Gilded Desires (The Gilded Key Society #4)

Chapter 1

One

Aziel

I stare across the makeshift poker table at my brothers-in-arms.

Two smart as fuck, arrogant bastards who don’t look any happier than I feel. Some consider them heroes and others remember them as nightmares. Come to think of it, we are all one or the other.

But in reality, we are killers.

Why, you ask?

I take a long draw on my Nicaraguan Maduro, savoring the earthly chocolate flavor as it rolls over my tongue. I tilt my head back and release the creamy white wisps of smoke.

To a lot of people, the answer is not as black and white as it is to me. Or as simple. My brothers and I swore an oath to protect our country at all costs. And we would do it again. But fuck. No one ever sat us down and explained what that cost would be when we signed on Uncle Sam’s dotted line. Hell, no one thought to even ask. Back then it was glory and alpha shit. We all wanted to be the hero.

Spoiler alert. The answer to the question we never asked is not what you think. My brothers believe we pay in blood, but they are wrong. The real answer is our souls. Every time we are sent out on another mission we come back a little more damaged—our souls worn and tattered. It’s gotten to the point I rather not wake up in the morning.

The truth of it is in the roughened edges of Gage’s anxiousness. My inability to sleep and Rush’s getting lost in deep thought in the middle of a conversation.

So, no. The answer is not blood. Ironic, right? We give so much of it, but that shit is cheap and runs hot in everyone’s veins. Cold-hearted thinking, I know, but tell me I am lying.

Yeah, that’s what I thought. Nah. What really holds value is the part of us nothing can touch more than love…and death. A part of us that either helps us pull that trigger or pushes us in front of a bullet intended for someone else.

That’s the cost of glory. We all sold our souls for it and now I don’t recognize either of the men I grew up with and shed blood next to for our country.

And it’s not the shield of cigar smoke clouding my vision either.

The shadows flickering behind their eyes and the haunting glimmers of nightmares lurking just beneath the surface reflect the same horrors I carry. We were three rowdy boys who thought the world would kneel at our feet. Those punks died two weeks into BUDS. The fucking arrogance we had back then. Some days I wonder if it is the only thing that keeps us alive.

I take another drag on my cigar, hold, savor and release. With my arm slung over the back of an empty chair to my left and my hand of cards flat on the table I have all night to wait them out. Eventually, someone will want to talk about what went down tonight and I’m one patient mother fucker.

Gage sits to my left and Rush is across from me. We don’t necessarily have a hierarchy among us outside of the uniform but someone has to sit at the end of the table and Gage always takes the seat.

Instead of the boys my best friends were long ago, two hardened soldiers are in their places looking worn and weathered with visible scars and deeper invisible ones. I’m sure I look no different to them.

“Are you gonna eye fuck me all night or are you wanting me to telepathically figure out your hand so I can take all your money?” Rush rolls his large shoulders and cracks his neck left then right like he’s in this game for the long haul. His dress shirt is popped at the top button and his tie hangs loosely around his neck, the same as mine.

Rush reaches for his drink and twists his tumbler, the facets catching the light. A tell he forgets to control when we are a few drinks in with several rounds of poker already played. He’s more of a beer and barbeque man so I’m surprised to see him clean up so well and enjoy the finer drink.

I grunt something between an irritating sound and feigned indifference.

Rush isn’t having it.

“You know I’m gonna win. You could save us all a few hours of our lives and just give me your money now.” That same arrogance I keep telling you about is front and center tonight. He flicks his eyes to the chips and then at me as if to say it’s already all his.

“Keep running your mouth, pretty boy.” Fucker is trying to bait me into getting riled up enough to drop my blank expression. Something I’ve honed over the years that pisses him off. Faint lines fan out from the corners of his eyes when he smiles.

I cock my head. “I have all night for you to get tired and sloppy,” I reply dryly and watch as his smile drops into a flat-lined pinch.

To my left, Gage reaches for the bottle between us. The man is wearing his usual smirk that matches his flashy gold tie—in your face and doesn’t give a fuck what you think. He’s yet to loosen the knot and relax a little which tells me he’s all business tonight. Cranks and gears in that brain of his are turning over the proposal thrown in front of us a short while ago.

I’ll give him some time.

Rush doesn’t seem to notice Gage’s quietness. Or doesn’t care. “You know I can last all night so don’t throw that shit at me. The pretty blonde. Four, no five months ago, brother.” The arrogance on his face…I’m telling you straight up it is a miracle we are all still breathing.

Rush is talking about the one time we all caved for carnal pleasure after a particularly stressful mission.

We have one hard and fast rule we live by: Live together, love together, and die together.

We already live together and if we don’t agree on the woman, it doesn’t happen. As for the last bit, well, it hasn’t come to that. Yet.

Right now, we’ve all agreed on no relationships. Nothing that can tie us down or pull us away from our work. No one to leave behind in case we eat lead overseas seems smart. In reality, there’s an ache inside for more. But I keep my mouth shut. For now.

A little skin-on-skin time with a pretty waitress from our favorite watering hole was just another one-night stand in a string of unmemorable flings. The only difference about that night is the time we spent with the nameless beauty kept us from following our fallen brothers into an early grave if you know what I mean. Grief isn’t easy to overcome at any stage. We’ve lost a lot of brothers and sisters.

As I said, the cost of our life choices isn’t blood, it’s our soul. Now, do you believe me?

All that said, I’m growing tired of not having someone soft to hold, care for, and love. Maybe I’m just tired of getting shot at and sent home only to be brought back in to do it all over again like a machine.

“You’re wrong,” I say to Rush. “It’s been seven months. Not five or six since the pretty waitress. But who’s counting.” I give a dry smile and knock the ashes off the end of my Maduro.

Gage grunts and signals for me to pass him a cigar too. “I don’t think he can count that high, Aziel. Don’t break the last brain cell he’s working with.”

Rush shoots us both an annoyed look. “Fuck you both.” He grabs the bottle from Gage and I slide my empty tumbler across the table for a refill.

We’ve all gathered in the game room which is a laid-back way of describing the massive open-floor basement that has been gutted and outfitted to make any grown man weep with joy.

The main features are the three large screen TVs—Gage’s idea, not mine—a well-stocked bar, a billiard table on one side, and this—a massive hand-carved table big enough to sit twenty.

I claim all the credit for the top-shelf liquor.

Smooth, hardwood floors and soft overhead lighting make it a comfortable room to regroup after missions.

We’ve shared the lake house since we enlisted, not seeing the need in each of us keeping up with our own places and this table has been witness to more than I care to rehash tonight.

We tossed our suit jackets over the large sofa on our way to the hard liquor about an hour and a half ago, all of us avoiding the very big white elephant that followed us downstairs.

Gage rolls his sleeves up while Rush pours us a fresh round of Black Label Johnny. Not the most expensive but I like how the burn feels when it hits the back of my throat.

I take a peek at my cards. Ten, Jack, and Queen of spades. Well, shit.

I pick up a couple of orange chips and toss them in the middle of the pile after looking at my hand again.

Across from me, Rush wiggles his eyebrows like he can see through the glossy paper in my hand. “Feeling lucky, tonight, huh?”

I give him a stiff middle finger. “Fuck you, Rush. Why don’t you stop running that mouth and put in your chips.”

To my side, Gage grunts, throws his cards down, and pushes up from his chair.

Halle-fucking-lujah.

Jesus H. Christ. I was getting tired of everyone dancing around the main event.

Standing behind his chair, Gage puffs a couple of times on his Maduro. “Are we really going to do this?”

Raja, a close friend, asked us over tonight and slapped a very unique offer on the table the second we walked into his office at The Gilded Key Society. And a timely one, to be honest. We could use the distraction. Back-to-back missions are rare but happen. And this time it’s left us not only tired but on edge. There’s no one right way to settle back into civilian life but holed up in the basement is not it. By a long shot.

I turn my eyes up to meet Gage’s. His grim expression matches mine. He’s caught on the finer details instead of the simple solution of reconnecting with the living.

“You’re overthinking it, brother.”

“Maybe,” he counters after a long drag on his cigar. “Raja hasn’t given us much time to do too much thinking.”

I nod. Our friend helps the owners of The Society get fresh talent into the adult club to keep the key bearers and keymasters happy and apparently, he’s tapped out at the moment. According to Raja, he needs three men willing to do a show with one woman for a few nights over the summer and possibly fall.

“Adult sex clubs have never been our thing.” Rush tosses his cards down and plants his elbows on the table, locking his fingers in front of him.

I roll my shoulders in a shrug. “True. Raja knows this which means his back is against the wall for him to call us.” Performing isn’t our thing, but sharing is.

The Gilded Key Society is just what it sounds like. A newly opened sex club here in New York City where you can freely fulfill all your fantasies and sexual desires. Mainly multiple partners and several flavors of kinks are on the menu. I could read you the pretty brochure tucked into my suit jacket’s inner pocket, but it boils down to the place offering its members sex between willing adults in a safe environment.

My cell phone vibrates. I pull it out of my front pants pocket and put it on the table between us. Raja’s picture is in the middle of the screen offering us a door we might not be able to walk out of when the time comes if I answer. I have no damn clue what the right answer here is but I know something has to change.

I point at Gage. “The worry lines across your forehead are only getting deeper and every time I hear a sound even remotely like a gun I am grabbing for mine. And you.” I point at Rush. “Last night you screamed in your sleep so loud I fell out of my bed getting to you.”

Rush puffs out a heavy breath, his brows pinched together. “I know. I was there. Remember?”

I hold my hands up in a gesture of friendship. “Not judging, just pointing out?—”

“—everything we already know,” Gage finishes for me. “We’re all wound tight.” He pauses. “Since nearly losing you, I know your feelings have changed about keeping to ourselves.”

I nod not wanting to rehash the time a bomb nearly killed me.

The phone in the middle of the table dances over the hardwood and we just sit there looking at it like it’s a live grenade.

Instead of answering Raja’s call, I ask my brothers, “Now that we are all on the same page, what about our rule? Everyone willing to set it aside for a while? It’s not like if we do this we are signing a marriage certificate.”

Rush presses his fingers into his eyes and makes a groaning sound that comes out like he’s being tortured. “That fucking rule has kept me horny for ten years. How long can we stay disconnected from life, brothers?”

He’s reading my thoughts to the letter. Gage is thinking the same, too. It’s written all over his tight expression. The fact he didn’t tell Raja no the second he proposed the idea is proof my brother is growing restless in the romance department, too.

“We have one month to get our shit together or Uncle Sam is going to give us our walking papers,” Gage says flatly.

Gage is always keeping everyone on task. Muscle ripples and bulges under the sleeve of his dress shirt as he rubs a hand through thick, black hair. His lips pull into a tight, white line and I can already tell where the other man’s thoughts are headed.

Silence moves in and for a while, I don’t do a damn thing but sit there. Getting these two to talk is as painful as catching a bullet.

“What happened wasn’t your fault man. Shit happens out there and you can’t always control how missions go down. Doesn’t mean you have to suffer through the rest of your life because everything didn’t go as planned.”

Dark eyes turn to mine. “You don’t need to coddle me, Aziel. Keep all your emotional let’s talk about it shit to yourself.”

“Touchy. Maybe less of this and more talking.” Rush tries to move the whiskey bottle away earning him a deathly growl from Gage.

“Fuck that.” I take it and empty the last few fingers worth into each of our glasses before heading for a fresh one from the bar. “But Rush is right about one thing. You keep what happened on this last mission jammed inside you and someone else will get hurt. Maybe not now, but at some point, it will get someone else killed. Me, Rush, another member of our team. That, my brother… that shit will be your fault then.”

Gage’s animalistic growl claws up my spine and instinct warns me to grab for my weapon.

I breathe in and exhale slowly, stretching my fingers at my side. Thirty years as the man’s best friend cools my jets and I keep walking to the bar until I get what I am after.

“We need to step away for a beat and remember we are human. Not killing machines,” I add, back at the table. I brush aside the chips and forgotten cards so we can have room to read over the sample contract Raja forced into my hands.

“This says we only have to watch out for her safety and ours. That we have a clean bill of health and are willing to fuck in front of a room full of voyeuristic clients of the club. Pretty easy.”

Ignoring my points, Rush takes the bottle and cracks open the seal.

“The fucker had a sniper rifle, man. We were all tucked in waiting him out. We did what we could. What we trained for.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I groan. “It’s like I’m talking to rocks.”

Gage drops an ankle over a knee and swallows what is left in his glass. He slams it on the table with a loud thunk. “Still doesn’t change the fact we lost brothers. And innocents.”

I sit back and consider my friend’s white-knuckle grip on his glass.

“No one in that village stood a chance,” Rush follows up in a rough tone, fast to back up our buddy before the room falls silent again.

Jesus H. Christ. Needles of irritation chisel at my brain. Are we all going to fall apart here? My chest tightens and I fist my tumbler. After a few minutes of silence, I measure my next words. “We use our leave time for what the CO said. Get our heads together. Regroup.”

Gage slaps a hand on the table and braces his elbows on his knees. “And just forget everything that happened?”

My eyes search his. The same ghosts in his haunt my nightmares too. We’ve witnessed the same deaths, and shed the same amount of blood. Saved each other’s lives too many times to count. When is it all enough? When do we get to live?

“Forget? Not even if we tried.” I keep my tone level, but firm. With Gage, you either go in knowing what you are going to say or don’t open your mouth, to begin with. An ounce of uncertainty and he will eat you alive. “We can’t go back out there fucked in the head. It could cost our men their lives. You copy?” I don’t break eye contact until I see the beast in him settle.

Gage makes a face that says he knows I’m only stating the truth. He nods and says gruffly, “Copy that.” Wood groans and creaks as he shifts his substantial weight back into the chair. He loses the tie and finishes rolling his sleeves up signaling he’s warming up to the idea of The Society.

My phone goes off again and I hit the red button on Raja’s call. “He’s not gonna stop calling until we give him an answer. We told him a couple of hours and it’s been close to that. He needs to know.”

Rush’s jaw clenches a couple of times before he says, “We are supposed to be healing, right? Getting our asses to a head doctor and doing mental health days. Not playing in a sex club. When the CO asks what we did on leave this does not get mentioned.”

“Copy that.” I mirror Gage’s position and bring my ankle up to rest on my knee.

“We have two options, brothers. We can get our asses back to Virginia and the head doctor?—”

“Or,” I prompt, already knowing what Rush will say next.

“Or we can heal how we know best. Together. Some skin-on-skin during our downtime. The way I see it Raja is doing us a favor without knowing it.”

My phone goes off again and this time I answer it. “Impatient, much?”

“You answered. Does this mean you have an answer for me?”

Raja’s slight middle eastern accent clings to the English consonants as he fluidly speaks. His brother entered BUDs alongside us. We climbed the ranks together until we broke off and became SEALs while he went back home to raise a family. His blood became ours and through the years we never lost contact.

“We do this for you, we do it our way.”

“Then you better tell me what way that is and that you have some fucking goddess in mind already because I am up against a wall here. I don’t have much time. The Mirror room opens in less than a week and I haven’t even started to announce it to the key bearers and masters yet. My balls are in a vice.”

I make eye contact with my brothers and they both nod.

“Relax man. For a guy who helps find talent for a sex club you sound stressed.”

“Rush, man, this business is not as leisurely as you think. If I can’t get you guys to commit, I’ll have to start shopping around again. Please don’t make me call my ex-brother-in-law. I can’t deal with him anymore.”

There is a bigger story there I do not want to know about.

“I thought you said we were the only friends you know who share.”

The line goes silent.

“Friends who share? Yes. Just dudes sharing… not so much. This place is full of men willing to share their women. But I need new blood from men who have a connection. I need the audience to feel your emotions. Not just see men screwing a woman on stage. They can go to porn sites for that fake shit. The Gilded Key Society is so much more. I need men who other men and women get aroused watching. You guys have that connection I’m looking for. Plus, you three have muscles, scars, and big dicks. The perfect orgasm trifecta.”

What did a man say to that? I turn a puzzled look on Rush and Gage who wear arrogant smirks like they invented them.

I lean forward and pull the phone closer. “It has to be the right girl, brother. We are done with random chicks. You copy me?” I say looking at Rush first then Gage. They don’t say anything which tells me they both agree.

“Fine. I don’t care. Find her. You have forty-eight hours before I pull a girl off the floor to join you on stage. The pay will make it worth your efforts. I promise. I’ll draft the final contract.”

“Copy. Fuck. I guess we’re in.” I say flatly and end the call. Rush pours us each a fresh round of Johnny, none of us speaking until our glasses are empty again.

One moment bleeds into another until I finally break the silence. “I guess that means we need to find a woman.”

Belle

B eing the sister to a mafia king has its pros and cons.

Pro: getting out of a traffic ticket with a simple name drop because the chief of police is taking money under the table from my brother.

Con: the five stone-faced bodyguards my brother insists I keep with me at all times.

I bet you already know how many times I’ve had a man in my adult life.

Z.E.R.O.

I’m changing that today. But first I have to ditch my clingy security detail. Seriously, all five of the black suits stick like Gorilla Glue on my ass.

I’m sorta impressed they’ve kept up with me through Chicago’s lunchtime traffic.

I tuck today’s newspaper under my arm and slide into a cute boutique selling everything from high-end shoes to lipstick and vibrators if you know where to look for discreet options. And I do. Between you and me, I might know where the vibrator selections are because I might have bought one in every color since my brother slipped a black credit card into my stocking two Christmases back.

I look toward the back and spot exactly what I need to pull off a little magic trick.

I tap the shoulder of a girl about my age. She’s slender, wears leather pants like they are painted on, and gives me a serious case of envy with how good her ass looks in black. “Excuse me, miss?” The chick turns bright eyes my way.

Wow. Serious in need of sugar daddy vibes pour off her in bucket loads. I’m not sure if it’s the baby doll T-shirt or the cherry candy-colored lip gloss, or the pigtails that make me think her nights are spent loving on a silver fox’s dick. Could be the combo effect.

I give her a sincere smile and lean in a little as if to whisper a secret. She does the same and it’s like we’ve been besties since kindergarten.

“I was wondering if you could help me. I wanna surprise my boyfriend. Give him a taste of something…I don’t know. Maybe brunette? I like the long black-haired piece too. I’m thinking we could use a little spice.” I finger the ends of my honey-colored hair and her pretty-in-pink smile turns sensual.

I let a slow smile glide over my lips. The one I use on just about anyone to get what I want. The black credit card I pull out does the rest of the talking to get her moving faster. I take a quick look over my shoulder when the bell goes off over the front door.

Eyes covered in dark aviators seem to locate me quickly.

“All is cool here.” I give a cute, innocent wave he seems to buy. Dumb ass. Money might buy brawns but never brains.

My detail gives me a curt nod like his life depends on my safety—which it does—and slips out to stand at the door Secret Service style. The four other goons aren’t far behind him.

“Sorry about that.”

My attendant waves off the exchange. “I think I can help you. I’m Nyx, by the way.” Her voice is cool, rough around the edges and I don’t mean to judge but there’s no way a man’s dick isn’t affected by the way she sways those hips with each step as I follow her toward the back.

“Thank you, Nyx. That black-haired wig. Do you think you could help me slide into it? Oh, and that dress.” I point to a pretty black number with an impossibly low-cut front and no sleeves. She peers at me with one of those over-the-shoulder gazes that says she doesn’t buy my lame story for a second, but she wisely doesn’t ask questions. Bless her. I don’t know how to explain I’m a mafia princess trying to outrun my security detail without sounding pompous or like I belong behind bars.

A few minutes in the changing room and I turn in front of the mirror. My breasts look like they’ll pour out of the top any second and if the edge of the dress rides up any farther everyone will see the color of my new thong.

I connect my eyes with Nyx over my shoulder who puts on the final touches to my natural dirty-blonde hair before fixing the wig into place with a few pins. Midnight strands of hair cascade over my shoulders to brush along my waist.

“You like?”

“It’s perfect.”

“It’s not fastened with glue, so be careful. You whip it around like a crazy lady and it will fall off.”

Our gazes connect in the mirror. “Understood. No crazy head movements. Check.”

One last twirl and I pass my credit card over to my attendant who is back faster than I can slip into my black, glittery stilettos.

I palm the newspaper I came in with and slide the handles of my Birkin over my arm. “You didn’t happen to see a gaggle of men in black suits still out there anywhere, did you?”

I don’t know why I ask. Maybe I’m hoping they all needed bathroom breaks at the same time, but it seems unlikely.

“You mean the dudes in the mandatory black shades? How do they see through those things?”

I groan and nod. “Right?”

“Yep. That’s them. They are all still lined up out front. I can’t imagine you get to have any fun around them.” My new friend leans a slight shoulder against the changing room’s door and crosses her arms under her ample breasts with a peculiar look on her face.

“Listen, this whole working-girl look you’re going for…I get what you’re doing. The security detail and the need to get away. Mine is sitting across the street in SUVs. I have my stories. Working here isn’t exactly looked upon nicely by the three men in my life. But boundaries, ya know.”

She didn’t look old enough to have stories. But, whoa! Pump the brakes. Men? Questions pop into my head but I shove them away because I don’t have time for girl talk right now. But still…men? The idea isn’t new to me. My brother shared a wife with his two partners for a couple of years. They looked happy for a while.

I nod, glancing over her shoulder for any sign of the men coming to check in on me. “My brother hasn’t learned what boundaries are yet. Any suggestions on how to get outta here without them knowing? They already know all my moves; I need fresh inspiration.” I keep the panic out of my voice, but if I don’t get out of here, I’ll miss the one chance I have at freedom.

With a crook of a glossy, black-tipped finger Nyx says, “Follow me.”

Caught up in the idea this chick has more than one sugar daddy to please, I stumble a bit trying to keep up with her quick moves.

“Careful, that wig won’t go on twice the same way.” She takes my hand, and we quietly slide out a side exit that leads into a short alley.

She jerks her chin toward the north entrance. “You can grab a cab that way fairly quickly. But you’ll need cash.” Bills are shoved into my hand, and I close my fingers over the tightly-rolled money.

“Wow, I don’t need all this.” My heart literally squeezes from her kindness. I might actually pull this crazy idea off after all. Water wets my lashes and I have to fight them back before I ruin my stupid makeup. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back.” I pull her in for a quick hug, my new hair sliding over my shoulder to tangle in her fingers. We share a laugh, but she gently pushes me on my way.

“I’ll hold them off for you. Come back when you can, and I’ll collect in the form of a girls’ afternoon. I could use girl company.”

A wink and my new friend slips back inside the boutique. I look at the roll of bills in my hand. There has to be at least a grand here. “Count on it,” I affirm to myself.

Fifteen minutes and a hair-raising cab drive through Chicago at lunch hour later, I stand outside The Gilded Key Society, newspaper glued to my hand like a permission slip to be in such a forbidden establishment.

The converted hotel from days gone by reminds me of the Waldorf Astoria with its limestone and brick in various shades of gray, weathered by time and the changing seasons of Chicago’s brutal climate.

A canopied entryway leads to a luxurious interior. Cool, floral-scented air wraps around my heated skin and I sigh with welcomed relief when the wide, polished doors snick closed behind me, shutting out the late summer heat. Gone are the blaring horns, shouts, and revving motors.

It’s just me and my plan which has the potential to be a great idea. Or my undoing in a not-so-good way.

Tendrils of adrenaline cause my fingers to tremble, and my knees are having a rough time keeping steady. Both wobble as though I did a relay race in heels and somehow survived.

The entrance is barren of people, so I take a moment, close my eyes, and catch my breath. My brother expected me at Club Genesis almost forty-five minutes ago. I’m sure my detail is already freaking out over not being able to find me.

My heart seizes and my eyes fly open.

Crap. Nyx.

He’ll find her and question her left and right then demand to see the surveillance. My new friend will dump me before I get a chance to even know her.

Deep breaths.

I go to reach for my phone but on second thought, I give in this easily, my brother will think he owns me like he does this city.

Soft music and the scent of expensive cigar smoke override the aroma of fresh flowers as I walk deeper into the entrance, my heels clicking on the black and gold marble. An elegant crystal chandelier hangs overhead, throwing a warm, welcoming glow over the soothing black interior. It’s a little after one in the afternoon so I am surprised to see members of The Society lounging on expensively upholstered settees.

But I guess there’s no set time to enjoy the company of another. Sex sells twenty-four hours a day.

It doesn’t hit me full force that I managed the first part of my plan until a fully nude woman walks past me. No, she’s not simply walking. The redhead practically glides on clouds. Light catches off the multi-facets of diamonds lining a thick black collar around her neck. Behind her are three men, one of them holding a studded leash. Possession glints in all their gazes and the way they show her off has my breath hitching in my chest. Her men adore her; there’s no doubt about it.

Fuck, that is hot.

I catch her eye and see nothing but pure bliss glittering behind thick lashes. My insides quiver with envy as she continues toward the back where the words Mirror Room hang over black doors. To the side of the door is a solo number two in silver.

I want to know that feeling so badly.

Once they are gone, I’m left alone again.

I have to do this. I can’t turn back. My brother will be pissed, but Harlon needs to learn I’m not a schoolgirl in need of protection anymore.

I slide the newspaper from beneath my arm and turn to the half-page ad to read it over again.

E xotic location, self-discovery, full display. Discover your wilder side. Apply at The Gilded Key Society.

N o other wording. Just the logo with a single key looped through the B of the name.

Self-discovery could literally mean anything, but it has to be something better than sitting in my penthouse suite waiting for something to happen to me. I’ve taken all the online schooling I can stomach. If I want a life beyond a computer screen, I’ll have to steal it.

I might as well start here. I refuse to meet my next birthday a freaking inexperienced virgin and this might be the answer.

“No, it is the answer. Confidence, Belle. Don’t start doubting yourself now.”

As long as it is not a cleaning position. Ugh. That would suck. I’m done playing the part of some perfect never-do-wrong princess in my brother’s eyes.

I finger the end of my wig and the hair that lies hidden beneath to make sure nothing is out of place. A couple of tugs on the low-cut frame of my dress tuck the girls back into their prison of silk and thread.

I look around for someone to point me in the right direction. Not finding anyone I continue down a long hallway in the direction the woman and her men took.

Dark marble turns to black carpet, masking my steps the deeper I venture. Passing the Mirror Room or room two depending on how you read it, I see another hallway that branches off. I head that way. There has to be someone who can tell me about this ad.

At the end of the hallway, I see the bold title “management” in gold lettering over polished black oak—I sense a running theme of black, gold and antique and it speaks of money. Lots of it.

I raise a hand and knock on the door. There’s no one else here so I guess not many people are looking to discover themselves. Yay me, right? We shall see…

A raspy, deep voice filters through the thick black wood. I reach for the gold handle and just as I turn it the door wooshes open and the darkest set of brown eyes laser through me.

“Yes?” he rumbles briskly, and I swear with a hand to the heavens my heart drops to the floor. And so does my brain.

I’ve never stuttered a day in my life, but my tongue seems to have frozen in my mouth at the sight of the man—no, beast—glaring down at me. Every muscle twitch sends off a ripple effect through the other muscles. He’s like a buffet of muscle wrapped in navy-blue cotton at the top and all sexy wranglers on the bottom. And are those cowboy boots?

“I…uh. Hi, um…”

Swoon, baby swoon.

All I know is Armani and Dolce & Gabbana. The men I’m around would die before letting themselves look like a cowboy.

But fuuuck he pulls it off in spades.

“Ma’am?” he drawls.

I hold up the newspaper when my tongue reconnects with my brainwaves. “I’m here for this.”

Those dark, piercing eyes touch every part of my body but instead of coming back to rest on my boobs, this man’s gaze finds mine. We stand there for a few seconds just looking at each other.

“Okay, now you have me worried. Do I have broccoli in my teeth or something?”

Thick black brows pull together to make a tiny crease between the cowboy’s eyes. “What?” he grunts, looking absolutely adorable when confused. And that’s when I notice the slight twang. Now the cowboy boots in a big city make sense.

I shrug a little, which makes my breasts sway in this ridiculously tiny dress. The movement catches his attention.

I thought his eyes were dark before. Now they are impossibly black and lined in shades of amber. The sheen of hunger that crosses his expression catches me off guard and I inhale. Every inch of my lungs fills with the clean scent of his soap and undercurrents of what has to be the smoothest aftershave.

Suave, masculine and intoxicating.

I squelch the urge to ask for his name and number for a quick hookup. I have to stick to my plan. Not jump the first good-looking man with a…my eyes drift down his well-honed body noting all the right dips and angles. And the sizable package tucked behind all that denim.

Stick to your plan, Belle.

He clears his throat and I snap out of my dirty thoughts.

“I’m uh, sorry. I uh, I mean, the way you’re looking at me makes me think I am either your worst idea knocking on your door, or I have my lunch in my teeth.”

He huffs a sexy sort of chuckle that makes my insides quiver.

“I’m Belle.” I offer my hand. Calluses glide over smooth skin and for every inch of real estate he claims under his warm touch the hotter my insides turn.

What is this guy? A walking sex factory? He’s got the looks, the voice, and the strong grip made for a woman’s body.

Strong fingers wrap around my hand, and he gives a light squeeze. He’s holding back on his grip but the way his eyes devour my mouth and cleavage is a whole other story.

He drops my hand and steps back for me to enter. The room is painted in black—shocker—with gold accented everything. From the high-hanging chandelier to the gold light fixtures on the walls. Even the elegant floral design etched into the walls. If it’s not black, it’s gold. Even the large desk taking up a large portion of the back half of the office matches the decor.

My gaze zeroes in the sexy cowboy and I nearly fall back from the intensity in the dark pools when our eyes connect. I lick my suddenly dry lips. My dress suddenly feels like way too much clothing, and I find myself wondering if his lips are as kissable as they look.

Some days I wish I was the good girl. Meek and mousy. But nope. Not me. I’m full steam ahead and doubting myself is rarely the norm.

“This way.”

Today is one of those times I wish I could stop myself from being so eager to get into trouble. I guess it doesn’t matter. I don’t have time to stop and ask questions as I follow.