1
“Come on, babe, it’ll be fun. We’ve talked about it for ages. Now let’s just do it.”
Lana inhaled sharply when Rory banged his fist on the steel door. Bluesy beats flooded through the opening as a short balding man appeared.
His obsidian suit blended into the darkness, presenting a tiny bobble head resting atop a crisp pinstripe collar. “Names please,” he demanded.
“Rory O’Hare and my plus one, Lana Craig.”
“Right this way, Mr. O’Hare.”
They followed the stalky man along the dimly lit corridor and through a set of double doors. Her shallow breathing became short, panicky gasps and her stomach flipped. “Rory, I don’t know if I want to do this anymore.”
She reached for his hand but it was slotted in his trouser pocket.
Rory didn’t hesitate, now they were finally here, there was no going back. All the talking and planning, never mind the exorbitant cost.
His friend gave him the ‘in’ they needed to join the exclusive club. All for a calculated thrill of having your perfectly satisfactory cake at home while enjoying a three-tiered chocolate fudge cake with all the trimmings in Verto Veneri.
An apt name for the elite club, held in The Fitz Hotel.
“I’ll leave you both with Donna Marie, she’ll take good care of you.” Bobble head backed away.
“Well, who have we got here then?” A tall willowy woman approached them. Her tawny hair was slicked back into a high ponytail with fluttery false lashes framing tiny amber eyes.
A fire engine red nail traced over the list of names on a diamanté encrusted iPad as Rory did the introductions—again, referring to Lana as his plus one. Damn him.
They had lived together for over a year and in her eyes that made her more than a significant other.
“Well, love, you’ll have the best craic tonight. We’ve got plenty of availability.” Donna Marie’s gaze lingered on Rory’s well-filled, navy jeans, then her inflated lips curved to a sassy smile.
Lana’s skin prickled, a jealous heat surged up her neck. She smoothed her palms over rounded hips, as her wide blue eyes darted around the room.
Unsuspecting onlookers would have no idea that the gathering of suited and booted guests were here for one reason and one reason only—consensual partner swapping.
“Do you need me to run through the Terms & Conditions of your contract?” The woman’s eyes widened in an attempt to raise her neat brows, only they didn’t budge.
“No,” Lana replied, fiddling with the ends of her silky blonde hair that curled at the tips. “Rory…wait,” she whimpered as he trailed behind Donna Marie like a dog in heat.
She led him to the mirrored bar where a solid wall of yellow light glowed like the summer sun. Lana’s high heels dug into the carpet, her shaky legs refused to move.
What she would give to be carefree, to revel in the anticipation of events awaiting her—instead, she was jumpy and unsure. A wave of anxiety rippled through each muscle.
Come on now, Lana, you agreed to try this…it’s just a bit of fun. Get over it already.
Rory shook hands with a slender, porcelain doll who had poker-straight raven hair that glistened with a sheen and teased the top of her peachy ass.
Lana could only see her side profile and was in, no doubt, that the fine doll was in her early twenties. Her cheeks puffed as she blew out a gust of air.
“Hey!” A hand lightly touched her bicep. “You look like a rabbit in the headlights.”
Lana turned towards the smoky voice of a pixie-faced woman with choppy peroxide hair framing high cheekbones, cut with exact precision at the nape and skin hidden behind layers of flawless makeup.
The low-cut lavender dress left nothing to the imagination, ending midway up her spray-tanned legs. Clasping a champagne flute were fingers adorned in diamonds and gold.
“First time huh?” She winked.
Lana’s cheeks pinked. “That obvious?” Her lips tugged at one corner.