My stomach clenches. This time, not with nerves, but with pure jealousy. The thought of Brody and Adrian scening with another submissive makes me see red.
What the fuck, Fiona? Last night was a one-time thing. Get a grip.
But my insides are still knotted with envy, and all the denial in the world isn’t going to change it.
16
Adrian:
Brody gives me a sidelong glance as we pull up in front of the club. “Here we are,” he says. “You doing okay?”
He hides a world of concern in that simple question. “Yes.” A valet hurries up to take the car keys, and I get out and grab my luggage from the trunk. “I thought I’d feel guilty about last night.”
He waits for me to continue.
“But I didn’t. You were right. Sandy would have wanted me to move on.”
“And Fiona?” He grabs his overnight bag, and the two of us climb up the flight of stairs. It’s a little after eight, and in the reception, Henri is busy greeting a couple that I don’t recognize. The moment he catches sight of the two of us, his face breaks out into a smile.
The last time I saw Henri was at Sandy’s funeral. A death that was my fault. “What about Fiona?”
“She’s going to be here,” he replies, his voice low enough that our conversation cannot be overheard.
I know what he’s getting at. “I already told you, I’m not looking for a serious relationship.” A dom is supposed to protect his submissive. I’ve already failed Lena and Sandy. I can’t risk adding Fiona to that list.
“So if she’s planning to scene with someone else, that won’t bother you?”
My hands clench into fists as a surge of possessiveness runs through me. Brody notices, of course, and his lips curve into a knowing smile. “Be careful,” he warns me. “Make sure you’re doing this for the right reason.”
Doing what? I’m not planning on doing anything. “What is the right reason?”
“Attraction,” he replies.
Oh, I’m definitely attracted to Fiona Clarke. “And what is the wrong reason?”
He gives me a direct look. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“Yes.”
“I think you want to save her,” he says bluntly. “You see Fiona, and you see all the women you couldn’t save. Lina. Sandy. But Adrian, you know what I’ve learned? You can’t save someone if they don’t want to save themselves.”
Ah, that’s what this is about. “Callie Weiss hasn’t called Dix, has she?”
“Nope.” His voice is bitter.
Henri finishes with the couple and turns to us with a broad smile on his face, cutting off our conversation. “Mr. Payne, Mr. Lockhart. It’s a pleasure to see you again. I’ve put you on the third floor if that’s okay?”
Xavier guards his privacy zealously. There’s only a small set of people allowed to stay in the castle proper. We’re among them, but we’ve never taken advantage of the privilege. Sandy preferred staying in the resort’s newer wing.
“Thank you, Henri.” Brody takes the key the concierge hands him. “Who else is staying in the castle this weekend?”
“Mr. Wake and Mr. Bowen arrived a few minutes ago,” Henri replies. “Mr. Bowen will be doing a fire play demo at midnight. Mr. Leforte asked me to put Ms. Clarke next to you.”
Brody and I exchange glances. Xavier is either genuinely worried about Fiona’s safety, or he’s playing matchmaker. Knowing him, I’m willing to guess that it’s a little of both. “Good to know,” I say dryly, taking my own room key from the concierge. “Is Ms. Clarke already here?”
“Yes, Mr. Lockhart. She arrived at half-past six. I believe she’s on the club floor now.”
Alone? I don’t think so. Kai would love to play with Fiona, and though I trust the other man implicitly, the thought of some other dominant touching Fiona sets my body on edge. I need to find her, now, before that happens.
“Can you get someone to take my luggage to my room, Henri?” I ask the concierge. “I’m going straight to the club floor.”
Fiona’s nerves yesterday nag at my subconscious. Brody’s warning echoes in my ear. You can’t save someone if they don’t want to save themselves.
But I’m not listening.
Fiona:
By the time I’m done talking to Xavier, it’s almost half-past seven. I head back to my room and flip through Maria’s folder for the next thirty minutes. By the time I’m done, my stomach is rumbling with hunger.
There’s a black folder on the small table by the window. I open it, hoping it contains a menu.
It does. Score. I dial Room Service and order some overpriced food, and then I head to the bathroom to get ready for tonight.
An hour later, I’ve eaten and showered. Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in my black lace underwear, I put my make-up on carefully, smoothing foundation over my face to hide my freckles before adding bronzer and blush. Then, I slip my black cocktail dress over my head and survey my reflection.
Not bad. I’m more cute than beautiful, and I’ve resigned myself to that, but the dress makes me look sophisticated. At least I won’t look out of place. I linger for another few minutes in my room, but eventually, I run out of excuses to stall. Banishing the butterflies that seem to have taken up permanent residence in my stomach, I step into the elevator and head downstairs.
Club M is located in the basement of the castle. The elevator arrives sooner than I’m ready, and the doors part in a whisper of sound. Hoping I look more confident than I feel, I step into the space, trying to take it all in.
I don’t know what I expected. Black walls, maybe, and dim lighting? This place is neither of those things. Rather, it looks like an upscale British gentlemen’s club. The walls are covered with red and gold patterned wallpaper. The ceiling is painted gold, and a huge, glittering crystal chandelier hangs down from it, throwing warm light everywhere, but especially on the Saint Andrew’s Cross that’s directly under it.
To the left of me is a seating area, filled with overstuffed brown leather couches and polished teak tables. To my right is a bar that takes up the entire length of the room. If there are private playrooms, and I’m assuming there’ll have to be, those must be in the back.
It’s a quarter after nine. I’m early, and there aren’t too many people in the club yet. A group of well-dressed men and women have taken over one of the seating areas, and there are two guys at one corner of the bar, talking to each other in low voices. A guy in leather pants is leading his corset-clad submissive around on a leash, but the two of them are definitely in the minority. Most people are dressed in evening wear, not fetish clothing.
It’s the bar I make my way to. In my experience, bartenders are always good for a chat, especially when they aren’t too busy. My goal today is to get the lay of the land and try to understand who wants to blackmail Maria Dumonte.
As I walk up, the bartender gives me a friendly smile. She’s an average-sized woman with short blonde hair, streaked with pink highlights, dressed in a black tank-top and a short black skirt. Her arms are covered with tattoos of dragons. “Hello,” she says cheerfully. “Welcome to Club M. I’m Kiera.”
“Thanks.” I take a seat. “How’d you know I was new?”
She grins. “Your eyes were darting around the room, taking it all in. And when you saw Hector and Melissa,” she nods toward the couple in leather, “you looked a little shocked.” Her eyes twinkle in amusement. “The regulars don’t bat an eye.”
I laugh. “You’re very observant.”
“You have to be in this job. Can I get you a drink?”
“A glass of red wine, please.”
She reaches for a bottle of wine and pours it into a glass, setting it in front of me. I take it from her with a nod of thanks. Sipping my wine, I people-watch out of the corner of my eye. A large group of women drifts in, making their way to the seating area with an air of anticipation. When the bartender comes back, I ask her about it. “Is there something going on t
onight?”
“A couple of demos,” she replies. “Everyone’s jockeying for a prime viewing spot. At ten, there’s a rope demonstration, and the dominants who are doing it, Colin and Stuart, are very popular among the female members. The rumor is that they’re going to ask for volunteers from the audience, and no one wants to miss out.”
My mood sours. In three weeks, there’ll be a bunch of women giggling over Adrian and Brody’s pet play demo. I get to my feet. “Kiera, could you keep an eye on my drink? I’m going to head to the bathroom.”
I’m hoping that the washroom will be empty, but it isn’t. Standing in front of a mirror, refreshing her makeup, is the woman whose photo has started all of this. Maria Dumonte.
I can’t believe my luck. I’d been hoping for a chance to talk to her in an informal setting, and here she is. “Hi,” I say, hoping she’s as chatty as the bartender.
She looks up with a smile. “Hello,” she replies. “Do you know if Colin and Stuart have started yet?”
The rope demo. I inwardly give thanks for Keira’s information. “Not yet. I think it’s at ten.” This is my chance to engage her in conversation. “I’m looking forward to it,” I say, giving her a smile that I hope is both excited and nervous. “It’s my first time at the club.”
“Is it?” She puts away her tube of mascara. “Welcome.”
I giggle, a sound calculated to disarm. “Thanks. I can’t believe I’m in a real-life sex club. It almost feels unreal, you know?”
“You’ve never been to one before?”
She’s in her early twenties, but she acts much older. There’s a tone of jaded boredom in her voice that I didn’t have when I was her age. But maybe that has to do with her upbringing. In the file that Xavier handed me earlier, I learned that she’d been sent to an elite boarding school when she was twelve, and only saw her parents during the holidays. Her mother lives in Baton Rouge in an old mansion, and her father spends most of his time here in DC. The rumors are that the parents can’t stand each other, but of course, divorce is out of the question.
“No,” I confess with a brittle laugh. “It’s my first time.”
“Don't worry,” she says soothingly. “You’ll love it here. Everyone’s very nice. Are you looking for play partners at the club or a dom?”
I don’t need to be an experienced private investigator to sense that something is off. Xavier Leforte hired me to flush out the person who is trying to blackmail Maria.
But Maria seems unusually calm. Her attitude doesn’t add up. If someone sent me a naked photo of myself taken at a sex club, I’d be freaking out. I certainly wouldn't be telling people that Club Ménage is a great experience.
Then again, I haven’t grown up in Maria Dumonte's world. Maybe she’s just really good at hiding her emotions. I push a little.
“I don't know,” I admit sheepishly. “Xavier told me there was no hurry to decide.”
“Xavier Leforte?” she interjects sharply. “You've met him? When?”
What an interesting reaction. “He conducted my screening interview. Why? Is he important?”
She shoots me a disbelieving look. “Yes, of course, he’s important. Xavier owns this place.”
“He does?” I pretend to be surprised. “How weird. Maybe he was short-staffed that day.”
Maria looks skeptical. “Maybe. Or maybe you're his type.”
There’s a note of jealousy in her tone. I file that away for later analysis. This is turning into a very puzzling encounter. “I doubt it,” I tell her. “Not unless his type is short and freckled.”
“Nobody knows what his type is,” she replies sourly. She looks like she wants to say more, but just then, the door swings open and a group of three women walk in, laughing and chatting. Instantly, a polished mask slides over Maria’s face. Damn it.
I try to prolong our conversation. “Any advice for a first-timer?”
“Trust your intuition,” she says. “Don’t let anyone pressure you into doing something you don’t want.” She gives her reflection one last look in the mirror, nods at me, and turns toward the door.
Maria is definitely into Xavier. I wonder if he knows.
I head back to the bar and reclaim my drink. I’ve barely been in my seat for five minutes when someone draws up next to me. My skin prickles with awareness. “Hello, Fiona,” a crisp, familiar voice says. Adrian.
17
Fiona:
My heartbeat speeds up as I look up and take both of them in. They’re in suits. Adrian’s wearing a blue-and-red striped tie, but Brody’s more casual, his cream shirt open at the collar.
“Hello,” I murmur, my cheeks flaming. The last time I saw them, I was bent over a table while Brody spanked me, and then I sat on Adrian’s lap and fingered myself to a climax.
I’m not quite sure what to say to them. Luckily, Kiera jumps in. “Mr. Payne, Mr. Lockhart,” she exclaims with pleasure. “It’s so good to see you after such a long time. Gin and tonic still, or something else?”
“Good to see you too, Keira.” Brody pulls up a barstool next to me. “Gin and tonic sounds perfect.”
She moves away to fill their order, and I remember, belatedly, the flowers they sent me this morning. “Thank you for the lilies. They were lovely.”
“You’re welcome.” Brody’s eyes rake over me. “Nice dress.” His grin turns wicked. “I’d love to see you out of it.”
Adrian snorts. “Does that pick-up line ever work?” he asks with a roll of his eyes.
Brody flashes me a grin. “I don’t usually need pick-up lines.”
I laugh. Kiera comes back with two drinks that she sets in front of the men. “Word’s got around about the demo, Mr. Lockhart,” she says to Adrian. “There’s a long list of interested women. Do me a favor and pick one quickly, would you? The cattiness is starting to get out of control.”
“What demo?” Adrian looks confused.
Oh, right. I was supposed to tell them. “Xavier signed the two of you up to do a pet play demo in three weeks.”
Adrian’s face darkens. “He did what?”
Brody shakes his head. “You know the parable of the camel’s nose in the tent? That’s Xavier Leforte for you. You give him an inch, and before you know it, you’re doing demos on the club floor. I’ll sort it out later.”
Another pair of men join the two already at the bar, and Kiera moves away to get their orders. “How are you, Fiona?” Adrian asks, placing his hand on mine. “Any nerves about being here?”
None that I’m going to admit to. “I’m fine.” Warmth snakes through me from that point of contact, and I feel myself start to flush. I don’t know how to pull my arm away without making my discomfort obvious.
Not discomfort. Attraction.
I drain the rest of my wine. Adrian raises an eyebrow. “Are you playing tonight?”
Are you asking? “No. I told you already. Today, all I want to do is watch.”
“Watch what? What turns you on, Fiona?” Brody inches his chair closer, his breath warming my ear. He swivels my bar stool, turning me toward the open club floor.
A couple is making their way to the Saint Andrew’s Cross. As I gawk, the woman steps out of her red evening gown. Underneath, she’s wearing a sheer lace bra and a g-string and nothing else. The man says something to her, and she spreads her legs wide. He buckles a pair of thick leather cuffs around her ankles and attaches them to the base of the cross.
I squirm in my seat. Some people are looking at the couple. Others continue their conversation, uninterested in what’s going on. “Who are they?” I whisper. “That’s not the rope demo, is it?”
“No.” Adrian turns around too. He leans against the bar, his drink in his hand. “I don’t know them. Do you, Brody?”
“Nope.” The woman’s hands are restrained now. The man trails his fingers down her front, saying something to her in a soft voice. She nods eagerly, her eyes bright even from this distance. He chuckles and says something to a black-clad staff member.
“What’s going on?” My voice is high-pitched. My skin is prickling in a mixture of arousal and anxiety. Raymond had enjoyed tying me up. When he was in a rare good mood, I enjoyed it too. Most of the time though, I’d dreaded the feeling of leather around my wrists, knowing that it meant I was soon going to be immobilized, unable to resist.
Brody flashes me a concerned glance before lifting his hand to attract the bartender’s attention. The next thing I know, he hands me a glass of water. “Take a sip,” he orders.
“Thank you.” There are video cameras everywhere, Fiona. There are almost a hundred people in the room. What do you think is going to happen?
I take a sip of the cold water. The guy’s returned with a leather flogger. The woman’s lips curl into a smile when she sees it. He starts flogging her, and I hold my breath. “She’s enjoying herself,” Adrian says, his voice low. “Watch the way she strains toward each stroke. She wants this as much as he does.”
My breathing eases. Adrian’s right. Her eyes are following the man’s movements, and her expression is filled with anticipation, not fear. I take another sip of my water. “You don’t like being flogged, Fiona?” Adrian asks me, his voice casual.
His tone doesn’t fool me. “I like everything.”
“Do you?” He sounds amused.
If I were braver, I could reach out, grab Adrian by his tie, and pull him closer to me.
They’re dominants, Fiona.
“I do,” I reply, lying through my teeth. “I’m keeping an open mind. I want to try everything.”
Brody starts to say something, but before he can, we’re interrupted by a sleekly beautiful blonde woman. She’s wearing a blue lace cocktail dress that hugs every curve of her body, and she’s smiling at Adrian in a way that sets my hackles rising. “Adrian,” she coos. “I was hoping I’d see you here this evening.”
Claiming Fifi Page 9