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The initiation fee was reported to be five figures, with burdensome dues. Despite that, the wait list to join was years long. The society supposedly owned an estate on the banks of the Mississippi River in Louisiana. The reporter had asked for an invitation to the yearly meeting, dubbed the Oak Valley Gathering. Their denial hadn’t deterred him. Instead of entering through the gate, he’d snuck over a fence. Before being apprehended by security, he’d gotten as far as spying on the bonfire that was the ceremonial opening of the event.
Rafe was studying her.
“You’re a Titan?” The moniker had been bestowed almost a century prior by an intrepid reporter who saw a group of prominent society members gathered in New Orleans. In his newspaper coverage, he called the men Titans, and the name had stuck.
Rafe remained silent for a few more moments. “One of my ancestors, John Sterling, was a founding member.”
The information was a lot to take in, and she wouldn’t have met him, except for… “Celeste.” Her mentor’s words echoed… “There are others.” At the time, Hope had assumed that meant BDSM adherents. Had Celeste been referring to the Titans? “Is Celeste also a member?”
“I’ve already said too much.”
“I see.” That was a lie. She didn’t understand at all. “So, your wife… Do I need to know about this for finding you a bride?”
“No. Any woman I marry will be made aware of the Zeta Society when it’s appropriate.”
Hope stroked the lines of one of the laurel wreaths.
“The owl represents wisdom.”
“It looks like Athena’s owl. From mythology.”
“I’m sure it is. The founders were familiar with Greek traditions from their time at university.”
“How long have you been a member?”
“Since I turned eighteen. It’s tradition. Not every Sterling joins. But the vast majority do.”
“Including women?”
“We started admitting them at least half a century ago.”
“Very progressive.” She offered him the cufflink. “This is all very cloak-and-dagger.”
“Secret, yes. Nefarious? Not at all. We exist so that people from all over the world have a place to gather and have discussions away from the glaring eye of the press as we talk about ways to make the world a better place.”
“Are you going to make me sign some sort of blood oath so I don’t go to the press?”
“You’re a smart woman, Hope. I trust you.”
They both knew she’d be out of the matchmaking business with no prospects if she didn’t maintain her clients’ confidentiality.
He rolled down his shirtsleeves, then extended a wrist toward her.
It was a simple unspoken request, but she fought an internal struggle. It seemed natural to do this for him, yet it spoke of emotional intimacy. With a soft sigh, she threaded the metal through the slit in the material.
“Thank you.”
The huskiness in his words sent a ripple down her spine. Without being asked or instructed, she seated the second link in place as well.
“Perfect.” He adjusted the cuffs. “Now my jacket?”
When she hesitated, he captured a lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. How could she refuse him?
Hope held his expensive jacket while he shrugged into it.
“It smells like you,” he observed.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I may never clean it again. Your scent—it’s lilacs, isn’t it?”
She nodded as he turned to face her. The approval in his eyes made her curl her toes into the cool flooring.
“I’ll make dinner reservations.”
“I haven’t agreed to go with you.” She wasn’t sure which one of them she was reminding.
“I’d enjoy the honor of your company.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead.
Charming or otherwise, he was impossible to resist.
“Is seafood okay?” He suggested the Bluewater Bistro, one of Houston’s ten best restaurants. “They have one of the best wine and champagne selections in the city.”
Her remaining resistance drained away. He’d had her at wine. She suspected he would have moved on to dessert if she’d still protested. With that kind of epicurean temptation, she didn’t stand a chance. “Sounds wonderful.”
