Aliya Baban and the Cave of Pleasure

by Melinda Barron

  Aliya Baban and the Cave of Pleasure

  A Desires of the Lamp Tale

  By Melinda Barron

  Copyright © 2008, Melinda Barron

  Published May 2008

  by

  Resplendence Publishing, LLC

  Edgewater, Florida

  All rights reserved

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

  Melinda Barron’s Desires of the Lamp Series:

  Book One:

  Wish me Up, Rub me Down

  Now available from Resplendence Publishing

  www.resplendencepublishing.com

  Book Three

  To Rub, Honor, and Obey

  Available July 2008

  Book Four

  Smoke, Fire and Desire

  Available November 2008

  Dedication

  Special thanks to my editor, Tiffany, and to the wonderful ladies at Resplendence Publishing. Thanks for enjoying the lamp stories as much as I’ve loved writing them. Special thanks to CAS, my rock.

  This book is for every person who has ever received an unkind word from anyone else, which means, it’s for everyone. I hope that it makes you stop, and think, and know that not everyone is intentionally evil. They have faced battles, too, and while it doesn’t excuse their actions, it should make it easier for you to accept. We should all learn to love ourselves for who we are and what we are, and not as others want us to be.

  —MB

  Chapter One

  Aliya studied the throng of hopefuls standing in front of The Cave of Pleasure. New clubs were nothing original in Soho, and neither was a horde of people waiting to be seen at what was considered the hottest new spot in town.

  What was novel was her place at the back of the line. Aliya wasn’t used to waiting.

  On anyone. Or anything.

  Why should she wait at the back of line as if she were some peasant? After all, she had work to do.

  Thanking her stars that she was alone, she pushed her way through the crowd, ignoring the calls of protest from those who were patiently waiting their turn. When she got to the front, she ducked under the multi-colored rope, only to have her progress stopped by a huge gorilla of a man.

  “Back of the line,” he said softly. “You have to wait your turn, just like everyone else.”

  Aliya batted her baby blues at him. “I’m here to work, not play.”

  “Really? Well, we don’t allow hookers in here. You’ll have to try somewhere else.”

  She wanted to slap the grin off his face. She fixed him with an icy stare, her stomach churning slightly when he didn’t back down. Most people backed down from her bitch look.

  “I’m not a hooker. I’m an advertising agent, and I have an invitation.” She reached into the oversize bag she’d brought along, skirting the object it concealed, and pulled out a piece of red paper embossed with gold lettering. “See?”

  “Big deal.” A man at the front of the line leaned over the rope to push a similar invitation in front of Aliya’s nose. “I have one, too. And so do more than half the people in this line. So, do us all a favor, and get in the back where you belong.”

  Aliya turned her bitch stare on him, gratified when he shrank back a little. Then, she glanced back to the bouncer and tried batting her eyes again.

  “Please?”

  “Doubt it, sweets.”

  She bit back a retort and reached into her huge bag, which held paperwork on H&H, the firm where she worked—for now, anyway. She slipped the paper inside, then wrapped her fingers around the item she’d found on her desk that morning, sitting on top of the invitation.

  She pulled the lamp out, and held it in front of her as if it were an offering. “I don’t suppose this would help, would it?”

  The bouncer’s resolved stare turned into a wicked grin that made her shiver.

  “You must be Aliya.”

  “How did you—?”

  He moved the rope barring entrance to the club and winked at her. “Have a good time. Matuse is waiting for you, and you would do well not to make him wait for very long.”

  She hurried inside, ignoring the boos and calls of “unfair” from the horde of people still waiting out front. At the doorway, she turned to look at the bouncer, whose grin had widened. The look on his face made her wonder what he was thinking.

  She was used to men looking at her. After all, she was gorgeous. She admitted it freely. At five-foot eight with an hourglass figure she worked hard at keeping perfect, long blond hair that always looked fabulous, blue eyes that made men melt, and a smile that did the same, she’d been told all her life that no one could hold a candle to her. So why should she think otherwise?

  Still, the bouncer wasn’t giving her the look most men gave her—as if they wanted to rip off her clothes and take her on the spot. He was looking at her as if he’d just opened the door to the lion’s den, and she was the main attraction.

  Their gazes locked and a sense of unease crept up her spine. His eyes narrowed in amusement and she broke the contact, sweeping through the doorway and stopping inside to catch her breath, which was strangely uneven. She tried to tell herself it was just the stresses of the day, the fight she’d had with Nicholas, and him thrusting her into her current situation, forcing her to come out the winner or be unemployed.

  Six months ago she would have taken odds over her beating Anya Bartholomew at virtually anything. But Anya had a newfound sense of confidence since she’d moved in with two men, and things were somehow different.

  The thought still made Aliya sneer. Two men. The fattie had found two lovers, and Aliya didn’t even have one since Nicholas had kicked her out of his bed.

  That thought still rankled her. Men didn’t kick Aliya to the curb. She was the one who did the kicking. When Nicholas had dumped her, she’d been tempted to quit on the spot. But that would look bad, since it would mean she had quit two jobs in six months. And in the close-knit world of advertising in New York, her transient job history would be seen as a liability, and make it hard for her to find a job. She needed to find a new firm, and then leave Nicholas in the lurch. Maybe, just maybe, if things worked out well, she could take The Cave of Pleasure as a client to her new job.

  Aliya leaned against the wall and remembered coming into her office that morning to find the invitation and the lamp. She’d picked it up and stared at it, wondering exactly what it meant. It looked like something out of a 1940s sheik movie. Maybe if she rubbed it, a gorgeous man would appear and grant her every wish. She’d tried, and when no genie appeared, she tossed the lamp on her desk and opened the invitation to spend her evening at Soho’s newest sensation, The Cave of Pleasure.

  She smiled at the title, wondering what would possess the owners to give such an overtly sexual name to a nightclub. She envisioned raids every night, with the cops trying to find out what was going on in the darkened corners.

  Her smile disappeared though as Nicholas pushed his way into her brain. Almost as soon as she’d opened the invitation, he’d barged into her office, a frown on his face.

  “I want that account.” His voice had been clipped.

  “What account?”

  “The one you’re holding in your hand, dimwit. The Cave of Pleasure. It’s going to be the h
ottest club around and we will handle the advertising. Understand?”

  “You’ve already talked to the owner?” She leaned forward and her fingers absent-mindedly stroked the lamp, which felt warm to the touch.

  “No. That’s your job. Go there tonight. Flash him your tits. Flash him your ass. Get down on your knees. I don’t give a damn what you do. Just get the account away from Anya by the end of the week, or head to the unemployment office on Monday. Understand?”

  He’d left without waiting for an answer. Now, as she remembered the fierce look on his face, she swallowed hard. She had no doubt; if she didn’t get the account, he would fire her.

  So, she’d spent her afternoon gathering information on the new venue. She’d searched public records to find the owner of the club listed as a M. Matuse. He also owned a monstrosity of a house outside the city, set on two hundred acres of land. And it hadn’t taken much digging to find out Nicholas was right: Anya already had the account, a fact that really pissed Aliya off. She hated that porker with a passion.

  “How does somebody weigh two hundred pounds and attract two gorgeous men?” Aliya whispered the words, then searched the entrance room in vain after soft laughter rang out.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello.”

  Aliya wheeled around and found herself face to face with a man who looked strangely familiar.

  “The party’s inside, you know. It’s not out here, Aliya.”

  “Why does everyone know my name?” She examined him, and then realization dawned. “Wait a minute, you’re that model from the lamp ads. Paran, right?”

  He leaned in a little until she could feel the heat of his breath on her neck. “It’s Paran.”

  “That’s what I said,” she replied, not moving an inch away from him.

  He pulled back enough so that their eyes were even. “No, you said, Pa-ran. My name is pronounced pay-ron. It’s a long ‘a’ with a ‘ron.’ Paran.”

  A seductive smile lit her face. “I’m so sorry, Paran. Is that better?”

  “Much. Now, what are you doing out here? Matuse is waiting for you.”

  “So I’ve heard, which seems strange, since he didn’t even know I was coming.” She put her hand on Paran’s chest, applying just enough pressure to make his eyes dance in delight.

  “But he sent you an invitation. It would be rude to refuse, wouldn’t it?”

  Aliya’s eyes widened. “So, he’s unhappy with the work Anya is doing? I’m happy to hear that.”

  Paran leaned in closer as the man who had been in the front of the line outside walked by them with two women in tow. The man glared at Aliya, then hurried past the curtain that separated the entranceway from the rest of the building.

  Aliya ignored the beat of the music that drifted their way and studied the man before her. Damn, but he was fine. Long black hair surrounded a finely grafted face. The hair drifted over his broad shoulders. His eyes were dark, and he had full lips. His body was beautifully muscular. Perhaps she could use him to fill her bed for a while.

  She glanced down. A prominent bulge made his tailored linen pants seem tight. When she glanced back up at him, his smile almost made her think he could read her mind. When he winked at her, she blushed and moved back in an effort to put more space between them.

  “Shall we go find Mr. Matuse?” She looked toward the wall, an unfamiliar feeling of being out of control taking over her body.

  “It’s Ma-tu. Once again, with a long ‘a.’”

  “What?” Now she was getting annoyed.

  “Ma-tu. Not Mo-tuse. Of course he’ll probably give you a different name to call him.”

  “But it has an ‘se’ on the end of it, right?”

  “Yes, but trust me on this. I’d hate for you to make a bad first impression by mispronouncing his name.”

  Aliya wasn’t sure what to say. The only time she’d ever seen this man was when she tried to steal an account out from under Anya, and he’d defended Anya. Maybe that was his game now: helping Anya defend her territory.

  “No.”

  She blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m trying to help you, not her.”

  “How do you do that?” She wanted to move further away from him, but she was already at the wall and could go no further.

  “I’m very intuitive. Now, shall we go inside?” He turned toward the curtain.

  Aliya put her hand on his arm to stop him.

  He looked down to where she touched him, then turned his gaze up to her face. The look he gave her was seductive, and she felt her toes tingle. “Yes?”

  “What’s Mr. Matuse’s first name?”

  “That is his first name.”

  She frowned. The records she’d searched that afternoon had him listed as M. Matuse. “Then what’s his last name?”

  “His name is Matuse. Just Matuse.” He swept the curtain aside and ushered Aliya through the doorway.

  She stopped inside, her mouth falling open in wonder.

  Colorful pieces of fabric adorned the walls and low-hanging braziers provided light. Aliya could find no power source, and wondered if the lights were fueled by electricity or some other source like coal or oil.

  On one side of the room, low lying tables and cushions provided a casual, relaxed atmosphere, while the other contained modern style barstools and tables. In the middle, a dance floor was packed with people.

  The bar looked like any bar, and was surrounded by chairs, all occupied with patrons. The workers were an added touch, with the women in harem outfits, and the men wearing low-slung linen pants with half vests that showed off muscular chests, gold bands around their biceps, and long hair flowing over their golden skin.

  “Wow. Nice ambiance.”

  “Isn’t it?” Paran rested his hand on the small of her back and she exhaled softly. “Matuse is upstairs.” He leaned over so that his lips were even with her ear and pointed to a balcony on the far side of the room where a man stood watching them.

  Aliya tried not to stare. When she realized she’d failed, she ran her hands down the front of her short black dress and looked for a staircase.

  “To the side,” Paran said. “And don’t be any later than you already are, or he might think you need a good spanking. Of course, he might already think you need one.”

  She whirled around, but Paran was gone. A scan of the crowd showed that he wasn’t nearby. Of course the place was packed, and he could be anywhere by now.

  “Spanking. Ha!” She turned her attention back to the man on the balcony, desire welling inside her. She judged him to be right at six-feet tall, but from her vantage point it was hard to tell. It was, however, easy to see that he was gorgeous.

  Dark blond hair hung to his shoulders in gentle waves. Even from this distance, his eyes were piercing, and she wondered what color they were. His arms were crossed in front of a massive, bare chest, and his biceps strained against the golden bands encasing them.

  He lifted a finger and pointed to the staircase. She started to move through the crowd, hoping she could use the time to make her heart rate slow down just a little. At the staircase she faced another bouncer. Before she could say anything he moved the rope aside and indicated she should go up.

  “Great. Everybody seems to know me,” she said under her breath as she ascended to the top.

  She entered a room decorated much the same as the one below, except this one had no chairs, only the low-slung tables and cushions. Matuse stood waiting for her, his arms still crossed in front of his chest.

  She walked to him quickly, her heels clacking against the wood floor. She looked down and glanced at her host, whose feet were bare.

  When she reached him, she held out her hand. “Mr. Matuse.” She was careful to pronounce it as Paran had told her, hoping he hadn’t steered her wrong. “I’m Aliya Baban. Thank you for inviting me.”

  He took her hand and a delightful current of heat spread through her body.

  Maybe this would be easier than she thought. He w
as obviously attracted to her, if his warm, gentle touch was any indication. Maybe all she would need to do was give him a blowjob or two, and he’d sign the account over to her.

  “You’re welcome. And it’s just Matuse. No mister.” She sighed inwardly as he pronounced it the same way Paran had. “Thirsty?” He still held her hand, his touch inviting.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He let go of her slowly, signaling for a waiter who quickly appeared with a tray and two champagne flutes. Matuse handed her one and he took the other, sipping it slowly.

  In an effort to calm her nerves, Aliya took a larger gulp than she should have. The bubbles tickled her nose and she giggled. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he said. “I’m glad you accepted my invitation. Did you enjoy stroking the lamp today?”

  She shook her head as if to clear it. How had he known she’d stroked the lamp?

  “Speaking of the lamp,” she said slowly, “I have some information here about our company, H&H. I’d like to talk to you about the possibility of our doing your advertising.” She made to reach for her bag, stopping when he snapped his fingers. A waiter grabbed the bag from her shoulder and quickly walked off with it.

  “Wait. I need that.” She started after the waiter, stopping as if she’d run up against a wall. Then, she turned back to Matuse.

  “No business tonight,” he said. “Only pleasure. We are in The Cave of Pleasure, remember?” He held out his hand in offering.

  Aliya stared at it. The situation was spiraling out of her control, and she wasn’t used to that. Men usually did exactly as she said, not the other way around. This wasn’t about pleasure. This was about her job.

  “Please bring back my bag.”

  “No. Now, take my hand and come with me.”

  She thought about telling him no; she thought about insisting that he retrieve her bag so she could give him the information she’d brought and talk with him about advertising.