“It’s fine, really.” I play it off and swallow down any fear. The color has already drained from the man’s face. It’s even more obvious because of his dark suit. Both men seated at the table are dressed in what appear to be expensive suits, custom tailored to their frames, but both men are rough around the edges. There’s nothing smooth or charming or … well bred about them. They’re gangsters, is what they are.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“No. You’re perfect,” the second one says. Now he’s making a point to smile at me, leaning back in his chair to put space between us. “We’re all good.”
With the anxious bundle in the pit of my stomach, I flee to the black door.
I head down to get the sprinkles. Down those hard iron stairs. At the bottom I pause and take stock of my options. There’s Declan’s red door, down one part of the hall, but which room is the back room?
Fuck. My head’s a mess and I didn’t bother to ask which room is which. The last thing I want is to open the wrong door. I should have asked Mia for specific directions. Not that anyone is here, I remind myself.
It’s not like I’m going to walk in on anyone. Ridding my clouded head of the apprehension, I pick the first door I come to. I’ll find the damn back room myself.
It’s dark when I open it, and I reach inside, fiddling for a light. The second it snaps on, I know it’s not the right room.
My eyes widen and my lungs still.
This is one of the sex dens. I’ve never seen a room with so much red silk inside it. The room smells fresh and new, but everything is elegant, luxurious and red, red, red. And perfect.
Not a single thing is out of place. It’s an invitation for sin and indulgence. My gaze moves from piece to piece, imagining what goes on in each corner of the room.
I’m breathless with the shock of it. I knew the rooms were down here. I didn’t think seeing them would have an effect on me. It’s not like I’ve never seen a four-poster dark wood bed before. Apparently, the cuffs attached to them have more of a hold on me than I thought something like this would.
Suddenly, a hand on my back startles me. It’s firm. Possessive. Hot, like fire.
Gasping, I’m quick to move away from it.
“Braelynn.” My name is spoken lowly, and shivers run all through my body. Declan’s close. The closest he’s ever been. “Did someone say you could come down here?” The deep rumble of his voice holds a playful note to it. He’s teasing me, I think, and I’m torn between a mixture of fear and desire, and the urge to laugh and break the tension.
“I’m just looking for sprinkles,” I say and swallow, forcing myself to look at him. He arches a brow. “Not sprinkles. Sugar crystals for Mia. For the bar.” I take another step back and another steadying breath. “For drinks.”
Declan’s gaze doesn’t leave mine, but I can feel the clothes peeling away from my skin. I can feel his eyes on the curves under my dress as if I’m naked in front of him. Like he’s undressing me with the force of his dark eyes alone.
“The back room is at the other end, down the other hall,” he says. “There’s nothing to the left of my office, unless this is what you’re after.” Heat flushes over my face and everywhere else. With another deep breath, I do everything I can to remain professional.
Declan isn’t trying, though.
In his sharp suit and a deep red tie, he’s the very essence of professional … yet somehow he could occupy the title of sex god at the very same time.
His gaze slips down to my nipples, which are hard through my dress. This dress doesn’t allow for a bra, so I didn’t wear one. He knows now. He knows everything. “Is this what you’re after, Braelynn? You came to play rather than work?”
“No, Declan.” I step aside, my sights focused on remaining professional. He barely moves, so my skin brushes his sleeve as I go. His footsteps follow me down the hall.
With every hard thump behind me and within my chest, all I can imagine are the two of us in that room. In my fantasy I’m bound and he does whatever he wants to me.
“Didn’t your friend tell you not to come down here?” he questions. His voice is so deep and rough. Every time he speaks it goes right to my core. “Scarlet.”
“No.”
“Are you two not close then?”
“No, we’re—we’re close. I’ve known her for about three years now.” My mind spins back through all the history I’ve shared with Scarlet. It doesn’t seem possible for it to have been three years already, but it is. I’m barely thinking when I answer, “She was a good friend to me when my father died.”