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The thought was unsettling. The way he looked at her, Valentina was certain he really did know everything about her. It was like he could read her mind. And control her body.
Inexplicably, it was titillating.
“Money grows on trees in Martha’s Vineyard,” she said, referring to his origins. “Your parents’ castle is probably made with gold bullion.”
“Touché. But neither of us has wealth or pedigree like Monsieur DuPre here.” He gestured toward his friend, who didn’t even try to defend or deny the accusation and merely gave a small shrug.
“It is true! If it were three hundred years ago, my parents would have been beheaded and I would never have been born.” Bastian burst into laughter at the thought; Valentina didn’t quite understand the humor but found herself chuckling anyway. “So let’s thank God that we live in the twenty-first century, where wealth is worshipped instead of reviled!”
He raised his glass triumphantly. Ethan joined him, and Valentina did, too, carried away by the atmosphere. She drank the last of her vodka, and immediately Ethan topped it back up.
“Trying to get me drunk?”
“I don’t need to get you drunk,” he said. “You’ll do my bidding willingly before the night is over. Stone cold sober.”
The chill in the air that usually accompanied Ethan Daniels suddenly returned, but she glimpsed at Bastian and the cheeky glint in his eye told her everything was ok.
“Isn’t this place a little low end for your tastes?” She looked around, changing the subject.
“Indeed, it is. Let’s take you somewhere classier.”
“But my friends—”
“—will be just fine without you.” His voice brooked no argument.
“What about the vodka?” She pointed at the almost full bottle on the counter.
“Someone else can enjoy it,” Bastian said. “We like to share.”
Valentina couldn’t think of any excuse not to join them, and she had to admit she was intrigued. She quickly texted Serena and Alexis: I’m safe. Don’t wait up.
She let Ethan take her hand and lead her through the sweaty bodies of the club, out the back door to a secret alleyway. Bastian walked at her other side, his hand placed gently on her lower back. It was low enough that she would have slapped the hand away if it were anybody else, but she found herself enjoying the sensation. A large man dressed in a Tom Ford suit stood guard at the bottom of an outdoor stairway that led to a camouflaged door on the second floor of the same building. No words were exchanged, just an undercurrent of silent male communication, unintelligible to the female ear. The guard unlatched a red velvet rope and nodded at the men.
This time, Ethan put his hand on the small of Valentina’s back as he led her up the stairway, and Bastian held her hand. Her new heels stuck in the metal stairs.
“Let me help you with those.” Bastian knelt all the way to the ground before her and removed her shoes. He came very close and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her feet, but he just put the shoes in her purse and then picked it up and carried it for her. She felt a little vulnerable without her keys or cell phone and utterly at the mercy of these two strange men. What if they wanted to try some of this BDSM stuff with her? No. They were men of good breeding and impeccable reputations, and Bastian at least seemed entirely trustworthy. She still had severe reservations about Ethan, but since he held her career in the palm of his hand, she renewed her resolve to relax and go with it, for now at least.
“Where are we going?” she asked. “Is this still The Mile High?”
“Think of this as the first-class lounge,” he answered, leading her into a service elevator. “Same owner, different clientele.”
“This lift doesn’t exactly look first class,” she said, looking around the rickety contraption. She was certain it had never been inspected for safety.
“It’s to keep out the faint of heart,” he replied glibly.
There was a graphic poster tacked up inside the elevator. It read:
‘If she doesn’t look like she’s starring in a scene from the Exorcist, you’re not doing it right.’
Bastian laughed heartily at the poster, but Valentina had no idea what that meant.
* * *
“Good evening,” the glamorous hostess greeted them as they stepped out of the elevator. “Welcome to our play space.”
Valentina thought that ‘play space’ was an odd way to refer to a fancy adult lounge, but she was quickly realizing she had a lot to learn about the world of domination. Out on the terrace were nine red, pagoda-like tents that had been erected strategically about the rooftop garden. Dozens of pink paper lanterns sashayed invitingly from burgundy ribbons that pirouetted across the open air above them. It was beautiful.
The hostess led them to their private pagoda and then vanished into thin air. Inside, there were six more beautiful women kneeling on an oriental rug, waiting for them.
