“Is she?” I take another sip.
“You want me to set it up?”
I down the rest of the bourbon in one swallow. “Sure. Bring her to my suite.” I set the glass down, rise, and walk through the door leading to various exhibition rooms. My private suite is at the end of the hallway. I slide the key card through the door and enter.
And I wait.
Fifteen minutes later, a knock on the door.
I unlock the dead bolt. Aretha Doyle stands before me clad in nothing but a thong and platform heels that make her eye to eye with me. Her dark hair falls over her broad shoulders, and her tits stick out like cereal bowls. They’re not fake, just small and perky—fashion-model tits.
Nothing like Skye’s.
But I’m not here to think about Skye. My earlier thought that I may not enjoy Black Rose without her spooked me more than a little. I’m here to immerse myself in a scene with a willing participant.
Aretha is willing.
I take her hand. “Come in.”
“I’m surprised you wanted to see me, Braden.”
“Why?”
“Well…you said we were over in no uncertain terms.”
She’s right. I did say that. She was getting too close to me, and I knew if we continued, she’d end up getting hurt. I don’t like hurting women. Not emotionally. Physically? That’s a different story, as long as the hurt ultimately leads to pleasure for both of us.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other’s company now and again. You’re still a member of this club.”
She nods. “What do you want tonight?”
Skye.
The word emerges in my mind seemingly by itself.
I want Skye.
Yes, I want a scene, but I want Skye more.
Damn.
I lead Aretha to the leather table. “Lie down.”
She complies, like a good submissive. I bind her arms above her head but leave her ankles free. I walk to the wall, choose a riding crop, and return to Aretha splayed out on my table, beautiful and ready and willing.
I bring the crop down hard on her tits.
Chapter Thirteen
I’m back in Boston Friday morning, still unsated.
One lash to Aretha’s tits, and I knew I couldn’t continue with the scene. I wasn’t hard. I wasn’t excited. I apologized and sent her away. As much as I craved a scene with a willing partner, I craved something else more.
Skye Manning.
And with Skye Manning, I have to go slowly.
No scenes at the club, at least not yet.
My workdays are always jam-packed, but by mid-afternoon, I can’t wait any longer. I have to see Skye.
Even if it means running into Addison Ames.
I text Christopher, and a half hour later, I arrive at the Ames Hotel. I walk through the marble lobby past the elevators to the offices on the first floor. The door to Addie’s office is open. I stand in the doorway.
Skye covers her computer monitor and steps out from behind her desk. “I’m free as a bird!” she says, smiling.
“Good to know,” I say.
She jerks her gaze upward, her eyes wide. “How did you get in here?”
“Same way I get anywhere. I walked through the door.”
“Sorry. Addie’s already gone for the day.”
Damned good news, as far as I’m concerned. “Why would you think I came to see Addie? You witnessed our last encounter.”
She opens her mouth, but nothing emerges. She shuts it quickly.
“I came to see you, Skye.”
She crosses her arms. “You could have called.”
“Why? And miss that look of adorable perplexity on your pretty face? Besides, you never gave me your cell phone number.”
“You know where I work.”
“Maybe I didn’t want to put you in the awkward position of taking a phone call at work.”
“So you showed up at my work instead?”
“I figured it’s nearly quitting time.”
“What if Addie had been here?”
“Then Addie would have been here.”
“But you… She…”
I take a step toward her. “Do you really think I give a damn if Addison Ames crosses my path? She doesn’t scare me, Skye. In fact, she’s probably first on the list of everything that doesn’t scare me.”
God, that’s the harsh truth. Addie would like to think she scares me, but she doesn’t.
“Oh?” Skye says. “What does scare you, Braden?”
I regard her, my body already tensing, aching, wanting. I meet her brown-eyed gaze and pierce her with my own, trying to singe her with my eyes.
One word.
One word will answer her question, and it’s the unadulterated truth.
“Nothing.”
She gapes at me, her lips parted in that enticing way. I want more than anything to touch her. Cup her soft cheek. Rub my thumb over her full lower lip. Pull the band out of her hair and let the waves fall over her shoulders.
Then take her back to my place and fuck the daylights out of her.
“Why are you here to see me, then? Can I help you with something?” Her voice is so soft, it’s almost a whisper.
I close the distance between us. “You can come back to my bed.”
She moves away, stumbling slightly. I steady her with my hand, her skin warm. Tingles flash through me when I touch her. Goddamned tingles. What am I? Fourteen?
She eases away from me until the backs of her thighs hit the desk.
“You going to answer me?”
“With all due respect, you didn’t exactly ask a question,” she says.
“True. You did. You asked if you could help me with anything, and I answered. Still, I think my response is worthy of a reply.”
She inhales deeply, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s going to speak to me at all.
Finally, “You’re not even offering me dinner this time?”
I resist a smile, remembering the cold penne and veal I found in the kitchen the morning after our encounter. Marilyn had to throw it away.
“We didn’t exactly get to dinner the last time.”
Her cheeks are adorably crimson as she clears her throat. “A girl still has to eat.”