “I need to go.”

  “No,” he says, then stands. He is right next to me, so close that I can feel his heat, raging like a furnace. And dear god, I want to burn. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “I—what?”

  “I’m going to kiss you, Callie.”

  I gasp, surprised and, yes, excited by his words.

  “I’m going to kiss you, and then I’m going to touch you. I’m going to explore every inch of you, with my hands, with my lips, with my tongue. And then, Callie, I’m going to fuck you.”

  I suck in a stuttering breath and curse my own reaction that so pointedly reveals my response to his decadent promises.

  “I can do that here or I can take you to my apartment. It’s entirely up to you.”

  “And if I walk away?”

  “That’s up to you, too. I’m sure you’ve heard of free will. But make your decision soon. Because I don’t intend to wait much longer to strip you bare. And Callie, know one other thing as well. I asked you what you wanted yesterday, and you said me. And yet in the end, you ran. Think hard before you answer me now. Because this time if you choose my bed, I won’t let you go without a fight.”

  My heard is pounding, my body covered with a thin sheen of sweat.

  Every ounce of reason within me tells me to run. And yet instinct and desire and something I don’t understand tell me to stay.

  I do.

  And I don’t even think it was my decision. He may have spoken of free will, but what good is that against the force of nature that is Rainer Engel?

  Chapter 7

  Raine watched the decision play across her face, desire warring with rationality, prudence, whatever personal albatross she clung to. He wanted to clutch her hand and tell her to simply go with faith. To believe in them.

  But those were words he could not say. He wanted her in his bed. Wanted her fully and completely. But he would not press her. Once more, the choice would be hers, and he was forced to wait—feeling pretty goddamn impotent when you got right down to it.

  He knew she did not overtly remember being Livia. But he also knew that didn’t matter. The essence was within her, and so that meant that on some level she did understand. Did know him. Did remember.

  But even if she didn’t—even if this woman standing before him had not once been his mate—he would still want her. Callie Sinclair amused and challenged him in ways he didn’t understand and hadn’t expected.

  He was a man who had died a hundred deaths and no longer looked into the dark with fear. But at the moment, he was terrified that she would walk out of this club the same way that she had walked away from the limo.

  Even as the thought entered his head, she took a step away from him, as if manifesting all his deepest fears.

  “Callie.” Her name felt ripped from his throat, and he knew that the anguish in it revealed everything. Frankly, he didn’t give a fuck.

  She hesitated, then held out her hand for him. “Not here.” He saw the mischief in her smile. “I’m not into exhibitionism.”

  The extent of his relief was such that it almost brought him to his knees.

  “Where’s your apartment, Raine?”

  “Come with me.”

  He knew that the others were watching the exchange from across the club. Knew that Mal especially was looking on, particularly after what Raine had told him about Livia’s essence. It didn’t matter, and he didn’t care. All he needed right now was to get to the elevator. That was his primary objective, and once satisfied, he could move on to the next.

  He held her by the elbow, and even that simple touch overwhelmed him. He hit the release for the hidden door, and the bookcase swung open. He led her through, into the simple but tasteful area that at one time was part of a grand ballroom. Now, it served as a reception area for Phoenix Security, which had its own entrance separate from Dark Pleasures at the rear of the building.

  That, however, was not where he was going now, and he led her to the small, cage-style elevator, then pushed the button to call it.

  “What floor?” she asked.

  “Penthouse,” he said. “The club takes up one and two. Three is office space. Four is reserved for out of town members. Five is my private apartment.”

  Unlike his brethren, who had used the money they’d earned and stockpiled over the years to acquire some of the most exceptional pieces of property across the globe, including the two brownstones adjacent to Number 36, Raine had never felt the need. Before Callie, he hadn’t felt much of anything. Now, for the first time, he thought about how sterile his apartment was. And how little time he had spent over the last few millennia thinking about making a home. Why bother when all he wanted to do was check out?

  Now, he regretted that. He wished that the place reflected him. He wanted her to know him fully and completely, and in every way possible. And the thought that what she would see first was a set of rooms as empty as his heart had once been ate at his gut.

  Not that he could do anything about it now, he thought as the elevator finished i
ts slow descent to the first floor and opened in front of them. The only other option was a hotel, but that was where he took other women. It was not where he would take her.

  He pulled open the gate and ushered her in. And the moment he’d set the contraption in motion, he pushed her up against the far wall, his mouth on hers and his hand between her legs. “Tell me you’re wet.”

  “I am.”

  “Tell me you want me.”

  “I do.”

  He backed away, breathing hard but satisfied. But in one quick movement, she caught his hand and tugged him toward her, making his cock twitch with excitement at such palpable evidence of her desire.

  “Please, Raine. I want what you promised.”

  “What I promised? To kiss you?” He trailed his fingers softly over her lips, forcing himself to hold back. “Touch you?” He leaned forward so that his lips brushed the soft skin of her ear. Christ, she smelled good. Like vanilla and honey, and he knew she tasted just as delicious. “To fuck you?”

  He both saw and felt her tremble, and by god, if he was a lesser man, he would have come right then.

  “The elevator’s open.” His voice was tight, because damn him, he wanted it too, and the elevator was only now approaching the third floor. “Anyone can see.”

  “I really couldn’t give a fuck.”

  Her words cut through him, making him harder than he could have imagined. And when he closed his mouth over hers, it was like he’d gone to heaven. The kiss was wild, and her responsiveness drove him even wilder. The fact that she so openly wanted him was sexy as hell, and he fully intended to give her everything she desired. To fuck her until she cried for mercy, and then to hold her close and soft until she begged for more.

  Right now, this kiss alone was like sex. Their tongues mating, their bodies crushed together. He knew he must be hurting her, pressed tight against the scroll-style bars of the elevator cage, but he couldn’t stop, and she sure as hell wasn’t complaining.

  When the elevator finally opened in front of his door, they were both gasping for breath. He led her inside and just about lost it when she peeled off her shirt right in the middle of his foyer, then dropped it on the polished stone floor. “Touch me,” she said as she followed the shirt with her bra. Her voice was breathy, raw. “And then after that—”