“Oh, okay.” Mandy tucked her now-empty hands behind her back.
“I need someone to work in my private suite. To serve some very special guests there. I wanted to ask if you’d like to be that someone.”
This was exactly the opportunity she needed. With any luck, Andrew Clark would be one of those “special guests,” and she’d have her evidence by the end of the night. All she needed was one photograph of him either being penetrated or penetrating another person, male or female, to collect her paycheck.
“I would be honored.”
“Excellent. This way.” Zane Griffin, aka Master Zane, as Sarah called him, placed a hand at the small of Mandy’s back and steered her toward the sweeping staircase in the front foyer. Up she went, propelled by his touch, aware every second of the heat of his hand, even through the material of her white cotton blouse. At the top of the stairs, he turned her into the first room. They entered through a pair of French doors into one of the most opulent master suites she’d ever seen.
Immediately inside the French doors was a lounge area, with several cozy couches. A porn film played on a huge flat-screen television hung on one wall, the sound replaced with some sultry jazz playing over unseen speakers. Here and there, flickering candles created soft ambient lighting. On the floor lay a thick rug. It looked like some kind of animal fur. Mandy could imagine lying on that rug, nude.
Zane stopped in the center of the room.
Mandy hung back, closer to the door. “This room is gorgeous.”
“Thank you.” His gaze locked on Mandy’s face, Zane slowly circled the perimeter. “I designed this space.” He stopped in front of a painting of a nude woman, hanging over a deep mahogany dresser. He looked at it, and his features softened slightly. “Every piece has a special meaning to me.”
“I can tell.” Something pulled her deeper into the room. One moment she was standing just inside the door, and the next she was beside Zane, looking up at the painting. The artist had used oils. Mandy could tell by the layered shading and texture. “This painting is very nice. I tried my hand at painting figures in college. It’s definitely not my forte.”
Zane turned, facing Mandy. Now she felt small and vulnerable and uncomfortable. He was big. Really big. And his body was powerful, his arms thick, his shoulders heavily muscled. If he wanted, he could easily swoop her off her feet, cart her to the nearest bedroom, and ... do whatever he wanted.
She almost wondered what that might be like.
He leaned close enough for her to catch the slightest scent of cologne, trapping her between his body and the dresser. “Amanda, you know what will be happening in this suite, don’t you?”
“I have some idea.” The image of this man nude flashed through Mandy’s mind. She shifted back, putting as much space between her body and his as she could. It wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot.
“You won’t be bothered by what you’ll see, will you?” He caged her body between his arms, his hands resting on the dresser’s top.
“No.” But she sure as heck was bothered now. She’d figured this case would be a little awkward, maybe a bit uncomfortable, but she hadn’t seen this coming. “I’ll be okay.” Her voice sounded so small. There could be no way he’d believe her.
Mandy wouldn’t have believed it was possible, but Zane leaned closer still. If she inhaled too deeply, her tits would probably touch him. She didn’t inhale ... at all.
“My guests, particularly in my personal suite, must have absolute privacy. You may not tell anyone who you’ve seen here. Nor are you permitted to take any photographs or recordings. As if he knew she had a hidden camera in her skirt pocket, he slid a hand over her hip. It stopped right on the spot.
Mandy swallowed. She’d been made. Already.
Zane was holding her gaze hostage. That wasn’t making her feel any better about being caught red-handed with a camera. “What’s this?” His hand slipped into her pocket. But instead of going right for the camera, he let his fingertips graze her leg through the thin fabric of the pocket’s lining. The intimate touch made her quake. She wanted to shove him away. She wanted to smack him across the face. She wanted to run out of this place and never come back.
She didn’t do any of those things.
But neither did she answer his question. She figured he already knew what it was. And even if he didn’t, he would soon enough.
Who the hell was this little chit, bringing a camera to his party? The agency had promised to do a background check on every person they’d sent. This little minx with the tumble of brown waves cascading over her shoulders, the cool gray eyes, and the lush lips had been cleared. But it seemed she shouldn’t have been.
What was she up to?
Zane knew he
should throw her out on her ass. Should. So why couldn’t he get himself to do it?
He inhaled deeply, thinking the lungful of air would help him gather the strength to show her the door. Or at least release her and take a step back. It didn’t. Instead, that inhalation carried her scent deep into his nostrils, deeper still, until he could practically taste her.
She was scared.
But that wasn’t all she was feeling.
Thanks to his heightened senses, he could tell she was ready. To fuck.