Chapter Ten

Tori looked around the marble-tiled vestibule. Another door stood directly across the small space. Again, it looked no different than the foyer of any posh Portland stone mansion in Mayfair. Perhaps Diana had exaggerated and the club would prove no more exciting than White’s gentlemen’s club—fancy and expensive but a total snooze fest.

“This is the Jambo. Loosely, it’s Swahili for welcome. You’ll find all the rooms have cute names. Useful for those all-important hookups.” Diana winked. “This is where we mask up.” She handed Tori a beautiful feathered mask. “If you don’t like this one, I’ve more in my locker in the ladies’ lounge. Different styles for my different moods.”

“This is fine.” Tori’s nerves spiked to high alert.

After they put their masks on, Diana pressed an interior doorbell. A chime sounded distantly.

The opposite door opened immediately, and she gaped. Diana had not exaggerated. A man with movie-star looks wearing a well-cut olive velvet jacket smiled broadly at them from behind his matching green mask. He stepped into the foyer and let the door swing shut behind him.

“Welcome to Club Exotica, ladies. May I take your coats?” His voice was as husky and deep as the low note in a jazz love song.

Tori had a moment’s panic, not wanting to remove the cloak covering her risqué dress.

“You look gorgeous, dahling,” Diana encouraged.

Don’t be so stupid, Tori told herself. Everyone here will be wearing clothing like this. With a deep breath, she yanked the coat open and slipped it off her shoulders.

Without missing a beat, the doorman—or more accurately, door-hunk—murmured in a glowing timbre, “You ladies look lovely tonight. I hope you have an enjoyable visit to our club.”

A side door labeled “Your Host” opened, and a tall, striking brunette emerged. She wore a slim white dress—Chanel, perhaps.

This place was a well-oiled machine.

Smiling graciously, the hostess invited them into her office, her voice soothing and cultured. Tori wondered why the woman didn’t also wear a mask.

“Good evening. I’m Miss Anna Devine, the house manager,” she told Tori, then offered them both an aperitif.

Sipping the fruity liqueur in a cut-crystal glass, Tori looked around the plush office. From the dark wood paneling to the silk-upholstered Bergère armchairs they were now sitting on, everything screamed expensive. Über expensive and old world. Every detail was geared toward making wealthy members feel pampered, relaxed, and immersed in decadent luxury.

With hushed, refined tones, the house manager tactfully explained some basic club rules and the need for signing liability paperwork. “I apologize, but we require that you sign the forms with your real name, and I’ll need to verify it with your identification. However, let me assure you that the documents are kept in a locked cabinet, to which absolutely no one but myself and the two owners have access. The rest of the staff will call you by the alias of your choosing.”

Tori looked to Diana, who nodded her assurance that this was all normal procedure. Returning her gaze to the beautiful woman now seated behind an antique mahogany desk, Tori asked the question Diana had declined answering. “Miss Devine, is there a guest fee?”

“Yes. Such fees and any incidentals are automatically billed to the member’s account.” She smiled. “No money is exchanged at the club, ever. Everything is billed to a member’s account and paid automatically each month by wire transaction.”

Uncomfortable about this arrangement, not wanting to run up extra fees even if her friend could afford it, she gave Diana’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be reimbursing you for all my expenses, or I won’t be staying.”

“It’s not necessary. I’d like this to be my treat. But I know you won’t take full advantage of everything on offer unless I agree to let you pay your own way.”

Tori didn’t bother repeating that she would not be taking full advantage of everything the club offered.

The house manager sat serenely in front of them, the epitome of grace and patience, as if nothing would ruffle her. Tori imagined she’d probably look just as calm if they were talking about murdering someone…or more likely, whom they planned to fuck this evening. The unflappable Miss Devine had probably heard many such conversations. At the thought, Tori giggled.

The other women turned to her, and she tried to stifle her mirth. “Sorry. I think, perhaps, I’m a bit nervous.”

That comment, of all things, seemed to affect the manager. She sat straighter and leaned toward her. “Madame, if there is anything I can do to put you at ease, please do not hesitate to ask. Truly. My role here is to ensure that everyone—guests, members, and even staff—is comfortable and able to fully enjoy their experience at the club.”

Miss Devine looked expectantly at her, but she couldn’t think of anything to say except a mumbled thanks. The woman was so beautiful and sexy, it made her want to ask what level of “comfort” the house manager provided, but Diana had insisted that prostitution wasn’t on the menu of services. All the sex happening here was the mutual-consent kind, not for money.

Miss Devine offered to give them a brief tour, but Diana declined. “No need. I’ll show my friend around.”

“Very good. Do have fun, ladies.”

Then Miss Devine opened the inside door to reveal a world of decadence and eroticism.