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The guys sat around the sitting room, their conversation clipped short as we walked in.
Von’s eyes immediately met mine. My breath hitched, but it wasn’t because of the tight, black shirt that hugged his steel-built frame. It was the way he looked at me now, with that intense, predator gaze. I could only imagine what he might do if he saw what I’d stowed away beneath the fur coat. A small part of me wanted to take it off, just so I could find out.
Only to tease him, of course.
Ryker plopped his big, muscular arm on top of Harper’s head as he looked at me. “Damn, Sage, you look so good you made me forget my pickup line.”
Harper shoved him away, her hand quickly shooting up to fix her hair. “Why are men such pigs.” It wasn’t a question.
Ryker burst out laughing.
Von prowled towards me.
I stepped back, tightened my coat.
When his body was but a breath from mine, he studied my face, his gaze lingering too long on my painted lips. I could almost feel his thumb brushing over them. But his hand was in his pocket, the other at his side, his touch a figment of my imagination. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice holding no softness, just all hard edges and dark, heavy smoke. Something was bothering him.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied, my inhale longer than intended, tattling on me.
Visually, he gave me one final sweep before he nodded, and the four of us headed out into the embrace of the cool night.
Just from looking at the bathhouse from the outside, I could tell it boasted luxury in every sense of the word, and as much as I was dreading seeing the inside of it, curiosity was starting to take hold.
Von took care of the arrangements. He spoke privately with a woman who looked happy to see him—happy enough she threw her arms around his neck.
I sucked in a breath at that.
Her strawberry-blonde hair was piled on top of her head, a few ringlets falling loosely by her face, bouncing as she spoke with him. Her clothes looked expensive, but it was the chunky emeralds hanging around her neck that screamed wealth. She was beginning to show her age, especially when she smiled, but the fine lines did little to distract from her beauty—and she was beautiful.
They walked towards us. The woman gave Harper and me a once over before she swung the arched door open and ushered us up the single step and inside. I turned around, my gaze locking with Von’s just before that thick, wooden door slammed behind us.
But not before I saw the way the muscle ticked in his jaw.
The woman led us through a dark stone hallway, the only light provided by the brass candle holder hooked on her finger. We walked for some time, and just when I was certain she may very well be leading us in circles, we came to a brighter, wider hallway. Sconces, meticulously carved and dipped in gold, hung on the marble-slabbed walls. They were spaced evenly, about every five feet, their burning candles illuminating our surroundings.
The bathhouse was scented with jasmine, but it wreaked of old, tainted coin and sex.
She took us into a room filled with twelve stunning women who lounged on comfortable, plush chaises and sofas, their laughter and conversation amplified by the stone walls and mosaic floors.
“Alright, ladies, let us have a look,” she said, her arm outstretched in preparation for our coats.
Harper and I glanced at one another before we slipped them off and gave them to her. She chucked them on a burgundy velvet chaise and then began her assessment of us. She tilted her head back and forth, her gaze raking over us like we were nearly burnt-out embers.
“I suppose you’ll have to do,” she huffed, as if slightly unsatisfied. “Shift change will be in about fifteen minutes, and then your group will work the floor. Thermes de Luxe caters to nobility and people of great wealth. They expect nothing but the best from us, and we make sure we give it to them. Let me make myself clear—I hear one complaint, just one, and you are out. There are no second chances here and plenty of girls lining up and down the street to work at the number one bathhouse in Belamour. Am I understood?”
We both nodded.
“Very good. The other girls will show you what to do when it is your turn to work the floor. Also, the king’s advisor is known to frequent here quite often.” She glanced at Harper. “He has a thing for brunettes.” She gave us a curt nod and left the room, her heels chewing up the mosaic tile as she walked down the hallway, emphasizing her departure.
“She seems fun,” Harper said sarcastically before she strolled over to the other women. Their conversation stalled as their heads shifted towards us.
A blonde with curled hair patted the empty seat beside her. “We’re up in fifteen. Might as well take a seat in the meantime.”
Harper and I plopped down beside her.
The girls were welcoming, friendly, almost like a sisterhood, accepting us immediately as one of their own. They told us what our duties were when we worked the floor and what our duties might consist of should we be required for a private bath. When the other group returned, Harper and I fell to the rear as we walked to the public bathing area. A pool of clear water yawned before me, dusty pink rose petals floating on top. Steam sifted from the surface, coating the air in a dense haze, adding to the allure of the bathhouse. Under the water, I could faintly make out a raised ledge that wound its way around the pool walls—a place to sit.
Men of various ages and body types relaxed in the pool. Some were here to bathe, and some were here to appease their desire—their need.
