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“You’ve said that, but what type of establishment?”
“It has many names. I’m not one for labels.” His words make me stop and look back at him.
“What are the manynames?”
His jaw tightens as if he’s agitated with me. But I don’t move.
“A sex club, a spotlight party, a whorehouse…” He throws out all three in quick succession, and all I can do is stare at him incredulously.
“Was I just lying on…” My head spins back to the bed, and my forehead crinkles in disgust.
His breath is on my face when he speaks, “Yes, pretty lady, you were lying on a bed where others have fucked. Does it make you feel dirty?”
“I’ve never been to a whorehouse!”
“Well, now you have.”
When I face him again, he starts walking away. I’m not sure how to get out of here, so I follow behind him with my new heels clicking on the beautiful marble flooring until we reach a staircase.
He halts, charcoal eyes finding mine, and he nods to the stairs. “Leave.” His voice is firm, and I get the hint.
I take the first step of the stairs, then turn around. “Thank you for helping me. Are you sure I don’t owe you anything?”
He doesn’t want me here, of that I have no doubt, but I need confirmation. His actions seems too generous, or maybe too kind, for a man like him. Not that I know him, but with this type of establishment and that type of man, there is no doubt he would be a villain.
As silence fills our proximity, my gaze drifts to my red-painted fingernails, chipped and gripping the handrail, then to my knees, which are scratched and stiff, and my dress, that’s torn slightly and marred with stains. But it could have been so much worse if not for him.
When I peer back up, his eyes are still glued to mine.
I wait another beat for him to answer, but he doesn’t.
So, holding on tightly to the rail, I tread the rest of the steps carefully, trying to keep my balance in my weakened state until I reach the top. The door’s shut, and when I pull it open, I look back once more.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Lavender.”
Shock must register on my face because he offers me a small smirk before I continue out the door.
I step into an alleyway, and suddenly relief hits me hard.
If anyone, including my husband, saw me leaving a sex club, it would be all over the papers and television.
He would not be impressed.
Imagine the uproar if the paparazzi got hold of this.
We have the perfect tabloid image, and I could have ruined it in one fell swoop.
