Kandy
Ihad every intention of refusing my friend’s offer. Truly, I did.
And then a to-die-for dress Justice promised arrived with matching stilettos and my fate was sealed. I marvel at the creamy white number that is buttery to the touch and softer than clouds against my skin. A sexy dip in the front showcases miles of cleavage while slits up the sides reveal more thigh than I’ve ever shown. Every soul in my small Texas town would slap a slut label on my ass.
I glide my palms over the smooth material. I can do this. I swallow thickly as the car rolls to a stop and ease from the opened door. Snow flurries float across my vision and I hug my thick shawl tighter around my shoulders.
Unlike other clubs I’ve seen, this one has no line of waiting patrons anxious to get inside. And why would they? This is a members-only club. There is no bouncer or flashing lights either, I notice. Just a door with bronze handles and a subtle sign overhead with the locale’s name and an air of money about the place.
“Thank you, Mr. Mackay.” I turn every shade of red when my driver swings my door open and offers me a stiff hand. I slide from the warmth into the cold night. He looks uneasy and I feel bad for him having to sit out here the entire time I’m inside. And a little embarrassed, honestly.
“Is this the main entrance? It looks sort of empty, don’t you think?”
The man’s deep blue gaze lifts to the club’s name pinned to the large cement building.
“The red door. It is where I’ve been instructed to leave you.” Judgment splashes across his face and all the warning bells I spent all day quieting in my head at this being a bad idea ring off all at once. My cheeks scorch hotter and I start to panic. My hand goes to the butterfly. I can do this.
“Or you can leave with me. You have choices. I told you I would protect you.”
Despite the coloring of his icy tone which is downright insulting, I almost jump at the chance to back out. Have him drop me off at my apartment no one the wiser. But I wrestle my inner hermit back into her corner so the more social side of me stands a chance at getting laid tonight.
No, Kandy. You need this. Everyone can keep their opinions to themselves. You don’t need protecting.
In my heart of hearts, I know this is my chance to move on. I hold that thought at the front of my mind and clutch the ends of my dress. A light snowfall covers the cement and at another point I would admire the clean white sheet of fluff.
Instead, I swallow my fear and climb the few steps leading to Club Sin. Red carpet lines the small-covered entryway and I’m taken aback by the supplant elegance of the place. Sconces mark either side of the door, their golden light mixing with the deep red coloring of the door to give it a glowing effect. Off to the sides, twinkle lights hug ornamental shrubs offering welcoming energy. If the doorway looked this opulent, the inside must be off the rails.
No sooner do I step in front of the door does an elegantly dressed gentleman welcome me with a warm smile and a small bow. Nothing too fancy. Just a small tip of the body, but it makes me feel like royalty, so I offer him a smile in return.
“Good evening.”
I step into a small room, and I notice immediately this is not the normal entryway for arriving guests. It’s secluded and the carpet is barely trodden upon.
“Is there a special event tonight keeping everyone else entertained?”
My finely dressed greeter steps behind a raised podium, an open book in front of him. He scrawls something quickly before warm, brown eyes rise to meet mine. “No, ma’am.”
“Oh, I see. I was just wondering because I don’t see anyone else.”
The doorman takes my winter shawl and drapes it over his arm. “Special guests are seen through the red door. You, my dear, are a special guest.”
“I see.” Genius idea keeping the regulars and the one-nighters separate, I suppose. Wouldn’t want to water down the quality for permanent members.
I let my gaze find anything it can land on to ward off the awkwardness of this whole situation. A large chandelier hangs from the center to cast a soft glow over the small space, and a melody filters through a set of double doors in front of me.
“As a formality, name please.”
I pull out the invitation from my small clutch and pass it to the gentleman who immediately signals to someone standing off to the side.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
“As intended, ma’am. Ms. Charlotte will see you to your room now. Enjoy your stay at Club Sin.”
Nothing weird at all by being told by someone who looks like George Clooney’s doppelganger to have fun knowing what is about to happen once I step through those doors. Surreal much.
I stroke the pads of my fingers over the golden butterfly hanging between the swells of my breasts for a boost of confidence and to ground my chaotic thoughts that have been kicking around in my head since this morning.
“This way please, Ms. Lockhart,” she says in a thick British accent. She raises a manicured hand and crooks a pink-tipped finger my way. Her easy smile is understanding and the tension between my shoulders loosens by a couple of degrees. She must do this countless times an evening. No way I can be the first or only virgin to walk through those doors. I take a deep breath and fall in behind the raven-haired beauty with supple brown skin. She too wears a formal gown, only I am certain she outshines every woman to grace these halls.
“I’m sorry, where are you taking me?”
“Room One. It’s through these doors and down the first hallway. If you’ll follow me, we’ll get you settled for your evening of play.” She throws me a wink and pushes open heavy mahogany doors.
My heart stops half a beat. Oh, my God. Everything is covered in gold and black. From the midnight carpet to the wallpapered walls to the dark, vaulted ceiling. No detail went unnoticed, and the dark tones set a mood of self-indulgence and decadent sin. I’m really starting to dig this private section of the club.
A low-bass thumping rhythm pipes into the entryway and it works at melting the remaining tension in my muscles. To my left is a small round table with a gorgeous arrangement of white roses in the center. My gaze draws to a golden tray of bubbly champagne to the side.
“To help with the nerves?”
Fortification! “Yes, please.” I almost ask for a double.
Charlotte offers the tray. I release my butterfly pendant and gladly take a flute.
“Room one is this way.” She turns and practically glides on impossibly high stilettos.
Carpet masks the sound of our footfalls as we walk deeper into the club. Chandeliers suspended high above us offer a muted glow of golden light and before I have a chance to ask where the nearest exit is, we come to a stop in front of a red door with—you guessed it—golden letters marking it as my final destination.
“Here we are.”
Every cell in my body jumps to life and starts to tingle. She slips in a key and turns the knob. I half expect hands to reach out, ravish me and suck me inside to do bad things with me. But we’re met with a soft wave of classical music and the scent of fresh roses instead.
I swallow thickly and follow Charlotte.
Massive and richly decorated is the only way to describe what greets me on the inside. Another ornate chandelier. This one is made up of a thousand teardrop crystals and is about three times the size of the ones in the corridors. Sconces dot the walls to offer more subdued lighting in places the overhead light can’t reach, and they all work together, offering a sense of comfort.
Until my eyes land on the main attraction. A bed large enough to fit a football team holds down the middle of the room. The large expanse of space is covered in shiny red silk and not much else. Only a single white robe hangs over the side to break up all that red.
“Um, I think I’m supposed to be meeting someone here. Has he arrived yet?”