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The blonde’s face reddened with anger and embarrassment. But she turned away and disappeared into the thickness of the crowd. When Raphael turned back to Maria, he adopted his deceptively charming mask again. “Where were we?” Bringing Maria’s hand to his mouth, Raphael pressed a whisper of a kiss on her fair skin. Even the knowledge that he was an evil man couldn’t stop the shiver of pleasure that shot up Maria’s arm at his soft kiss. “Shall we?” He gestured toward a private room.

Maria let him lead. She had left the ticket for her purse on the bar, but she didn’t expect to ever return to collect it. Maria kept her head lowered as they were swallowed by the crowd, scenes of depravity everywhere the eye could see. As they walked, Maria made a silent prayer. Protect me, Lord. Make this quick. Let me feel no pain.

Raphael opened a door and pulled Maria inside. Towering over her, he reached over her head and shut the door. Maria’s back was pressed against the wood, and Raphael’s hand trailed down her arm until it reached the lock.

It clicked into place with a quick turn of his hand.

In the privacy of the room, the music from the main floor was muted. Only a hum of background drum beats penetrated the space. The room was dark due to each wall being covered in padded studded leather. The spotlights in the ceiling were low and tinged with red. Handcuffs and shackles hung from a black padded wall. What appeared to be medieval-looking wooden stocks stood to the right. Rubber and metal swings hung from the ceiling, chains and cuffs and leather straps hanging off each piece of apparatus. Paddles and whips were showcased on a wall to the left. A large leather-coated bed sat in the center. Its four metal posts offered a variety of restraints—chains, leather binds, rope . . . the list was endless.

Maria’s heart pounded so hard she heard the heavy beat in her ears. What was this place? How did people enjoy this kind of sexual exploration? Maria was chaste. Had never been touched. What she understood of sex she learned from gossip at high school and TV as a teen. This . . . this was like nothing she could have ever imagined.

Two other doors stood on the opposite side of the room. She had no idea what they were. The room smelled of leather and a deep sort of musk that she guessed was filtering into the room from the vent in the ceiling.

Raphael’s hand that had been on the lock was suddenly traveling up Maria’s arm, until it wrapped around a section of her hair. Maria noticed string wrapped around his right index finger, his fingertip turning blue through lack of blood. Her hands automatically clasped around Raphael’s back. Her feet were unsteady, and she feared her legs would buckle as fear threatened to take control. Maria had no idea how to seduce this man in return. But the minute her palms pressed against the fine material of his black shirt, her fingers feeling the hard, pronounced muscles that flexed underneath, Raphael hissed in her ear. His hands fisted tighter in her thick hair, pulling at the scalp. “You’re perfect,” he said slowly. “So goddamn perfect.” Maria could almost fool herself that he meant every word. He was staring at her the way Catholic congregations marveled at the Sistine Chapel, the way Mother Superior admired the statue of Mary in the chapel. But it was a ruse. It had to be. Seduction was part of his plan.

Maria met Raphael’s eyes and tried to read what malevolence lay underneath. But she knew it was pointless. She would never understand evil. Never understand the desire to hurt another soul. She wanted to take his hands in hers and beg him to stop, to repent and leave this way of life.

But she trusted Father Quinn. He had told her the church would see that Raphael was brought to the law via the proper channels. They would help him, save him. Fathers Quinn and Murray were good and honest men.

Raphael’s hands were gentle, the softest of touches. Bringing his hands to her face, he ran a finger down her cheek. He guided her head to the left and pushed her hair aside. He was baring her neck. Maria’s heart raced. “How do you like to play?” he asked, never taking his eyes off the finger that now traveled down her neck and to the collar of her dress. “What are your preferences?” Father Murray had warned her about this question. A contract had been forged for her to get the exclusive membership card. In it, she had given consent to anything that occurred in the club. This wasn’t a tame place, and Father Quinn had warned her that she must do whatever it took to bring Raphael into the arms of the church once more. She had no idea what sexual practices would appeal to Raphael. She had to let him take the lead.


Tags: Tillie Cole Deadly Virtues Romance