by Alice Ward
I looked around, including up at the ceiling, to locate the source of the voice, but I saw no mounted speakers nor a sprayed and styled woman speaking. Owen’s hand found my lower back again, and then I was steered from the bar toward the room with the stage and the twelve spotlights. It seemed I was about to learn the real mystery behind The Blackjack Club.
CHAPTER TEN
Owen
“So… auction?”
Tabby’s whisper was like a feather in my ear, soft and brushing, and though the ballroom was hardly silent, I heard her amused curiosity as clearly as if she’d shouted. In my peripheral vision, I saw her staring at the stage, upon which stood twelve leggy women in spotlights and dresses of minimal hem lengths.
“Yes. Auction,” I confirmed with intentional evasiveness. I caught her eye roll with a cheesy grin.
“Thanks for the elaboration.” She rocked back onto her heels, swung her gaze around to the clusters of well-suited men swirling Manhattans and shooting subliminally lecherous gazes to the displayed women, and leaned into my shoulder to lower her voice further. “Is this one of those hazing rituals to join the secret society? Like a sorority? I’m not going to have to go up there next, am I?”
Though her witty banter was as stimulating as ever, I was suddenly overcome by a hot rush of protectiveness I wouldn’t have expected in a million years. The mere thought of Tabby standing in one of those spotlights for all The Club to ogle was absolutely infuriating, and I had to force myself to take a long, slow, deep breath before I was collected enough to respond calmly. “No, it’s not a hazing ritual. Membership is limited to men. Those women are associates.”
“I’m getting the feeling your vagueness is on purpose,” she said. “Unfortunately, I’m not deterred, and you told me I could finally learn all the big secrets of The Blackjack Club once I went.” She held out her arms like she was welcoming the Holy Ghost. “Here we are.”
Amanda Hahn, the auctioneer with a bosom too large to exist outside of comic books, strolled up onto the stage and strutted in front of the ladies queued farthest on the left until she reached the center where a thirteenth spotlight snapped into life. Her scarlet lips were spread wide to reveal large ice-white teeth, her patented beam I knew she believed to be both friendly and sensuous — though it was more along the lines of clownish. She wasn’t an unattractive woman by most people’s standards, but she was far from my taste and I considered her amongst the likes of a cougar. I wasn’t the only one who felt that way, either, which was why her association with The Club was essentially dependent on her occupation of the role of auctioneer.
“Good evening!” she exclaimed cheerfully. A chorus of mumbled responses met her greeting from the male audience scattered throughout the ballroom. “If you’re one of our registered bidders, please make sure you receive your cards from Delilah. If you’re interested in partaking in our next auction, registration is available at either bar in the reception room as usual. Remember… you cannot bid on any of the lovely women of The Blackjack Club if you haven’t registered and paid the entrance fee.”
“You’re bidding on women?” Tabby hissed into my ear.
I wasn’t surprised by the stunned, disapproving tone in her voice — it was reasonably a shock factor to hear the items up for bid were people — but I was admittedly startled to see the anger on her pretty face. Poisonous darts shot from her eyes to the men around us, burrowing into the backs of their heads and even drawing some unwelcome attention. And when she looked back at me, her expression was one I wasn’t familiar with. She glowered at me like I was a perfect stranger, and a thoroughly offensive one at that.
“In a manner of speaking,” I replied noncommittally. “But not exactly.”
She didn’t shoot anything back at me, not an accusing admonishment or a self-righteous declaration of feminism, but her body language said it all. Her shoulders had rotated frontwards as though she was considering turning her back to me completely, the corners of her mouth were embedded in deep frown lines, and she’d put at least six inches between us with a reactive sidestep. I might as well have been a leper. Against my will, I felt a jolt of mild panic that she’d suddenly changed her entire perception of me, but I also understood. It was only natural she should be revolted at the idea of the auction without knowing its details and nuances. Frankly, I would’ve experienced my own change of perception if she’d expressed no distaste for what appeared to be a frolic in the flesh trade.
“Would you like me to explain?” I asked, keeping my voice light and casual as if wondering whether she’d like to hear the daily specials.
Tabby jammed a hand on her hip. It didn’t escape my notice just how delectable the curve looked through the fluttery fabric. “Please.”
I fished my hand through the gap between her arm and her waist to pull her closer to me. She didn’t withdraw, though her stern determination to hear a justifiable explanation for The Club’s goings-on was viscerally detectable. “Do you see that woman?” I murmured softly, tilting my chin in the direction of a petite brunette clad in a sparkly black dress reminiscent of the roaring twenties.
“What wom — oh, yeah.”
“She’s known as the dealer and gives every bidding man two cards. Just like in blackjack. The sum of the two cards equals the donation in thousands each man must give to a charity chosen by one of the auctioned women.”
Tabby’s brows flew up, and the bitterness on her face melted as quickly as ice over a fire. “Really?” she questioned with audible awe, but there was still a large dose of caution in the word. She looked around, and the same men she’d just glared at like heathens she now considered with… not respect exactly, but something better than a moment before. “I didn’t think it was going to be anything like that. But why all the secrecy about The Club then? I’d imagine donating such large amounts to charity would be something anybody would be proud of, or at least not try to hide.”
“There’s more,” I went on. She quieted and waited for me to fill her in on the additional details. Thankfully, the chatter in the room was still a low hum as Delilah worked her way from bidder to bidder. “The women are auctioned to the members in order of donation value, from highest to lowest. So, the man dealt the highest value gets first choice and has the company of his chosen woman for the remainder of the evening.”
“What happens if there’s a tie? If two or more members have the same donation?” she asked.
“Then it’s in order of seniority.” I swung my gaze from left to right for a split second to ensure we weren’t being overheard. She’d signed the NDA, which meant my telling her the intricacies of the auction was permissible, but I was hesitant to be caught doing so nonetheless. Never before had I brought a woman to The Club, let alone revealed its secrets.
She shrugged, and one of the straps hugging her shoulder slipped down her arm. “I still don’t understand why you keep everything so hush-hush,” she persisted, replacing the strap before I could bend down and nibble her shoulder where it belonged. “It sounds like one of those Date-for-Charity gigs. A lot of organizations do that, and it’s perfectly respectable. This might even be more respectable, come to think of it, because I don’t think most of those events pull in the kind of money you’re talking about here.”
I raked my nails into her hip and tugged her up against me. She jerked as her ass slid up against my groin, and her hands snapped around my wrists. I pulled her closer against me and knit my fingers together around her middle. With a long exhale, her shoulder blades flattened against my chest and her head fell flush beneath my chin. Dropping my mouth to her ear, I whispered, “Anonymity.”
The shiver that raced down her spine was so violent I felt her quake in my hold, and blood plummeted into my cock like a dam breaking. She smelled so tantalizing. Floral and rich and somehow throaty. If the idea of every Club member in attendance seeing Tabby bared and ravished hadn’t raised my hackles to razors, I would’ve flipped the hem of her skirts up over her backside, shoved the cro
tch of her panties aside, and plunged myself into her right then and there.
“You see…” I let the caress of my breath on her lobe titillate her nerves, “there’s more than money that unites the members of The Blackjack Club. We’re a unique group of men with a unique set of interests. Interests that excite and endanger at the same time. And we can’t just let anyone in on those kinds of secrets, can we?”
“What kinds of secrets?” she breathed. She was barely vocalizing, but that was all for the better to evade the eavesdropping I hoped to avoid.
I unlocked my fingers and slid one of my hands beneath her dress. “Dark secrets,” I growled. I slid a finger down her slickened folds before palming her mound to grind my heel against her sensitive bundle of nerves. “Dirty secrets. Our sexual proclivities are of a nature poised to ruin the reputations and careers we’ve so carefully built. Here, under the protective umbrella of The Club with other likeminded individuals and willing associates, we’re free to cavort how we please as we please.” I rocked my hand back and forth, and her knees buckled slightly.
“So,” she panted almost silently, “you have fetishes?”
The smirk eclipsed my lips before I could stop it. I curled my forefinger to bury it inside her tight walls, and the squeak of a barely-restrained moan slipped from her throat. “I didn’t say that.”
She thrust her hips downward onto my hand and rolled her head back against my shoulder. I stroked my finger for a moment longer, then slid it free from her needy clench and replaced her panties over her folds. She mewed and looked up at me with yearning eyes, but I merely smiled back.
“It’s control,” she mused, hazel orbs glazed. “Your fetish is control.”
“Oh,” I replied idly, “nobody here could be reduced to such a generalization, sweetheart. It’s so much more than that, and not everyone seeks, as you so summarily asserted, control. Like I said, we possess unique interests. Our tastes vary. And I can assure you they are much more complex than a simple word.”
Amanda clapped her hands, the sound amplified by the wireless microphone clipped to her collar, and declared, “Let the auction begin!”
I wasn’t interested in the auction. To be honest, I wasn’t interested in anything about The Blackjack Club this evening. The only reason I was there was to vet Tabby through and ease my neurotic concerns. I’d hammered it into my mind long ago that the only safe women were Club women, and I’d toed the line by engaging in a romance with Tabby outside these black walls, but having her here with me now felt close enough to her being a Club girl that I didn’t feel the twisting anxiety in my gut anymore. It was worth it to have her here — seeing her face lit with intrigue as she watched the men step forward with their cards and choose a woman was prize enough. However, now that all concerns were allayed, the only thing I wanted was to strip her bare and claim her.
We didn’t talk through the rest of the event. Tabby appeared to be fascinated by the scene on the stage. One beautiful woman after another was announced and biographed by Amanda before being plucked down by a well-dressed man brandishing two cards and a check, delighted smiles on their painted faces and remarkable elegance in their steps. Even after it had finished, she continued following the women with her stare, marking their every move and examining their interactions with the men who’d chosen them. I had to gently shake her to tear her focus away.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
“Ready for what?” Her voice was high, expectant.
“To go.”
Her cheeks flushed almost as richly red as the dress she wore. “Oh, right. Um, sure. Yeah.”
I started to guide her back toward the reception room, but before we made it to the door three members swept upon us. I knew them all. Bruno Giancola was a rather hairy real estate mogul. Gerard Cleft, a middle-aged international insurance consultant. Tim Van Wick was the third-wealthiest manufacturer of industrial cleaning equipment. They were a motley crew of regulars who rarely participated in the auctions, Gerard and Tim because they tended to err on the frugal side and Bruno because he had a penchant for snagging women already claimed by other men. It was his presence in particular that tightened my hand on Tabby’s waist and brought her nearer to me.
“Long time no see, Driscoll,” Bruno drawled. He hailed from New Jersey but had quickly learned the women here found his accent irritating rather than charming, so he’d adopted a poor and misplaced southern curvature to his words. “Those investments of yours must be taking up some time.”
“Don’t they always?” I tried to keep my response short in hopes of getting out of the conversation quickly. I didn’t like the way he was eyeing Tabby. “Good to see you, gentlemen.”
“I see you’ve brought a guest,” Bruno went on. He was virtually undressing Tabby in his mind with a stare so intense I was sure she picked up on it.
Reluctantly, I nodded and motioned to her. “This is Tabby.”
Gerard and Tim said polite and friendly hellos, but Bruno was determined. It was evident he was hoping to poach her. He held out a hand to her, which she took, then covered her hand with his other one in an almost intimate gesture. “It’s a delight to meet you, Tabby,” he said slickly. “I was surprised to see you weren’t on that stage.”
She looked up at me with confusion, then back to him. “Owen was just introducing me to The Club,” she told him. I could feel the discomfort radiating from her. “I’ve never been here before.”
“Oh, I know that.” His thick mouth was marred in a lecherous leer. “I would’ve remembered you.”
My blood started to boil, and I pulled Tabby back against me hard enough that her hand was yanked free from his. “Unfortunately, we’ve got to be going,” I said through tight lips. “Tonight is Tabby’s last night in town, and she has an early flight. Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.”
“Come more often,” Bruno rasped. He wasn’t looking at me, and the innuendo in his words was obvious.
I didn’t let go of Tabby until we were back to the limo. I didn’t even let Stephan help her in, desiring to do it myself. Once the car started moving, I poured her a glass of champagne and prepared vodka on the rocks for myself. She didn’t say anything, nor did I, and we rode in silence while sipping our beverages. The feeling between us wasn’t awkward or unpleasant, but heavy tension hung in the air. I knew the source of mine — I’d discovered how territorial of Tabby I truly was, and it unnerved me — but I wasn’t sure if she was silent because she was uncomfortable or just deep in thought.
“What did you think?” I finally inquired, watching her expression carefully for any hint of unspoken revelation.
“I’m not sure,” came her slow reply. She swished her tongue across her bottom lip in consideration. “I feel like it was a lot to take in, but at the same time there isn’t nearly as much as I’d expected.”
I cocked my head. “Is that bad?”
“No,” she quickly assured me. “Just confusing. The way you kept it such a secret, I was expecting… I don’t know. Crazy law-breaking stunts or an Old West shoot-out. At most, the only secret there seems to be is a weird take on a prostitution ring.”
“It’s not prostitution,” I interjected sternly.
“Yeah, I know.” Again, she hastily added this as if trying to avoid saying anything to offend me. “I’m just saying that’s the closest thing I saw to a secret worth keeping. There just wasn’t much.”
Her voice ebbed, and she stared at the bubbles in her flute. I could see more lingering behind her eyes, and I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees. “But?”
“But there’s something else,” she finished, raising her eyes to meet my probing gaze. “I’m in on The Club, but I’m not.”
I continued to study her as I swirled my drink, ice clinking against the glass. “Do you want to be?” I asked.
She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out and she closed it again. I didn’t press her.
When the limo came to a halt outside the hotel, I started to climb
out. She stopped me with a hand on my arm. “No, it’s okay,” she said. “I can get up to my room myself. Besides, like you said, I have an early flight.”
“Of course,” I acknowledged, sliding back against the seat and tucking my disappointment away.
“Can I ask you something before I go, though?”
“Of course,” I repeated.
She finished her champagne, placed the flute neatly in the cupholder in the console, and licked her lips. I wished it was my tongue doing the licking. “Why did you want me to go there so badly? It seemed pretty uneventful.”
I considered making up a bogus excuse, but I knew she was sharp enough to see through it and opted for the truth. “I wanted to see how you fit,” I admitted.
“And do you think I fit?”
I looked at her, at the graceful rounds of her cheeks and the forgiving slope of her jaw. Her breasts peeked at me over the crown of her dress, and the muscles in her calves were tautened in preparation for her departure. My dick swelled.
“Yes,” I growled. “Too well.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tabby
I zoomed in on the playground, focusing the camera’s eye on the massive winding tube slide. Though there miraculously wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the wind was freezing, blasting my face with its frozen fingers. I’d been back in Chicago for a week now, but after the warmer New Orleans temperature, my midwestern hometown’s December was more reminiscent of a snowball to the face. Hugging my coat closer, I snapped a few additional shots in case the first ones revealed my shivers.
“Did Roy take you to the indoor pool already? We have to have pictures of the pool. A huge part of the renovation budget went to the pool, and the board will want to make sure there are at least a few pool pictures in the new brochures. Plus, we want the pool to be the feature on the website homepage. Do we need to go to the pool next?”
Misty Barnes was the representative for my latest client, a hotel on the city outskirts that had recently come under new ownership, and she was the textbook definition of neurotic. She couldn’t have been more than thirty-two, but she reminded me more of a first-class housewife who fretted over the minutia of candlestick heights and benefit seating charts than a young, vibrant woman reaping the rewards of a hard-earned college degree. Every time I saw her, her raven hair was elegantly twisted up without a strand out of place, her matching blazer-skirt combo was wrinkle-free, and her nude lipstick was flawlessly applied to her clenched lips. She never stopped moving, never stopped worrying, and an innocent conversation with her tended to leave me with the same stress knots in my back I got when I was around Grace, but I lowered my camera and turned around to respond anyway because I would’ve screamed if she’d said the word pool one more time.