RATHER THAN BEING hidden down some dingy back alley, the venue Nick suggests is housed in the Palazzo Pietro, a neoclassical building more in keeping with a library or museum than a sex club. But, for all its grandeur, Nick assures me that Club Vivace is prohibitively discreet.
As an extra precaution Nick insists we forgo the main entrance for the service access. At the reception, I tremble with leashed energy and anticipation, my skin sensitive against the fabric of the slinky little black dress that I chose for the occasion. I’m too far out of my comfort zone to pay much attention to Nick’s conversation with the receptionist as we check our mobile phones and sign the paperwork required for admittance. Nerves that I’ll be recognised battle with the excitement clenching my stomach, but I take full responsibility for being here. Nick is finally gifting me a glimpse of his private self.
The heavy thump of dance music vibrates the walls and floor under my feet as I walk behind Nick down darkened womb-like corridors. My legs tremble with every step, but exhilaration dances low in my belly too. I’ve always wanted to come to a club like this. I never dared risk it back in London, so close to home. I’m too well-known and most days have paps camped out on my street. Just because Nick knows the owner and smuggled me in through the back door is no guarantee that I won’t wake up tomorrow to discover my face and those of my parents plastered all over the Internet. And, with every negative story that’s written about me, there’s a risk that my sex scandal will be resurrected.
Despite the privacy measures taken for members’ peace of mind here at the club, exposure of my private life resulting in harm to my parents is my deepest fear. Personal attacks sting worse than professional criticism. My mother was reproached for seeking cancer treatment at a private hospital, something that created added heartache at a stressful and terrifying time. No doubt if she’d chosen the National Health Service she’d have faced scorn for taking someone else’s spot when she can afford to pay.
Sometimes you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.
Icy chills of dread rush over my skin. I swallow hard, wishing I could I hold Nick’s hand for comfort. This risk is worth it, because he’s brought me somewhere important to him, and I feel closer to him than ever. But I very much doubt that he’s the hand-holding type. Nick’s touch is carefully doled out—on my wrist, that single astonishing kiss and the almost reverent brush of my arm this morning that he thought I hadn’t felt. And, because of its rarity, he’s ramped up my yearning and anticipation so I’m crazed for his touch.
We arrive at the very heart of the nightclub. My eyes dart round for hints of what to expect, but it’s just like a regular club—crowded bar, dancing bodies distorted under the frantic strobe lighting, deafening dance music. It’s also full of dark and intimate nooks and corners.
Nick guides me to one of these near the bar. I order a couple of shots, knocking them back for Dutch courage while Nick sips a beer. Then, with the taste of vodka in my mouth, I cast Nick a final seductive look and head onto the dance floor.
Operation ‘Seduce Nick Out of His Trousers’ is on.
Let the fun begin.
I’ve always loved the abandon of dancing. The energy at Club Vivace is contagious. Everyone else seems lost to the sultry beat. I close my eyes and dance. I forget that I might be recognised. Forget who my parents are. Forget that I’m Brooke Madden.
Knowing Nick is probably watching me, planning whatever is in his dirty mind, sends flutters of anticipation deep into my pelvis and makes my nipples tingle against the fabric of my dress. The heady feeling of liberation returns, stronger than before. I’m dancing alone in a Milan sex club, lost in myself, and I’ve never felt more alive. By bringing me here, Nick has provided a safe haven so I can be myself. And he can be himself. He likes to watch, and I’m addicted to performing for him.
I raise my arms over my head, sensually swaying my hips from side to side, slowly enough to seduce. I feel the weight of his stare from across the room. It touches every inch of my body, sparking electricity as surely as if it’s his touch. It feels like my very first major runway walk in the euphoria stakes—dazzling and exhilarating.
I open my eyes and our stares collide, his dark and dangerous. I freeze, so taken aback by the look of sheer unadulterated need on his face. For a split second he doesn’t look like Nick. He’s a tortured stranger. One with pain and doubt, desire and urgency, in his eyes.
The rest of the club fades away.
Heat and passion and understanding pulse between us like an invisible force field. I catch my breath, fire pooling between my legs. I move in his direction, no longer interested in this game of cat and mouse. I want him close. I want his touch. I want to connect with that broken part of him that speaks to me.
Now that he’s shown me that he too is hiding his vulnerabilities, his pain, my need is almost unbearably vicious. Almost overwhelming. Yes, I still want to test his restraint, the control he wears like a straitjacket, but now that I know it’s a shield protecting him from his past mistakes I also want to catch him when he lets go.
There are no guarantees in this life when it comes to what really matters. No fail-safe protection. Not wealth or status or power.
All we have is today and the hope of tomorrow.
Nick’s eyes narrow at my approach, as if he sees my intent. Where I’ve lost my trust in others, Nick seems to have lost his trust in himself. He’s stuck. Trapped behind barriers he’s constructed in order to keep me, and probably everyone else, at arm’s length.
I want to give him what he’s given me—a safe space to be himself. Acceptance. That’s why I needed him to bring me to a place where he feels in control. To show him that he’s as safe with me as I am with him.
I reach him, hunger and desire pounding through my blood with every beat of my jacked-up heart. ‘Dance with me,’ I say, trying to convey my desperation in my eyes. I want his lips, his touch, the brilliant passion I see him struggle to contain.
‘Not here.’
I nod, my body on fire for him to show me everything that he is—the good and the ugly. My soul’s yearning to connect on a primal level. Just a man and a woman.
‘Okay. Show me where,’ I whisper, anticipation building like a roaring blaze.
He places his beer on the bar and takes my arm. I’m instantly weak with ecstasy at the possessive and gentle curl of his fingers around my bicep. My legs wobble. Only his hand—big, sure and warm—grounds me and keeps me upright. When we exit the nightclub area, his hand slides the length of my forearm until we’re holding hands. I grasp his fingers, my insides flipping cartwheels when he grips mine in return. It’s every bit as comforting as I imagined. He may need control, but inch by inch he’s allowing me closer.
He glances my way, questions in his eyes. I smile. I’m being led into the unknown and I want him to see that I go with him willingly––no, eagerly.
No doubts.
Beyond the main nightclub lies a warren of dark corridors and rooms, most concealing their secrets behind closed doors. I hurry after Nick’s longer strides, arriving at another dark corridor, this one lined on one side with windows set into alcoves.
My breath dries up, nerves strangling me as we pause at the corridor’s entrance. Nick faces me, stepping up close and keeping hold of my hand.
‘You sure you want to be here, Lady?’ His searching stare moves over my face as if he can read the tumult inside.
‘Yes.’ I crave the reassurance of his beautiful smile. But it’s a luxury and, like all the best things, more breath-taking when it does make an appearance. ‘Call me Brooke tonight, please.’
There’s no room for teasing nicknames or going back to our former professional distance. Even if it means employing someone else for my future security needs, I want to be more to him than a famous woman whom it’s his job to protect. I want him to know me as I truly am. To be real to him, just as I want to see him undone. Unrestrained. Exposed.
He gives a single decisive nod of surrender. Then he grips my face with both hands. I think he’s going to kiss me and my knees almost buckle. But, where his stare carries a new intensity, it’s still shuttered.
‘Everyone using these rooms enjoys being watched, understand?’ His eyes trace my mouth as he speaks, as if he’s recalling our first kiss, as I am. As if craving a repeat. How can he hold himself back...? I know he feels the same burning desires I do.
I nod, excitement throbbing in my throat and robbing me of speech.
‘They can’t see us, but they know when someone is watching—there’s a sensor. A light comes on.’ His low, steady voice boosts my confidence. ‘We can stop wherever you like, or just walk on. It’s your decision.’
I nod. My blood pounds so hard I feel faint. ‘I trust you,’ I assure him, reaching up to peel his palm from my cheek so I can once more hold his hand. Perched on the precipice of something new with him, I’ve never felt more alive. More free. Despite stating that he needs to be in charge of this, he’s giving me all the control of the situation, all the choice. Any nerves or lingering reservations flee.
We move down the darkened corridor. I grip Nick’s hand more tightly, my steps small, hesitant, as I enter the first windowed alcove.
My stomach plummets. The room beyond the glass is dimly lit but empty. In the low lighting I make out a luxurious bedroom with a four-poster bed and black satin sheets.
I move on, aware of Nick’s ragged breathing beside me, his body close, his hand gripping mine as if he too is nervous. My body hums with arousal—new and dizzying levels. I understand now why this feeds his self-control because, while the anticipation is a thunderous roar in my head, I feel empowered. Strong. Invincible in a way nothing or no one in my life has ever made me feel.
Until Nick.
At the second window I suck in an involuntary gasp. This room is occupied. My first conditioned reflex is to step back. My back makes contact with Nick’s solid chest. I sag into him behind me with relief at the thundering of his heart. His arm comes around my waist, and I grip his hand once more, entwining my fingers with his, grateful I’m not alone in this exhilaration.
A man and woman occupy the room. Both are naked. The woman sits on the edge of the massive bed, braced on her straight arms while the man kneels on the floor between her thighs, performing oral sex.
The display is so carnal that our mere presence here on the other side of the one-way glass feels somehow taboo even though, intellectually, I know they enjoy being watched. But I can’t move. I can’t look away.
Through the roar of blood in my ears I grow aware of the sound of my own rapid and harsh breathing. I feel Nick’s heat at my back, his breath a warm tease on my neck, stimulating my nerve endings. I’m enveloped by the manly scent of him. He’s everywhere.
I look up over my shoulder. Just as backstage after the fashion show, he’s watching me, watching my reaction to the couple rather than the action itself.
And his eyes are ablaze with lust.
I drop my head back onto his hard shoulder, feeling his scruff against my cheek. His arm is a steel band around my waist, his erection obvious in the small of my back. The intimacy of this blasts through me like an explosion. It’s not about the strangers. It’s about us. Nick and I, sharing this moment of complete and utter trust and abandonment. He’s showing me this side of himself. It’s more profound than any prior sexual experience.
It’s addictive.
Nick dips his head, his whisper warm against my ear. ‘Do you want to hear them?’
I nod, aroused but also conflicted. My upbringing and society’s norms compound the feeling that this is somehow wrong. But we’re all consenting adults. No one is being coerced or exploited, a fact that’s confirmed when the man on his knees glances our way with a small smile on his face—he knows we’re here on the other side of the glass.
Nick presses a button on the wall, flooding us with the sound of the woman’s cries of pleasure and the man’s grunts of satisfaction. He pauses, says something to her in Italian that I don’t quite hear and then lifts one of her legs, draping it over his shoulder before delving back in. She grips his head, watching him but also glancing at the window, at us, from time to time.
‘Why do you like this?’ I whisper, trembling with need. I lift my arm overhead to tangle in Nick’s dark, silky hair and hold him closer. I crave deeper understanding of his past and his pain. I burn to know all there is to know about this man who seems to have infected my consciousness and made me probe my own deep desires like no previous lover.
His cheek grazes mine, his breath hot, jolting my nerve endings. ‘Because I can enjoy it without being a part of it.’ His voice is low and resonant with arousal. His lips brush my skin. Not a kiss, but from him it’s somehow more than a kiss. Because every move he makes is measured and meaningful. I sag deeper into him—he’s practically holding me upright, I’m so boneless.
‘I’m detached. In control,’ he says. ‘I can stay or walk away at any time.’
My heart judders with fear behind my ribs. Am I right about Nick? Is he too broken by his past for true intimacy? I can empathise with his regrets without knowing the details, but whatever has caused him to be this way has cut soul-deep.
‘But I don’t want you to be detached with me,’ I whisper, my throat a hot ache of need.
My words settle in the fraught air. His fingertips press into my waist with a fraction more pressure, as if he can’t help himself that tiny indulgence. I spin away from the window and look up at him for a beat, needing to see on his face that he feels as wild and unrestrained as I feel even if, for his own reasons, he’s still fighting the complete loss of inhibitions.
It’s written all over the harsh, handsome planes of his face, which is taut with everything he’s trying to hold inside. His eyes are anguished and I can no longer hold back.
I hurl myself against his chest, my lips colliding with his, too desperate to connect with him and drag him towards pleasure to wait a second longer. The force of my body slamming against his dislodges his finger from the button on the wall that allows us to hear what is happening in the room and we fall into silence. Silence that quickly fills with the sound of my own pulse and the needy whimpers I can’t contain as I kiss Nick Rivers the way I’ve wanted to for months.