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“I do. And you will. I have someone I need to talk to who’s there and it can’t wait.” I stood up and straightened my skirt. “After cake, we’re going on a road trip.”
“Cela,” he warned.
“If you don’t, I’ll get the address from Jace and go myself.”
Lines appeared around his mouth. “They won’t let you in. It’s members and their guests only.”
“Young, innocent woman wanting to try out some new things. I’m guessing I could convince someone to help me out and get me in.”
He groaned. “Dirty fighting, Marcela.”
I smiled and grabbed his hand. “I learned from the best. Now, come on. Cake!”
He gripped my hand, halting me from my exit, and I turned back. His eyes were searching. “Why are you doing this, Cela? What purpose could it serve? You’re leaving in a few days.”
I wet my lips, nervous to say the words aloud even though they’d been floating through my brain for longer than I’d care to admit. “Maybe I won’t.”
“Oh, Cela,” he said on a weary sigh, his hand releasing mine. “Don’t do this. Not for a guy.”
I looked away, unable to deal with that big-brother stare and that disappointed edge in his voice. “Maybe I’m doing it for me.”
“Sure you are.” He stepped over to me and pressed a kiss to the crown of my head. “But I’m not going to be Papá. Your life, your decision. I’ll drive you out there if that’s what you really want.”
I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him. “Thanks, Dre.”
Tonight would probably turn out to be a huge mistake. Clearly, Andre thought it was. But it was my mistake to make.
I couldn’t walk away.
Not yet.
PART V
NOT UNTIL YOU BEG
TWENTY-ONE
“There it is,” Andre said as we cruised down the deserted highway at a speed only a cop could get away with.
“Wow,” I murmured.
The large stone and cedar building cut an impressive silhouette against the star-flecked dome of sky, the behemoth seeming to grow straight out of the sprawling land around it. Warm lights glowed from some of the windows and the front entrance, but everything else about The Ranch screamed, Exc
lusive! Private!
Andre slowed down as we drove by a sign for Water’s Edge Vineyards. He cruised past the entrance for that building and turned left onto an unmarked drive a quarter mile farther down. A wide, low gate stretched across the road, and he pulled to a stop.
“This place is at a vineyard?” I asked, squinting to see if I could make out any of the grounds in the dark.
Andre rolled down his window and pressed his thumb to a touch pad that was mostly covered by creeping vines. The machine scanned Andre’s fingerprint, the little green light piercing the blanket of night around them. The smell of wildflowers drifted into the car. “The owner, Grant Waters, owns both. He tells anyone who asks that the big building is his private residence.”
The touch pad beeped and the large wooden gate, which looked far from electronic to the naked eye, swung open smoothly. Andre pulled forward, gravel crunching beneath the tires.
“How do people even find out about this place?”
He gave me a sideways glance, his expression unreadable in the near darkness. “The local BDSM community is pretty tight. You know the right people, have the right amount of money, and you’ll hear about this place.”
I gnawed on that for a moment. “So this is your thing, too?”
