by Alice Ward
Why did I care either way? After all, the logistics of a potential relationship were far from promising. The miles alone between our respective homes were hardly accommodating to Friday night dinners or impromptu weekday lunch dates. And that wasn’t even taking into consideration the drastic differences in our classes — he, a wealthy investor with reasonably impressive connections, and me, taking pictures of corner diners to pay my rent. It wasn’t like we were compatible on paper no matter how much physical and mental electricity zinged back and forth between us. Nevertheless, as the elevator doors dinged and opened and I mechanically stepped on, I had a small pit of dread in my belly that his interest in me was going to peak once I entered the den of mystery with him tonight.
“Tabby, there you are!”
I had just reached my room when my mother’s voice rang out down the hall. She and my father were bustling toward me with their wheeled luggage in hand.
“I knocked on your door five minutes ago to make sure you were up and packed,” Mom huffed, shuffling her tote-sized purse around on her shoulder. She eyed my empty hands. “Where are your bags? Did you call for a bellhop?”
“A bellhop?” I repeated with amusement. The term sounded so old-fashioned and yet perfectly in keeping with my mom’s idea of fancy hotels. “No, Mom, I didn’t call for a bellhop.”
“Checkout’s right around the corner, kid,” Dad warned.
I slid the key card into the slot and watched the light flash green on the mechanism. The door clicked, and I turned the handle to catch it. “Yeah, I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“No, you’re not,” Mom argued. She stood her luggage on its butt and dug into her purse, pulling out two boarding passes. “Our flight leaves in three hours. See?”
“Those are your tickets, Mom.”
“Yes, but we booked the same flight so we could fly back together, remember?” She paused, then eyed me with a level of suspicion that should’ve been reserved for someone skulking around the backyard. “Did you make a change without discussing it with me?”
It was funny. At home in Chicago, I saw my parents once every couple of weeks at most and usually had quick five-minute phone conversations — three minutes with my dad — about unimportant drivel, like the inconvenience of construction, on a semi-daily basis. They were far from controlling and let me go about living my life as I saw fit. As long as I was happy, they were happy. For whatever reason, however, Grace’s wedding had turned my mother into somewhat of a demanding busybody, and I wasn’t exactly a fan.
“Sort of,” I told her, shoving my foot between the door and the jamb to keep it from swinging shut and locking again. “I decided to stay an extra day to go out with Owen.”
Dad jammed his hands into his pockets and looked away while Mom knitted her brow. “But he lives in New Orleans.”
“Yes.”
“And you live in Chicago.”
“Right.”
She tossed her hands, sending her purse sliding down her arm to the crook of her elbow. I heard thuds and clanks coming from inside and could only imagine the amenities she’d slipped in there. “What kind of future could you possibly have with a man who lives halfway across the country?”
“The kind where we can both look back fondly in our gray years and say, ‘I had a nice time that one weekend,’” I retorted wryly.
“Well, I would think seeing your cousin getting married would at least get you thinking about your future. You don’t want to end up alone, and Lord knows your childbearing years are closer to ending than beginning. Besides, how can you afford to stay the extra night? Taking pictures of his restaurant couldn’t have paid you that well.”
Actually, Owen’s check was sitting on the bedside table in my room at that very moment, and it was more than enough to stay a month at Harrah’s. I leaned into the door to hurry the conversation along, having had more than my share of Mom’s sudden desire for me to be wedded, and god forbid, bear her first grandchild. “I owe him. Bringing someone to a wedding automatically requires large repayment,” I informed her.
She started to argue, but Dad mercifully cut her off. “We should get going. Have fun tonight, kid.” He stepped forward to give me a one-armed hug, then added sternly, “Not too much fun though.”
“Gross, Dad.” I groaned. I might have been in my mid-twenties, but my father had a way of making me feel fifteen when the topic of dating came up.
“What are you—?”
Dad held out his hand. “Maureen let’s go.”
Mom huffed, hugged me, and hitched her purse back up onto her shoulder. “Call me when you get home tomorrow,” she ordered.
“I will,” I promised. “Have a good flight.”
Dad gave me a casual salute while Mom nodded, and then they trucked toward the elevator together while I dipped into the safety of my still-dark room. Happening across my parents on their way out had interrupted my angsty thoughts, but now I was free to worry and wonder all I wanted. I dropped onto the bed to do just that.
***
I had just clicked the in-room blow dryer off when I heard a knock on the door. I checked the clock next to the bed. It was ten to seven. Owen had told me seven o’clock on the dot, but it didn’t surprise me he’d be early. He struck me as the punctual type. Tugging the hem of my cocktail dress to be sure it fell smoothly and checking myself one last time as I passed the mirror, I hobbled on my heels to the door and opened it.
“What are you wearing?”
I stifled a groan. It was Grace.
I’d gone by her room shortly after seeing my parents to bid her goodbye and wish her well on her honeymoon, but nobody had answered, and I’d assumed she already left for Bora Bora. It wouldn’t have surprised me that she would’ve left without saying goodbye, but it did surprise me to see her standing there now looking at me like I was an alien.
“A dress.” I looked down to make sure I had it on correctly. “How are you still here?”
“We paid for late checkout,” she said, striding into the room without waiting for an invitation. Her eyes were swiveling from left to right as if expecting to see someone else crouching in a corner.
I let the door close and turned to face her. “Grace, late checkout is at, like, four o’clock.”
“Yes, I know. Kenneth paid extra to let us stay here until we needed to leave for the airport.” She sniffed. “Like I was going to hang out at an airport from three until nine.”
It was so incredibly hard not to roll my eyes. “Right.”
“The receptionist said you didn’t checkout yet. I was wondering what was going on,” she continued, finally looking at me again rather than the room.
I wanted to cross my arms over myself and hide my dress so I could claim nothing was happening, but the damage was done and there was nothing else to do but explain. “I have a date with Owen tonight,” I admitted. “He changed my plane ticket and everything.”
“You mean he’s not just some guy you hired to be your date?” she jibed and smiled like she was joking, but I saw the jealousy burning in her eyes. I couldn’t blame her. Kenneth was a nice guy — much nicer than someone like Grace deserved, honestly — and better than okay-looking, but he wasn’t in Owen’s league of looks, charm, or money and I knew that ate Grace right up.
“No, Grace,” I said through tight lips and gritted teeth. “I did not hire him to be my date. And, speaking of date, he’s supposed to be here in the next few minutes so we should probably finish this conversation.”
She put a hand on her shapeless hip and cocked her head. “You’re embarrassed of him, aren’t you?”
“What?” I was stunned. “Of course not!”
“You seem awfully eager to get me out of here, and you bugged out of the wedding pretty early last night. I didn’t see you after dinner at all.”
“I’m not embarrassed of him,” I insisted. “It’s the opposite, in fact.”
She snickered, her pretty face turning ugly as she smirked at me. “Maybe you’re afraid
he’ll see me and have some regrets.”
The arrogance of her was nauseating. “He already saw you. Yesterday? In your wedding dress? When you were as made up and perfect as you’ll ever be?” I didn’t add the snarky comment I wanted to make about how, despite his seeing her perfection, he’d still opted to take me out this evening.
“Right.” She sounded bored now.
A knock sounded, and my stomach leapt. “Okay, you really need to go now,” I urged, reaching for her arm to pull her to the door. When I opened it, I didn’t find Owen standing there, but Stephan. His silvery hair matched the tie he wore beneath a gorgeous suit coat that definitely wasn’t off-the-rack, and his soft smile loosened the knot forming in my belly by a fraction.
“Good evening, Miss Rickard,” he greeted cordially with an inclination of his head.
“Hi, Stephan. It’s good to see you again.”
Grace looked between us with flaring nostrils and demanded, “Again? What do you mean, again?”
“The pleasure is mine,” Stephan said, ignoring my cousin. I felt a rush of delight as he turned obligatorily to Grace and added, “Ma’am.”
She scowled, but I ignored her. “Did Owen send you?”
“Only up to fetch you, miss,” he explained. “He is waiting for you downstairs in the limo.”
Grace’s scowl deepened. I pushed her gently out of the room, snagged my clutch off the table near the door, and exited into the hallway. Addressing her with more brightness than I probably ever had, I said, “Have fun on your honeymoon. I’ve got to get going.”
Stephan took my elbow with delicate elegance and nodded once to Grace in farewell. As he guided me down the corridor toward the elevator, I glanced over my shoulder and offered my openmouthed, wide-eyed cousin a cheerful wave.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Owen
Something was wrong. My insides felt like they were tumbling and somersaulting over each other — intestines twisting around kidneys, stomach bumping against spleen, heart swelling into lungs. The limo was parked, but everything seemed to be shaking slightly, including my hands as I reached for the chilled bottle of champagne to pour two flutes. All my senses were on high-alert. I heard brakes squealing blocks away and saw the smallest details in the textured leather seats, and the pads of my fingers were extraordinarily keen to the smooth, cool surface of the glass I precariously held as I tipped in a stream of pale liquid. This was completely abnormal.
I was nervous.
Nerves hadn’t been a part of my dating experience since I was a young high school kid, when I asked Tina Endisch to go to the school clambake with me. I’d forgotten what it felt like to have slightly clammy palms and a tongue that felt too thick for my mouth. Frankly, it wasn’t a feeling I was pleased to revisit, but it certainly brought to light just how interested I was in Tabby. Her enjoyment of our impending evening together mattered to me. Yes, I was getting what I wanted — taking her to The Blackjack Club and soothing my concerns about engaging in relations outside its safe, regulated confines — but for once my satisfaction didn’t ride solely on how I felt at the end of the night. In a way, I found the revelation unsettling, but perhaps even more unsettling was how nice it felt to care about someone else as much as myself.
The door to the limo swung open unexpectedly, making me jump slightly and rattle the two champagne glasses in my hands. In my distracted state, I’d failed to watch the hotel doors to see whether Stephan was coming out with Tabby, and now… here she was. As if by magic, she was getting in the car with me. Her leg, shapely and smooth, entered first, rousing the familiar feeling of desire I seemed to constantly feel in her presence, and then her entire form became visible as she slipped onto the fine leather seat. She was wearing a burgundy cocktail dress with a billowy skirt that fell to her knees, and a bright smile.
“Hi!” Damn, she smelled good. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. My cousin was still hanging around. She bought her room for the entire day to avoid having to sit in an airport longer than she wanted.”
If she was nervous, I couldn’t tell. Her eyes were glittering, and her hands weren’t shaking, and she looked perfectly poised yet casual. I, on the other hand, was startled to discover that seeing her actually increased my anxieties rather than eased them. My stomach was tight and there was a knot at the base of my throat that made talking a greater effort than it should’ve been. Simultaneously, my head grew light and fuzzy with the thrill that she would soon be inside the very place I’d been hoping to take her since our first conversation. Forget dating nerves. This was an emotional monster digging its claws into my insides and raking me bloodless. I’d never been so charged before just because of a woman.
“I can’t say that surprises me, as little as I know of her.” I extended a flute to her, which she accepted. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you,” she said with a soft, humble smile.
The word “lovely” hardly seemed appropriate. It was too mild for how she looked. Sensational, incredible, striking… not even those were good enough. Her hair was down for the first time since I’d met her and fell in careless waves to her collarbone. She’d done her eye makeup in a fashion that accentuated the graceful arcs of her lids and the sharp points of the corners. The cocktail dress wasn’t what I would consider revealing, but it fit to her curves the same way her leggings had when she’d taken pictures at the restaurant. I knew those curves now. I’d traced them with my hands and watched them grow taut and undulate beneath my touch. They had formed to my palms and lifted to my mouth and urged me for more, and seeing them hidden coyly beneath silky fabric was somehow even more tempting than seeing them bare and brazen.
“So, since we’re going to this club of yours together now, can you tell me anything more about it?” Tabby asked before tilting the champagne to her unpainted mouth.
I grinned. “And ruin the surprise? What would be the fun in that?”
“Aha! A clue!” she exclaimed in delight, crossing a leg over the other. I skimmed the vision of her slender foot in the strappy heel for a brief second before returning my attention to her face. “You admit that it’s fun.”
“A regular Sherlock, you are,” I chuckled. My nerves were finally beginning to steady, and I observed my hands no longer shaking as I mimicked her sip with one of my own. “Do you think I’d take you somewhere boring and stale?”
“Well, you’ve given me nothing to go on,” she accused good-naturedly. “For all I know, you’re taking me to a stuffy mansion where a congressman is going to read us his practice speech.”
I laughed outright, almost spilling my drink on myself in my uproar, which I would have considered an ironic homage to our initial encounter. “I promise there will be no speech readings,” I swore, holding up a hand as if taking a solemn vow. “Although, you may very well find yourself in the presence of a congressman or two.”
She raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips mockingly as she cooed, “Ooh, how fancy. Maybe I should’ve gone with the other dress I was considering. It was much more Jackie O.”
“Believe me…” I narrowed my eyes at her slightly as my pants tightened in my lap, “you should have no regrets about the dress you chose.”
Her apple cheeks flushed a shade, and she tried to hide her smile with another drink.
“And it will match perfectly,” I added.
“Match what? The décor?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I reached into my jacket pocket and withdrew a slip of black fabric. She eyed it discerningly, and I took either side in each hand to display it fully before her.
“Is that…?” Her eyes flew to mine.
“A blindfold?” I finished. “It is, indeed.”
Several telling responses blended on her pretty face, though the one I noticed best was the shading beneath her brow suggesting arousal. My groin felt hot in my trousers at the sight, and I slid along the rounded seat until I was at her side. Her lower lip rolled between her teeth.
“Are you opposed?
” I was certain I already knew the answer, but it wasn’t good form to act on an assumption.
“I don’t know,” she answered slowly, darting her stare between the blindfold and me. “What’s it for?”
I smirked, loving that she’d given me the opportunity to be a smartass. “To prevent you from seeing.”
She rolled her eyes. “Glad you could clear that up for me.”
I snickered as I fondled the satin fabric between my fingers. Tabby was the ultimate enigma. She was in the back of a limo with a guy holding a blindfold on her way somewhere relatively unknown and she still had the strike of a cobra. I almost respected her too much to crave her. Almost.
“The Blackjack Club is a gathering of New Orleans’ elite, and it is highly secretive and well-protected. All who enter are required to sign a statement of confidentiality. As this will be your first time in our fine establishment amongst our reputable members, you have signed no such agreement yet and are thus considered a liability. In the best interest of all involved, your knowledge of our location should be limited to an uneducated guess — i.e., you need to be blindfolded to prevent you seeing the address or surroundings until your sworn confidentiality is secured.”
She blinked. “Is that a clause you memorized off some official Blackjack Club document?”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m going to find something better to do with that mouth than sarcasm if you keep it up.”
Tabby exhaled slowly, and I distinctly noticed the way she subtly ground her rear into the seat. “Okay.” Her head lowered in what could only be called a regal nod. “You can blindfold me.”
I broadened the elastic strap and slid the blindfold over her head, careful to keep her hairdo as intact as possible. As the fabric hooded her eyes, the erection threatening to swell to epic proportions in my pants twitched. I knew the physical reaction being blinded would have on her. All other senses would heighten even as mild paranoia set in, and she would be in a constant state of anticipation without any ability to predict what was to come. The proclaimed use of the blindfold hadn’t been a story I’d made up just to get her in such a precarious predicament. It was very much a part of The Club to hide away even the smallest details of our organization from those who hadn’t been vetted, but it may as well have been for my own enjoyment, the desire it ignited within me.