didn’t always make her laugh, he made her smile. He was . . . nice. “He’s nice to me.”
“He thinks you’re beautiful.”
Heat tinged the crests of her cheeks and she hoped the soft lighting of the limo disguised her
reaction to his confession.
“How does it make you feel, knowing Shamus has seen you come?”
Her blush intensified. Jamie was there the first time she’d ever had an orgasm. It was at Lucian’s
hand and on his command, when they’d first begun their association. Since then, she’d believed it was an exhibit he’d regretted greatly. She wasn’t like his past lovers, she suspected. Once he realized that, he’d been a lot more discreet with his sexual displays while in the company of others. Exhibitionism was fun, but he never again flaunted her as a toy. There was a difference and they both knew it.
“No answer?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think about that when I see him.”
“Good.” He reached for his glass and took a sip, returning it to the sunken coaster by the door. “Do you mind being watched, Evelyn?”
“It depends.”
“On?”
“I don’t know. It just depends on the situation and who’s watching us, I suppose.”
“What if I lowered the partition and fucked you.”
Oh God. She shook her head.
“You wouldn’t want Dugan seeing you?”
“No.”
Lucian seemed to consider this, but nodded. “Me neither. Is it strangers then?”
She shrugged. There was something titillating about being watched, but knowing she might see her
audience again sometimes made her alter her actions. “I guess that’s it.”
He glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s almost eleven. Are you tired?”
“No.”
“Good. I want to play. Pull your skirt down and come sit.”
She did as he asked. Once she was seated, he brushed his lips over hers in a teasing kiss. Her body was primed and anxious for release. The partition lowered.
“Dugan, take us to Church.”
“Yes, sir.”
Evelyn frowned. “We’re going to church?”
“Different sort of worship . . .”
The car navigated through the upper west side of Folsom, where boutiques and high-end eateries
made up the storefronts. Mannequins were placed in provocative positions under aesthetic lighting,
wearing the world’s finest fashions. The car turned off the main strip and into a slightly seedier
commercial district.
They were still in a higher-class section of Folsom. The limo pulled up outside a building with an
awning. She stared at the neon sign above the door, unable to read the word. “Is this it?”
“Yes.” Lucian said, shifting and pulling out his wallet. He removed a card and placed his wallet
back in his pocket. “Keep your hand in mine at all times and don’t talk to anyone. If someone
addresses you, simply nod or shake your head.”
The door opened and he slid out. She had questions, but they would have to wait. Once outside of
the limo she could hear music pumping from inside the stone walls of the establishment. Was it a club?
“I’ll wait at the corner, sir,” Dugan said quietly as Lucian took her hand.
He knocked at the black metal door, and a man in a tuxedo answered. Lucian flashed the card he’d
taken from his wallet, and the man let him pass. The entrance was dark and loud. A slow, sultry rhythm vibrated the walls from speakers unseen.
“Welcome, Mr. Patras. It’s been a while,” the man in the tux greeted as Lucian paid the cover.
“Good to see you again, Mr. O’Malley. This is Ms. K. We’d like a seat in the Red Room.”
The man nodded and led them through a dim corridor. The accents she could see were nice.
Expensive sconces adorned the walls, which were papered in an antiquated black-and-ivory floral
print. She wanted to ask if this was a bar, but Lucian instructed her not to talk.
At the mouth of the corridor there was a large room filled with tables dressed in crisp linens. It
looked like a number of the functions Lucian had taken her to, except it was dark. They weaved their way to a table in the front of the room, where a stage sat as empty as a shell. Lucian pulled out a chair and she sat, sinking comfortably into the cushioned seat.
“I’ll have a brandy and Ms. K. will have a tequila sunrise.”
She faced him, her brow arching curiously. Lucian often gave her wine to sample with dinner, but
she wasn’t much of a drinker being that she got intoxicated rather quickly. A tequila sunrise was the first cocktail she’d ever had. The night she’d first tried it, she drank about eight of them, and Lucian had to practically carry her home.
The other man left and she looked around. Lucian took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her
knuckles. “You okay?”
“Yes. What is this place?”
“You’ll see.”
The other patrons were granted a bit of anonymity by the cleverly placed lighting. Shadows created
private pockets of space. On the stage, she could make out the silhouette of what looked to be an old-fashioned button-back settee.
A woman appeared with their drinks. Her outfit was bizarre. Deep purple hues reflected in a velvet