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“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Laura replied with a knowing smile.
Just as Sophia was gearing up for another defensive retort, her phone dinged with a text message. Glancing at the screen, she caught her breath. “It’s Nick,” she squealed.
Laura just grinned at her.
“Hey, sexy girl. Can I cash that raincheck tonight? Dinner and then a grand tour of my BDSM club? I have a surprise for you. You might want to review your safeword…”
Chapter 9
At Laura’s insistence, they went shopping together after she closed the shop to find a new outfit for Sophia’s date with Nick. The red silk cocktail dress Laura picked out wasn’t something Sophia would have chosen on her own, but she had to admit, it was both sophisticated and sexy.
She was already waiting by the curb when Samir pulled up to her building that evening. Before the car even came to a full stop, Nick leaped out of the car to take her into his arms. As he held her close, something that had been curled tight inside her since they’d parted unfurled. It felt so right being in his arms. She could have stayed there forever.
When they eventually parted, he took a step back and whistled appreciatively. “You look stunning, Sophia,” he said, his eyes moving hungrily over her.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she replied, beaming with pleasure at his compliment.
Nick was in a beautifully-tailored dove-gray suit, his shirt open at the neck, every bit the GQ gentleman. Settled in the back seat, they couldn’t resist cuddling and kissing a little, in spite of Samir’s presence in the front as he wove his way through the city traffic.
Nick took her to dinner at a small, elegant place where the menu had no prices and the ratio of wait staff to patrons was three to one. She would have found it pretentious, but the food and Nick’s excellent company were so good she forgot to be judgmental.
When they exited the restaurant, Samir was idling at the curb, ready to whisk them to their next destination. Nick’s club took up an entire four-story brownstone in a hushed, elegant neighborhood in Greenwich Village. You wouldn’t even know the club was housed there, save for a discreet placard over the antique doorbell that read Impulse – Private Club.
“Whoa. This is stunning,” Sophia enthused. “It looks more like a nineteenth century mansion than a BDSM club.”
Nick nodded. “That’s what it used to be, back in the day. Come see what we’ve done with it.” He punched in a code on a pad beneath the doorbell and the lock clicked open.
They entered a large foyer, the floors of marble tile inlaid with beautiful mosaic patterns in turquoise and gold, a classic crystal, ten-candle chandelier sparkling overhead.
“Oh, Nick,” Sophia breathed, awestruck. “This is exquisite.”
Nick looked around, the proprietary pride evident on his face. “I wanted to create something different from the usual run-of-the-mill underground club. I wanted something elegant and private, dedicated to people serious about the lifestyle. This is a members-only club and all prospective applicants are vetted, much in the way they’re vetted for Desire Island. We have a second location here in the city and a new one in Los Angeles that’s doing very well. In fact, I’m thinking of expanding overseas. Maybe London? Paris? I haven’t decided.”
Sophia had understood Nick was wealthy, but she hadn’t really grasped the scope of his wealth. These elegant clubs were just a side hobby he’d gotten into for fun.
In her admittedly limited experience with the truly wealthy, Sophia had found that they tended to believe their money gave them rights that didn’t extend to the rest of the world. It was somehow understood that allowances had to be made for the sacred task of earning even more of the stuff. Unfortunately, Nick confirmed rather than dispelled that belief. He’d cut his vacation short in the name of closing a deal, derailing their newfound, intense connection in the process. And he’d broken his date with her, again in pursuit of the holy grail of cold, hard cash. How much more of the stuff did any one person need, for chrissakes?
An attractive woman came striding into the foyer. She was tall and stately, dressed in a black leather vest and matching leather pants. In her late forties, she had burnished chestnut hair swept back in jeweled combs, her lips painted a shiny red.
“Nicholas,” she said warmly, moving toward him with outstretched arms. “We’re so delighted you’ve come this evening. We’ve missed you terribly.” As they embraced, she gave Nick air kisses on each cheek.
She let him go. “And this beautiful young woman must be Sophia, yes?”
“The very one,” Nick agreed, beaming from one woman to the other. “Sophia, this is my good friend, Elizabeth Owen, manager of Impulse. Elizabeth, meet Sophia Weinstein.”
