“You’ll love them, and they already love you. Brooklyn and Frankie haven’t stopped talking about your gifts.” I leave out how my sisters spent hours dissecting every detail of the package she sent: the autographed posters,Robyn Hoodmerchandise, even the signature Reese Sinclair cosmetics line. Their enthusiasm was endearing.
My gaze drifts to my forearm, where her signature from that night after Wizard Island has long since faded. I should have booked a tattoo appointment the next morning, should have made it permanent.
“Maybe that’s why Frankie let you borrow her car?” She nudges me. “Because I earned you some coveted big brother brownie points?”
“It helped. That, and I kind of just took it.” I laugh.
A week on set has turned her into something otherworldly, and it’s not just the photoshoot glow. She’s more at ease, wearing the same dress she wore in the picture she sent me from NOLA—I’m certain she wore it just to torment me.
“I’ve looked forward to seeing you,” I say.
“I can tell.” Her hand creeps up my thigh, thumb tracing the semi that’s been in my trousers since she got into the car. I grit my teeth, eyes locked on where her sundress hits just above her knee. She shifts, revealing more of her thigh, sending a pulse straight through me.
Ramsey’s grunt echoes from the back.
“We should invest in noise-cancelling headphones and a blindfold for our shadow,” I say, catching his reflection in the rearview. His scowl has evolved into an expression of disapproval that’s artistic.
So much for thinking he’s coming around.
“Oh, speaking of just taking things, I grabbed you something.” She rummages through her purse and pulls out a piece of fruit.
My eyebrows knit together. “An apple?”
“Not just any apple,” she says, all proud of herself. “It’s exactly like the one you had at the table read. Oh, wait.” She sinks her teeth into the red flesh. “Much better. Wanna share it?” She does her best impression of me.
“Such darling manners.” I laugh, snatch the apple from her hand, and take a loud, crisp bite—making a show of it—before handing it back to her.
She takes it, leaning in and taking another slow, deliberate bite. Her lips press along the apple.
Fucking hell. Add eating fruit to the list of things Reese can make erotic.
Silver Lake materializes before us, the streets alive with their usual nocturnal pulse. I slide to the front of the club, intent on getting inside before anyone notices us. I toss the keys to the valet.
The Velvet Mirage looms ahead, its imposing door wedged between the mundane façades of a bookstore and a laundromat—a secret hiding in plain sight.
Another taste of my world for my girl.
“This is…interesting,” she notes, taking in the black concrete block exterior. No windows, a silver reflective door that mirrors our figures standing together, and above it a marquee that glows with the words,Temptation awaits.
I don’t bother explaining. Some things are better discovered than described.
“Let me guess—this is your Virgil act?” she teases, nudging my shoulder. “Leading me through the gates of Hell?”
I grin at the reference. Of course she’d make the connection to my namesake’sInferno. “Second circle. Lust,” I say, pausing for effect. “Though I promise it’s better than my predecessor’s version.”
“Well, Paolo and Francesca did get to spend eternity together. In some twisted, cruel way.”
“You know your Dante,” I say, impressed. “But I think we can do better than star-crossed lovers.”
“Oh yeah?”
“In our canto, we’ll make sure that breaking the rules leads to paradise instead of punishment,” I say, holding the door.
Inside, we step into darkness. A single amber bulb dangles over the hostess stand, barely penetrating the thick shadows. Heavy velvet curtains drape the walls, their presence more sensed than seen.
Beyond them, jazz music whispers of what’s to come, the main room still concealed behind another set of drapes. Reese takes in the mystery, her fingers trailing along the velvet rope that marks our path.
A hostess appears, graceful in a black dress. “Mr. Hastings, to what do we owe the pleasure?”
