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‘Yes, just what I was thinking.’
‘Are you wearing trunks as well?’
He nods.
‘So we’re going swimming?’
‘Later.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yep.’
I laugh. ‘International Man of Mystery?’
‘Something like that.’
Curiosity grows. Even when the car slows to a stop, I have no idea where we are or where we’re going. The door is opened by a driver, Edward, I think Nicholas had said his name was.
‘Thanks.’ I look around for any kind of clue. There’s nothing.
‘This way.’ Nicholas puts a hand in the small of my back and leads me to a black door in a brick wall.
‘I feel like you’re taking me to some kind of Mafia hideout.’
His laugh dances across my spine like tiny little needles. ‘More fun, less chance of death.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
The door opens as we approach; presumably there’s a security camera monitoring activity.
A woman wearing a sleek black dress greets us. ‘Mr Rothsmore?’
He nods.
‘Welcome to Uden Syn.’ She pronounces the name with an accent, but even if she hadn’t, the words would still have meant nothing to me.
‘Miss Carmichael?’ She holds a hand out for my coat. Nicholas’s hands are at my shoulders, helping me out of it. A frisson of anticipation warms my belly.
In fact, I’m warm all over, and while that might have something to do with Nicholas, it’s also this place. We’re in a small corridor, dimly lit, but very, very warm. The heating must be switched to full.
‘Do you have your phone?’
Nicholas offers his and she waves it over a device in her pocket. ‘Your phone will now open the door to your room. Take your clothes off and leave them in the locker provided, then head in.’
Alarm has me jolting my eyes to Nicholas’s. I did give him a blow job in the cockpit of the helicopter, and we did sleep together in the Intimate Rooms of the Sydney club, but that’s a far cry from engaging in some kind of public orgy.
‘Is this some kind of sex club?’ I demand in a low whisper as he guides me down the corridor.
When we reach a door with the number eleven on it, he shoots me a look before swiping his phone.
‘I’m serious, Nicholas,’ I whisper despite the fact we’re now alone in an elegant if somewhat utilitarian room. It’s big enough for a chair, a wardrobe, and, as with the corridor, it’s dimly lit and super warm.
‘Do you think I’d bring you to a sex club?’ he prompts with a lifted brow, shifting out of his shirt. The subtle lighting casts his handsome face in shadow, highlighting the planes and angles there.
‘I don’t know.’
He kicks out of his shoes. ‘Public sex isn’t really my thing.’
