by Kate Allure
He left her at the big entry doors. They stood there awkwardly, both unsure what the protocol was for brand-new friends who used to be enemies before becoming mystery lovers. They started to lean in for a friendly peck but pulled back.
He shifted on his feet, and she glanced away, embarrassed, hoping he couldn’t see in her eyes how much she wanted him to kiss her.
She shoved her hand out into the uneasy space between them, offering a handshake.
He reached out to take it, but the second their palms touched, electricity flared. Every erotic thing that connected them sparked into vibrancy. Their hands tightened, forming a perfect skin-to-skin bond. Their mouths tingled, wanting to meet. They leaned closer, two bodies wanting to become one in way as old as time.
She gasped and pulled away. He jerked his hand back just as quickly.
Their shared memories were equally present. Variously, uptight judge and arrogant barrister, mystery man and newbie cougar, Dominant and submissive. They were all of these at the same time and none of these any longer.
She ran, slipping in through the door, glancing back at the last second. He stood there motionless on the pavement watching her, his eyes filled with yearning. Regret and longing washed through her, too. Walking into her beloved Gothic palace, Tori tried to tell herself she’d made the right decision.
We’re friends now, and that’s a good thing.
But it would never be enough.
Chapter Thirty
“Hello, Justice Whittingstall. How nice to see you again.”
Rinaldo smiled at Tori, bowed formally, and tipped his chauffeur’s cap. He opened the door to the black limo, and she climbed inside.
Several times that day, she had nearly canceled on Rupert. There wasn’t any point in getting together. They were through as a romantic couple, and after that horrible argument in the club, she doubted they could even be friends.
He’d pleaded with her to hear him out and then sent a bouquet to her flat, an impersonal arrangement that didn’t include her favorite flowers. Maybe she’d overestimated his deep regard for her if he didn’t even know her favorite things after all these years.
There was also his duplicity, pretending to be a gentleman lover while holding a sex club membership and cheating on her. But maybe that was as simple as Rupert had said it was—that he believed his proclivities too debased for her. She’d already come to the conclusion that he’d put her on a pedestal. What might it have been like if he’d shown her his real sexuality? Perhaps they might have been compatible, after all.
But her internal debate always circled back to one irrefutable fact—she missed their friendship. If there was a chance to mend things, she wanted to give it one more try.
This time, Rupert was waiting for her in the limousine. Once she’d settled next to him, he leaned over to give her a quick peck on the cheek while the car pulled away the from the curb. He wore his usual bespoke tweeds with brown leather patches at the shoulders and elbows.
“Thank you for accepting my invitation,” he said.
“I do hope we can be friends again,” she said.
“I’ve opened a bottle of Louis Jadot Chevalier Montrachet to celebrate our reunion. I know you love red wine, and it’s one of my finest bottles.”
“This is not a reunion. I agreed to hear you out,” she reminded him. “Nothing more.”
“Of course, dearest. But things have changed. You’ve changed.” He grinned at her and handed her a crystal wineglass filled with dark-ruby liquid.
She took a tentative sip. “Mmm.” She sensed his eyes on her, scrutinizing her from head to toe.
“Lovely,” he said approvingly. “I like the new hairstyle. So feminine.”
Unease vibrated through her. Something about his tone was a little off, and his behavior was oddly giddy, as if he were high. But Rupert didn’t do weed. Worse, even in the dusky darkness inside the limo, she couldn’t miss the glint of predatory interest in his eyes. She’d never seen that look before. At least, not from him.
Unsettled, she took a bigger sip of wine. He knew her penchant for fine wine, but was he using it against her? She sampled it again.
“Rich and tangy,” she murmured and took another calming sip. “This is delicious,” she said but thought, I’d better watch it on an empty stomach.
He nodded, quietly holding his glass. As they drove through the dark, crowded London streets, he asked about her latest cases and barely said anything about his estate problems. She liked being the center of his attention for a change.
She emptied her glass and set it in the cup holder.
“I only gave you a taste before, in case you did not like it,” he said, refilling her glass nearly to the top and handing it back.
He continued to observe her silently while she answered his questions. It felt strangely invasive, his gaze intense and penetrating. The odd tension in the limo made her shiver, and she took another sip, the wine warming her.
She was being silly. Imagining he was different just because he liked sex clubs. She had liked the club, too, as it turned out.
Glancing out at the passing buildings, she blinked. Hadn’t they just driven down this street a few minutes ago?
“Where are we going to dinner? It seems like we’re going in circles.”
“We will be there soon, so drink up, dearest. I wanted a few minutes to chat with you before we enter a crowded, noisy restaurant.”
“Oh. I understand.” She didn’t, not really, and they hadn’t actually been talking.
“I would like to make a toast.” He raised his glass to salute her. “To my beautiful, lovely, intelligent, dearest Victoria. To change, and to reconnecting.”
Pleasure over his effusive compliments suffused her, as heady as the fine wine tingling her taste buds. Although he seemed to have forgotten her request to be called Tori.
Nodding encouragement for her to join him, he sipped his wine. She tilted her head and stared at him. This was the first sip she’d seen him take.
Through lowered lashes, she studied him with detachment, as though observing a specimen in a lab, trying to figure what was off about him. After some thought, she deduced he must simply be as anxious about the evening as she was.
Nodding at him, showing that she understood and shared his anxiety about resuming their friendship, she took another drink.
“My dearest, we are almost there. Bottoms up. No point in wasting such expensive wine.” He gave her a full, open, endearing smile and took a slightly bigger sip of his own.
She smiled back happily, feeling more relaxed than she had in days. She liked that he was showing her a new side of himself and also that he wasn’t criticizing her, telling her not to drink or eat too much or do anything else that might reflect poorly on him.
Maybe he really had changed and his stuffiness would be a thing of the past. She surely had changed. The new Tori shagged strangers in sex clubs and dressed like a prostitute. She giggled.
She wished Rupert had been this easygoing all along, a momentary wistfulness stirring her. Then she giggled again at a new thought. “Rupert! You’ve finally said something I can agree with. One should never, ever waste yummy wine.” Following his lead, she downed her remains, hiccupped, and smiled at him.
Rinaldo opened the door.
“Oh! We’re here!” She hadn’t realized they’d even stopped moving. Taking the chauffeur’s hand, she allowed him to help her from the limo.
“What’s this?” Her gut clenched with unease at the familiar brass door of Club Exotica. “Why are we here?”
Rupert stood next to her, having exited the car with amazing alacrity. “They have one of London’s top chefs here at Sadie’s. Chef Truddeau has four Michelin stars.”
“Yes, but—”
Rupert’s hand landed on her lower back and applied a gentle forward pressure. “Have you tried the restaurant already, then?”
“No, but—”
The pressure increased, and she took an unsteady step
forward, now regretting downing half a bottle of wine on an empty stomach.
Rupert smiled tenderly down at her. “I wanted a place where we could have a long, quiet talk over dinner without interruption.”
They arrived at the front door, and he swiped his ring across the lock. “I would have loved sharing Sadie’s with you before, but you can understand how awkward it would have been trying to explain how I knew about this restaurant inside Club Exotica.”
“Um. I gu-esss.” His restaurant choice disconcerted her, and she couldn’t seem to end the word properly. She snapped her mouth shut.
“See, dearest, how much has changed for the better, now that neither of us have any secrets between us?”
“Hmm.” She tried to focus on what he’d said. Something didn’t seem right about them both having had secrets, but…
She grinned, imagining what she’d have said if he’d actually brought her here before.
“The doorman’s waiting, Victoria.”
He gave her another nudge forward, and she stepped into the Jambo.
“Okay, I agree to stay.” The doorman already had her coat off.
“Your willingness to compromise pleases me.”
She threw Rupert a startled look. His tone was so…authoritative.
“I’m not a member here yet, and I don’t have a mask tucked in my clutch, either,” she said.
“Do not worry. You are my guest tonight, and I brought this for you.” He pulled a lavender satin mask from his pocket. “I hope this is still your favorite color?”
She nodded. “Tha-at’s so-oh nice of you to remember!”
She wavered a little, unsteady on her feet.
“Here, let me help you.” He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side.
Just at that moment, Anna Devine emerged from her office. “Good evening and welcome.”
“I’m, uh…here with someone different tonight,” Tori mumbled, mortified to be seen in the company of another man just days after sharing the BDSM suite with Ian. Tori looked at Rupert, who now stood pressed against her back. “He’s, um, helping me tie my mask.”
“Of course. Napoleon has made advance arrangements, and since your paperwork is already on file, there’s no need to sign anything,” replied Miss Devine smoothly as she opened the door to the Serengeti. “Please enjoy your evening.”
With his arm still circling her waist, Rupert walked them through the crowded room toward Sadie’s.
Tori’s discomfort grew, worried she’d run into Ian. What would he think of her being there with another man just a week later? On the other hand, now that they were only friends, Ian could have sex whenever and with whomever he wanted.
Still, she didn’t want to see him with another woman…ever!
What was she doing here at Club Exotica with Rupert, anyway?
And what had Anna called him? Napoleon? Seriously?
She giggled.
“Is that what you go by here? Napole-um? Is that your pseuda— Pseudo—” She couldn’t quite get it out. “Your nickname?”
“Napoleon is my pseudonym. Now, what should we call you?”
“Um.” It was bewildering. Astonishing, actually. Completely un-bloody-believable! The ever staid, ever proper, snootily aristocratic Lord Bridlington had brought her to a sex club for dinner.
“Things have changed, Rupert. I mean Na-pol-e-an,” she enunciated slowly, quite pleased with herself for pronouncing it correctly.
Pausing at the door, he turned her to face him. Placing a finger under her chin, he repeated, “What should we call you?”
She tried to think—but her mind was fuzzy. “I’ve been dubbed Candi.”
“No. Nothing so trite. I will call you Josephine, after another lovely beauty.”
“But wasn’t she…Napole-um’s one true love?”
“Her beauty is what reminds me of you.”
“Ahh. That’s swe-eet.”
Tori liked the new Rupert, and wasn’t he nice to remember her favorite color? She reached up to touch the pretty mask. He’d always been kind to her, but tonight he was really trying.
He escorted her into the restaurant, his hand always at her back.
“Good evening, Napoleon. How nice to see you again.” The maître d’ wore the ubiquitous club whites, only in a slim modern suit with a black tie.
“Good evening, Oliver. This is Josephine.”
Oliver smiled and bowed. “It’s my pleasure to meet you. I hope you enjoy your dinner. I know Truddeau is working his special magic for you both. Now, if you will follow me.”
Letting the maître d’ guide her, she curiously took in everything as they walked. She’d only caught a glimpse of the room on the night that a sushi-covered woman had been the main course.
Like the rest of the club, the small, elegant room was dark. Tiny table lamps cast some light on the food, but faces remained shadowed. The diners conversed in hushed tones befitting the intimate atmosphere, occasional laughter the only sign patrons were having fun.
Ten linen-covered tables, all small except for the one long banquet, filled the main floor, along with a baby grand piano. While tonight wasn’t crowded, even if full, Sadie’s couldn’t hold more than thirty-some diners.
Oliver led them to the back, where four intimate alcoves lined the wall, all raised up a few steps above the main floor. “As requested, sir, here is your table.”
She barely heard Oliver. Her attention had been captured by the glamorous couple seated at the center. The gentleman wore an expensive bespoke suit in muted blue, but the lady wore practically nothing. She sat confidently, angled outward to ensure everyone had a full view of her voluptuous body.
Tori tried not to stare, but the curvy woman’s black leather corset, lace hip-hugger briefs, and thigh-high, patent leather boots held her spellbound. The outfit was shocking and magnificent at the same time.
The woman was a stunning beauty with jet-black hair and scarlet lips, but her risqué attire seemed out of place in the fine-dining establishment. Tori had never seen anything like her before, not even in her three nights in the club.
Glancing down at herself, Tori realized she was the one horribly, inappropriately dressed—or, more accurately, overdressed in her prim blouse and modest skirt.
Rupert took hold of her elbow, indicating with his other hand the politely and patiently waiting Oliver.
“Oh, excuse me.” She allowed herself to be led up the two steps to the private booth that looked down over everyone else. Once seated, she immediately sought the glam duo with her gaze.
She gasped, the sound loud in the hushed surroundings. On the far side of the table, previously out of sight, another woman sat on the floor at the gentleman’s feet.
A stark-naked woman.
The young beauty knelt on a small round rug, her back ramrod straight and her thighs stretched wide to display her shaved privates. A small lamp sat on the floor to light the woman’s cunt for everyone’s viewing pleasure.
Rupert and the maître d’ conversed over the menu while Tori gaped in disbelief.
With eyes cast downward, the young woman on her knees didn’t return Tori’s gaze or even give an outward impression she was aware patrons were staring at her. But she did know, her exposed nipples puckering before Tori’s eyes.
That must be a submissive, she concluded, proud of her deductive capabilities. Blond and dainty, the sub was the exact opposite of the tall woman who sat regally at the table. The seated woman must be a Dominatrix, then.
The sub wore only a thin leather collar around her neck with a fine gold chain attached to it. Tori followed the chain to its termination. It was dangling casually from the gentleman’s fingers. The handsome man with a thick head of well-groomed blond hair, one lock falling just so over his forehead, exuded an air of urbane boredom, as if having a naked woman tethered to him were an everyday occurrence.
Sensing her scrutiny, he glanced up at her and crooked a smile her way. Clearly, a man who lik
ed women, his gaze lowered and lingered on Tori’s bosom. His intent gaze seemed to stare right through her modest blouse to land like a caress upon her heavy breasts. Her nipples tightened, and she sucked in a shocked breath.
It lasted only a moment before he looked at Rupert and subtly tilted his head. Rupert nodded back, a slight smirk on his face, and Tori got the sense that she’d missed some kind of unspoken communication between the men.
“What was that?” she asked Rupert in an urgent whisper.
“Nothing. Look. Here are our drinks.”
Two martinis magically appeared on the table, deposited by the silent, efficient staff. Handing her one, he said, “I ordered ahead one of your favorite dishes. A surprise for you.”
She nodded, pleased he’d thought to get something special for her. She took a sip of her drink. It burned going down. Strong but delicious. “Everything’s so perfect. It’s the most well-run club and restaurant I’ve ever been to.”
“Quite. That’s why I brought you here, dearest.”
They sat facing outward. Rupert slouched, relaxing back in his chair, and she sensed him watching her over the rim of his glass.
But she couldn’t stop watching the scene down below. The leashed woman and the couple…what were they to each other? The kneeler must be a slave, and therefore they were her owners, Tori deduced, again proud of her cleverness.
Surreptitiously, through lowered lashes, she glanced again at the slave. So many questions swirled about her brain. Why was she on the floor? Was she cold? Was she hungry?
And why was it okay that the couple got gourmet cuisine while she had nothing?
Tori’s mouth dropped open, her imagination supplying the salacious answer. Other things could be fed to slaves—and probably would be fed to her before the night ended.
The couple appeared to ignore the slave as they chatted and joked while eating their meal, waiters refilling glasses and exchanging plates. The young woman sat quietly, never raising her eyes, the enormous effort it took to hold herself rigidly at attention apparent in the slight trembling of her body.