Chapter Thirty

“Hello, Justice Whittingstall. How nice to see you again.”

Rinaldo smiled at Tori, bowed formally, and tipped his chauffeur’s cap. He opened the door to the black limo, and she climbed inside.

Several times that day, she had nearly canceled on Rupert. There wasn’t any point in getting together. They were through as a romantic couple, and after that horrible argument in the club, she doubted they could even be friends.

He’d pleaded with her to hear him out and then sent a bouquet to her flat, an impersonal arrangement that didn’t include her favorite flowers. Maybe she’d overestimated his deep regard for her if he didn’t even know her favorite things after all these years.

There was also his duplicity, pretending to be a gentleman lover while holding a sex club membership and cheating on her. But maybe that was as simple as Rupert had said it was—that he believed his proclivities too debased for her. She’d already come to the conclusion that he’d put her on a pedestal. What might it have been like if he’d shown her his real sexuality? Perhaps they might have been compatible, after all.

But her internal debate always circled back to one irrefutable fact—she missed their friendship. If there was a chance to mend things, she wanted to give it one more try.

This time, Rupert was waiting for her in the limousine. Once she’d settled next to him, he leaned over to give her a quick peck on the cheek while the car pulled away the from the curb. He wore his usual bespoke tweeds with brown leather patches at the shoulders and elbows.

“Thank you for accepting my invitation,” he said.

“I do hope we can be friends again,” she said.

“I’ve opened a bottle of Louis Jadot Chevalier Montrachet to celebrate our reunion. I know you love red wine, and it’s one of my finest bottles.”

“This is not a reunion. I agreed to hear you out,” she reminded him. “Nothing more.”

“Of course, dearest. But things have changed. You’ve changed.” He grinned at her and handed her a crystal wineglass filled with dark-ruby liquid.

She took a tentative sip. “Mmm.” She sensed his eyes on her, scrutinizing her from head to toe.

“Lovely,” he said approvingly. “I like the new hairstyle. So feminine.”

Unease vibrated through her. Something about his tone was a little off, and his behavior was oddly giddy, as if he were high. But Rupert didn’t do weed. Worse, even in the dusky darkness inside the limo, she couldn’t miss the glint of predatory interest in his eyes. She’d never seen that look before. At least, not from him.

Unsettled, she took a bigger sip of wine. He knew her penchant for fine wine, but was he using it against her? She sampled it again.

“Rich and tangy,” she murmured and took another calming sip. “This is delicious,” she said but thought, I’d better watch it on an empty stomach.

He nodded, quietly holding his glass. As they drove through the dark, crowded London streets, he asked about her latest cases and barely said anything about his estate problems. She liked being the center of his attention for a change.

She emptied her glass and set it in the cup holder.

“I only gave you a taste before, in case you did not like it,” he said, refilling her glass nearly to the top and handing it back.

He continued to observe her silently while she answered his questions. It felt strangely invasive, his gaze intense and penetrating. The odd tension in the limo made her shiver, and she took another sip, the wine warming her.

She was being silly. Imagining he was different just because he liked sex clubs. She had liked the club, too, as it turned out.

Glancing out at the passing buildings, she blinked. Hadn’t they just driven down this street a few minutes ago?

“Where are we going to dinner? It seems like we’re going in circles.”

“We will be there soon, so drink up, dearest. I wanted a few minutes to chat with you before we enter a crowded, noisy restaurant.”

“Oh. I understand.” She didn’t, not really, and they hadn’t actually been talking.

“I would like to make a toast.” He raised his glass to salute her. “To my beautiful, lovely, intelligent, dearest Victoria. To change, and to reconnecting.”

Pleasure over his effusive compliments suffused her, as heady as the fine wine tingling her taste buds. Although he seemed to have forgotten her request to be called Tori.

Nodding encouragement for her to join him, he sipped his wine. She tilted her head and stared at him. This was the first sip she’d seen him take.

Through lowered lashes, she studied him with detachment, as though observing a specimen in a lab, trying to figure what was off about him. After some thought, she deduced he must simply be as anxious about the evening as she was.

Nodding at him, showing that she understood and shared his anxiety about resuming their friendship, she took another drink.

“My dearest, we are almost there. Bottoms up. No point in wasting such expensive wine.” He gave her a full, open, endearing smile and took a slightly bigger sip of his own.

She smiled back happily, feeling more relaxed than she had in days. She liked that he was showing her a new side of himself and also that he wasn’t criticizing her, telling her not to drink or eat too much or do anything else that might reflect poorly on him.

Maybe he really had changed and his stuffiness would be a thing of the past. She surely had changed. The new Tori shagged strangers in sex clubs and dressed like a prostitute. She giggled.

She wished Rupert had been this easygoing all along, a momentary wistfulness stirring her. Then she giggled again at a new thought. “Rupert! You’ve finally said something I can agree with. One should never, ever waste yummy wine.” Following his lead, she downed her remains, hiccupped, and smiled at him.

Rinaldo opened the door.

“Oh! We’re here!” She hadn’t realized they’d even stopped moving. Taking the chauffeur’s hand, she allowed him to help her from the limo.

“What’s this?” Her gut clenched with unease at the familiar brass door of Club Exotica. “Why are we here?”

Rupert stood next to her, having exited the car with amazing alacrity. “They have one of London’s top chefs here at Sadie’s. Chef Truddeau has four Michelin stars.”

“Yes, but—”

Rupert’s hand landed on her lower back and applied a gentle forward pressure. “Have you tried the restaurant already, then?”

“No, but—”

The pressure increased, and she took an unsteady step forward, now regretting downing half a bottle of wine on an empty stomach.

Rupert smiled tenderly down at her. “I wanted a place where we could have a long, quiet talk over dinner without interruption.”

They arrived at the front door, and he swiped his ring across the lock. “I would have loved sharing Sadie’s with you before, but you can understand how awkward it would have been trying to explain how I knew about this restaurant inside Club Exotica.”

“Um. I gu-esss.” His restaurant choice disconcerted her, and she couldn’t seem to end the word properly. She snapped her mouth shut.

“See, dearest, how much has changed for the better, now that neither of us have any secrets between us?”

“Hmm.” She tried to focus on what he’d said. Something didn’t seem right about them both having had secrets, but…

She grinned, imagining what she’d have said if he’d actually brought her here before.

“The doorman’s waiting, Victoria.”

He gave her another nudge forward, and she stepped into the Jambo.

“Okay, I agree to stay.” The doorman already had her coat off.

“Your willingness to compromise pleases me.”

She threw Rupert a startled look. His tone was so…authoritative.

“I’m not a member here yet, and I don’t have a mask tucked in my clutch, either,” she said.

“Do not worry. You are my guest tonight, and I brought this for you.” He pulled a lavender satin mask from his pocket. “I hope this is still your favorite color?”

She nodded. “Tha-at’s so-oh nice of you to remember!”

She wavered a little, unsteady on her feet.

“Here, let me help you.” He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side.

Just at that moment, Anna Devine emerged from her office. “Good evening and welcome.”

“I’m, uh…here with someone different tonight,” Tori mumbled, mortified to be seen in the company of another man just days after sharing the BDSM suite with Ian. Tori looked at Rupert, who now stood pressed against her back. “He’s, um, helping me tie my mask.”

“Of course. Napoleon has made advance arrangements, and since your paperwork is already on file, there’s no need to sign anything,” replied Miss Devine smoothly as she opened the door to the Serengeti. “Please enjoy your evening.”

With his arm still circling her waist, Rupert walked them through the crowded room toward Sadie’s.

Tori’s discomfort grew, worried she’d run into Ian. What would he think of her being there with another man just a week later? On the other hand, now that they were only friends, Ian could have sex whenever and with whomever he wanted.

Still, she didn’t want to see him with another woman…ever!

What was she doing here at Club Exotica with Rupert, anyway?

And what had Anna called him? Napoleon? Seriously?

She giggled.

“Is that what you go by here? Napole-um? Is that your pseuda— Pseudo—” She couldn’t quite get it out. “Your nickname?”

“Napoleon is my pseudonym. Now, what should we call you?”

“Um.” It was bewildering. Astonishing, actually. Completely un-bloody-believable! The ever staid, ever proper, snootily aristocratic Lord Bridlington had brought her to a sex club for dinner.

“Things have changed, Rupert. I mean Na-pol-e-an,” she enunciated slowly, quite pleased with herself for pronouncing it correctly.

Pausing at the door, he turned her to face him. Placing a finger under her chin, he repeated, “What should we call you?”

She tried to think—but her mind was fuzzy. “I’ve been dubbed Candi.”

“No. Nothing so trite. I will call you Josephine, after another lovely beauty.”

“But wasn’t she…Napole-um’s one true love?”

“Her beauty is what reminds me of you.”

“Ahh. That’s swe-eet.”

Tori liked the new Rupert, and wasn’t he nice to remember her favorite color? She reached up to touch the pretty mask. He’d always been kind to her, but tonight he was really trying.

He escorted her into the restaurant, his hand always at her back.

“Good evening, Napoleon. How nice to see you again.” The maître d’ wore the ubiquitous club whites, only in a slim modern suit with a black tie.

“Good evening, Oliver. This is Josephine.”

Oliver smiled and bowed. “It’s my pleasure to meet you. I hope you enjoy your dinner. I know Truddeau is working his special magic for you both. Now, if you will follow me.”

Letting the maître d’ guide her, she curiously took in everything as they walked. She’d only caught a glimpse of the room on the night that a sushi-covered woman had been the main course.

Like the rest of the club, the small, elegant room was dark. Tiny table lamps cast some light on the food, but faces remained shadowed. The diners conversed in hushed tones befitting the intimate atmosphere, occasional laughter the only sign patrons were having fun.

Ten linen-covered tables, all small except for the one long banquet, filled the main floor, along with a baby grand piano. While tonight wasn’t crowded, even if full, Sadie’s couldn’t hold more than thirty-some diners.

Oliver led them to the back, where four intimate alcoves lined the wall, all raised up a few steps above the main floor. “As requested, sir, here is your table.”

She barely heard Oliver. Her attention had been captured by the glamorous couple seated at the center. The gentleman wore an expensive bespoke suit in muted blue, but the lady wore practically nothing. She sat confidently, angled outward to ensure everyone had a full view of her voluptuous body.

Tori tried not to stare, but the curvy woman’s black leather corset, lace hip-hugger briefs, and thigh-high, patent leather boots held her spellbound. The outfit was shocking and magnificent at the same time.

The woman was a stunning beauty with jet-black hair and scarlet lips, but her risqué attire seemed out of place in the fine-dining establishment. Tori had never seen anything like her before, not even in her three nights in the club.

Glancing down at herself, Tori realized she was the one horribly, inappropriately dressed—or, more accurately, overdressed in her prim blouse and modest skirt.

Rupert took hold of her elbow, indicating with his other hand the politely and patiently waiting Oliver.

“Oh, excuse me.” She allowed herself to be led up the two steps to the private booth that looked down over everyone else. Once seated, she immediately sought the glam duo with her gaze.

She gasped, the sound loud in the hushed surroundings. On the far side of the table, previously out of sight, another woman sat on the floor at the gentleman’s feet.

A stark-naked woman.

The young beauty knelt on a small round rug, her back ramrod straight and her thighs stretched wide to display her shaved privates. A small lamp sat on the floor to light the woman’s cunt for everyone’s viewing pleasure.

Rupert and the maître d’ conversed over the menu while Tori gaped in disbelief.

With eyes cast downward, the young woman on her knees didn’t return Tori’s gaze or even give an outward impression she was aware patrons were staring at her. But she did know, her exposed nipples puckering before Tori’s eyes.

That must be a submissive, she concluded, proud of her deductive capabilities. Blond and dainty, the sub was the exact opposite of the tall woman who sat regally at the table. The seated woman must be a Dominatrix, then.

The sub wore only a thin leather collar around her neck with a fine gold chain attached to it. Tori followed the chain to its termination. It was dangling casually from the gentleman’s fingers. The handsome man with a thick head of well-groomed blond hair, one lock falling just so over his forehead, exuded an air of urbane boredom, as if having a naked woman tethered to him were an everyday occurrence.

Sensing her scrutiny, he glanced up at her and crooked a smile her way. Clearly, a man who liked women, his gaze lowered and lingered on Tori’s bosom. His intent gaze seemed to stare right through her modest blouse to land like a caress upon her heavy breasts. Her nipples tightened, and she sucked in a shocked breath.

It lasted only a moment before he looked at Rupert and subtly tilted his head. Rupert nodded back, a slight smirk on his face, and Tori got the sense that she’d missed some kind of unspoken communication between the men.

“What was that?” she asked Rupert in an urgent whisper.

“Nothing. Look. Here are our drinks.”

Two martinis magically appeared on the table, deposited by the silent, efficient staff. Handing her one, he said, “I ordered ahead one of your favorite dishes. A surprise for you.”

She nodded, pleased he’d thought to get something special for her. She took a sip of her drink. It burned going down. Strong but delicious. “Everything’s so perfect. It’s the most well-run club and restaurant I’ve ever been to.”

“Quite. That’s why I brought you here, dearest.”

They sat facing outward. Rupert slouched, relaxing back in his chair, and she sensed him watching her over the rim of his glass.

But she couldn’t stop watching the scene down below. The leashed woman and the couple…what were they to each other? The kneeler must be a slave, and therefore they were her owners, Tori deduced, again proud of her cleverness.

Surreptitiously, through lowered lashes, she glanced again at the slave. So many questions swirled about her brain. Why was she on the floor? Was she cold? Was she hungry?

And why was it okay that the couple got gourmet cuisine while she had nothing?

Tori’s mouth dropped open, her imagination supplying the salacious answer. Other things could be fed to slaves—and probably would be fed to her before the night ended.

The couple appeared to ignore the slave as they chatted and joked while eating their meal, waiters refilling glasses and exchanging plates. The young woman sat quietly, never raising her eyes, the enormous effort it took to hold herself rigidly at attention apparent in the slight trembling of her body.

Then the gentleman lowered his hand, a morsel of food resting on his fingers. The slave opened her mouth and sucked the sustenance from him. Carefully, she licked his hand clean.

“Thank you, Sir.” Her voice was a cultured, pleasant murmur. The man never once looked down or acknowledged he’d heard her.

Tori gasped again, drawing glances from other diners.

It was the most debased, degrading display she’d ever witnessed.

It was also, perhaps, the most erotic.

Unbidden and unwanted, she imagined she was the slave, stripped bare and kneeling on the floor, eating from a disinterested man’s fingers. Ian’s fingers. A wave of pure longing washed through her, making her instantly wet. She clenched her thighs against the throbbing in her sex.

Rupert put his hand on hers. “Finish your drink, dearest. I’ve ordered wine for our dinner.”

Her empty stomach didn’t need more alcohol, nor did her muddled brain, but she needed something to calm her flaming arousal. She tipped the martini back and downed it. She looked around for a glass of water, expecting that such a top-notch place would have supplied it without asking.

Almost immediately, a filled wineglass appeared along with an appetizer. She grabbed it up, barely noticing anymore what she ate or drank. She couldn’t take her eyes off the docile slave being fed random bits of food by hand.

The slave suddenly shifted into a different position. Moving quickly, she rose up on her knees, tilting her face and thrusting her breasts high toward the man. The slave’s owner must have issued a command, although she hadn’t heard anything. He then used a small butter knife to spread some thick brown sauce—chocolate, perhaps—around the areolae of her breasts, while the seated woman watched with an air of sophisticated disinterest.

Tori all but stopped breathing as she stared at the erotic tableau before her. The slave held absolutely still, her nipples now slick and brown. The man leaned down and began to lick one breast clean while the slave held her uncomfortable, tightly arched posture. He took his sweet time, laving and swirling with his tongue before sucking the nipple into his mouth. Then he dined on her other breast.

Tori leaned forward in her seat, forgetting Rupert was sitting next to her, forgetting why she was there, forgetting everything but the riveting act before her. The man finished with the slave’s second breast, but unexpectedly he bit down on the nipple before releasing it. The slave shuddered and cried out—just once—but she never broke her pose.

Tori erupted in one brief, outraged shriek.

The gentleman turned back to his dining companion, as if the slave had ceased to exist, and said something quietly. They both laughed. He patted his slave on the head as if she were a good puppy, and she lowered back to her original pose.

Then the man turned slightly, his eyes flicking to Tori, and made a small motion with his hand while speaking to the Dominatrix.

Startled, she squirmed in her seat, realizing that the powerful woman was watching her and not the slave. Their gazes locked momentarily across the room, then the other woman grinned and spoke blithely to the man. They both laughed again, louder this time.

Suddenly, she understood with sober clarity that the entire thing, the dirty little show, had been done solely for her benefit. The gentleman had bitten the woman for no other reason than to get a reaction out of the newbie, the outsider in their midst. Both offended and aroused, the surreal situation left Tori panting. She hoped Rupert couldn’t see her clenching and unclenching her thighs to fight the urgent demands of her body.

His slightly knowing grin told her he was completely aware of how much the slave treatment had aroused her. “Eat, Josephine. We have to finish our dinner before we can have our…dessert.”

He cast a glance down toward the slave.

Tori’s eyes widened. He couldn’t mean—

Hell’s bells. She was in way over her head. Her stomach churned, warning her that he had ulterior motives, but her heart wanted to believe he simply cared for her and didn’t want to lose their friendship, as he’d kept saying.

She looked down at her plate. It was empty, but she couldn’t remember eating the appetizer. Rupert droned on about everything and nothing—their careers, his boys, even the weather. She had trouble following what he said. She needed some food and fast.

“It seems strange that the food izz— That it’s taking so-oo…um.” Everything had become fuzzy, and her mouth didn’t seem to work right.

“Are you asking why it’s taking so long?”

She nodded, relieved to leave all the conversation to him.

“Didn’t you hear me tell the maître d’ that we preferred a leisurely meal this evening?”

“No, I—” She searched her memory and felt her face flush. “I was a little distracted.”

“Yes, it was charming. You were charming, watching them play their naughty games. There is much more to you than I ever realized. I find it—you—very exciting.”

“Oh!” She wanted to stop this kind of talk, but it was too difficult to form a sentence.

The waiter arrived with their entrees—very small entrees—and more wine.

“I think…um, maybe I’ve had enough drinks,” she mumbled.

“Of course. This vintage is the perfect accompaniment for your palate, but I can order you something else if you prefer. Fizzy water, perhaps? It’s just that I chose it especially because I thought you would like it.”

“Oh, it’s fine.” Her words were slurred. “Since you went to so-oo much trouble.”

“Excellent.” He smiled at her.

She couldn’t quite wrap her mind around his solicitous behavior and the vague sense that something wasn’t right. But now seemed as good a time as any to bring up her remaining concern.

Without preamble, she asked, “Why-zit okay for you to be here and not me? And…” She paused, struggling to remember. “Oh. Yeah. Why’d you bring me here, if you don’t think it’s appro—appro—” She snorted, giving up.

“Those are excellent questions.” He laughed. “Let me say it flat out. I was wrong. Completely wrong. I’ll admit I was utterly flummoxed to find you here. And, if I am being completely honest, I was jealous. I don’t even want to think about who you were meeting here. No one, I hope?” His tone held a question.

Disinclined to tell him about Ian, she stalled by taking a sip of the port that had arrived with their desserts.

Rupert turned serious and leaned toward her. “After I got over the shock, I realized how ridiculous and rude I had been. It is my hope that you can forgive my lapse.”

He looked sincere, and she responded easily, “Yes, of course. I’m pleased you aren’t angry anymore that I was there in the club—I mean, here.” She pushed the port away from her. “May I have some water, please?”

“Of course.” He signaled, and a waiter appeared instantly.

He reached over to touch her hand. “I am glad you agreed to go out with me tonight. This is a side to our relationship we’ve never explored. In retrospect, I think that was the reason our relationship failed.”

No shit.

“I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“What can I say? I was wrong.” He squeezed her hand. “Please forgive me.”

Relief flowed through her. She didn’t want him sexually. Not anymore. But after feeling like a slutty freak in his eyes, it was nice to hear he understood.

“I forgive you.”

“I’m pleased to hear you say that.” He looked it, too. “I think we should try again. I find you incredibly sexy. Especially in the attire you wore the last time you were here. Now that we know each other’s naughty secrets, we can truly be open with each other.”

She drew back, pulling her hand free. “That wasn’t—”

He took hold of her hand again. “Tell me what you were feeling when you saw the naked slave woman being fed.” He looked extremely interested in what she would say.

She looked over at the now empty table but didn’t answer. Her hidden desires were too private to share.

Again, he spoke for her. “I found the scene extremely hot. Her subservience, the way she was displayed for him. Didn’t you?”

Still, Tori refused to speak.

“I understand your reticence about saying it out loud, but I think you can agree it was very erotic.”

“Well, yes.”

“You are probably wondering why I asked, but there is a method to my madness,” he said with boyish enthusiasm. “Here, let me show you.”