Chapter 2
two
Maya Swallows
A good girl about to do
something very bad.
Or something very brave?
Maybe both…
What the heck am I doing?
I’ve clearly lost my mind.
Or maybe I’ve entered an alternate reality, where good girls from rural Maine visit fancy, New York City sex clubs on Christmas Eve all the time.
Or maybe this is a dream, and I’m about to wake up in my cozy bed in Sea Breeze, where I’ve slept alone every night for the past twenty-four years.
Only, I don’t want to wake up.
I’m a lobster out of water in a place like this, and more than a little scared, but also…fascinated.
I’ve never been anywhere like The Garden of Earthly Delights.
It’s nothing like I imagined. Thanks to my friend Sydney and her billionaire boyfriend I know a little bit about the preferences of posh Manhattanites. On the cab ride here from my dingy, Midtown hotel, I was picturing gleaming hardwood floors, sky-high ceilings, tasteful modern art, and those heavy velvet drapes I’ve only ever seen in museums and Sydney’s fancy Union Square penthouse.
The only thing I nailed was the drapes.
There are deep blue, velvet drapes everywhere, cloaking the entryway in shadows, muffling the sounds from deeper inside the club. The only thing I can hear is faint jazz music and the occasional tinkling of glass.
Thank God…
If they’d thrown me straight into a room filled with half-dressed people moaning while they did intimate things in public, I might have lost my nerve and run for the door.
Nope. No running, no matter what, the inner voice pipes up as I fidget on the thickly-padded bench where the bouncer instructed me to wait for a hostess. Not even if Weaver’s friend can’t help with your “special request,” and tells you to learn what you can from lurking in corners and be out by one, before the really kinky stuff starts.
You will lurk.
You will learn.
Heck, maybe you’ll even meet someone you like enough to experiment a little…
My cheeks burn at the thought while my stomach churns with a mixture of terror and something I can’t quite name.
But it feels a little like excitement.
Or food poisoning.
Or a tumor about to explode in my upper intestine.
I’m not entirely sure.
But it’s okay that my insides are in knots. Normal, even! Until tonight, the spiciest event in my personal history was the time Sully, Elaina, and I went to a male strip club during our senior trip to Atlantic City. I spent the entire show giggling my head off, until the sexy firefighter knelt down to waggle his “hose” inches from my face, and I blushed so hard I almost passed out.
Sully had to haul me out to the lobby for a breath of fresh air. There, Elaina put my head between my knees and rubbed my back until I stopped hyperventilating and insisted they go back inside and enjoy themselves.
I spent the rest of the show in the lobby with the cranky-looking bouncer, leaning against the wall, listening to the happy shrieks and music from inside, torn between feeling sad that I was missing out and relieved that there were no thinly-covered penises in my vicinity.
At eighteen, I was not ready for sex or anything sex adjacent. I was way too shy, and I’d seen firsthand how badly teenage romances could go awry. My cousin’s long-term boyfriend dumped her at seventeen, just in time for her to give birth to their child alone, and my older sister Mallory had dated every abusive loser in a seventy-mile radius.
Only they didn’t seem like losers at first…
Watching Mallory’s boyfriends go from sweet and attentive to screaming at her in the driveway at midnight taught me a healthy respect for the changeable nature of men. And with a course load chocked full of AP classes designed to ensure I graduated with both my high school diploma and my associate’s degree in business management by the end of my senior year, I didn’t have time for stressful or unpredictable things. I was happy to stick to hanging out with my girlfriends and binge- watching episodes of House Hunters on nights when Sully and Elaina were out with their men of the moment.
I didn’t start thinking seriously about kissing until I was twenty, and for the first year of my “awakening,” I was content to read steamy romance novels and enjoy quality alone time with my vibrator.
I was twenty-one by the time I finally started flirting with men at the pub. I was twenty-one and a half when I realized no one in Sea Breeze wanted anything to do with sweet little Maya Swallows in that way. Boys my age want to be my friend, and older guys want to protect me like a sister. Even the tourists seemed to find it easy to steer clear of more than a kiss or two on the beach after the Friday night lobster boil.
In three years of dedicated effort, I’ve barely made it to third base.
Which is why I’m here. I’m twenty-four years old, for goodness sakes. I’m tired of waiting for Fate to throw me a bone. It’s high time I took matters into my own hands and tracked down the bone myself.
The thought makes me think of boners, which makes me snort with nervous laughter, which makes me cough, ensuring I’m red-faced and wiping tears from the corners of my eyes when the hostess materializes from the velvet curtains like a supermodel genie emerging from a lamp.
“Are you all right?” she asks, her big brown eyes soft with concern.
I nod and press a hand to my chest, fighting to regain control. “Yes. Thank you, I just—” I cough again before sucking in a breath and holding it for a beat. When I’m certain the storm has passed, I exhale and offer a sheepish, “Sorry about that.”
The insanely beautiful woman smiles warmly, her teeth as bright as the shimmery fabric of her gauzy white dress. “No need to apologize. I’ll get you a glass of water when we get to Ms. Kincaid’s office.” She motions toward the deep V in the curtains to our right, where another beautifully carved door is tucked into the shadows. “Shall we?”
“Oh. Yes. Thank you. Sure.” I gulp and stand, my hands fluttering nervously at my sides, two virginal birds certain they’re headed to the slaughter.
The hostess rests a slim hand on my shoulder, her touch cool through the black spandex of my borrowed gown. “Don’t worry,” she assures me softly. “We’ll be going through the bar to the back stairs. There’s a mandatory orientation before guests visit the garden level. We’ll make sure you’re comfortable and prepared before you join the fun.” She bobs an easy shoulder. “And if you’d prefer to spend the night in the bar or in the library with a good book, that’s fine, too. We have an incredible collection of novels and a fantastic little fireplace. It’s especially nice this time of year, with all the evergreen boughs hung around the mantle. I’m Raven, by the way.”
I nod, grateful for her kindness. “Thank you. That sounds wonderful.”
And it does sound wonderful. I love a night snuggled up with a good book beside a cozy fire.
But I’m not here to stay in my comfort zone.
I’m here to be a brave new Maya.
With that in mind, I follow Raven through the heavy door, into a room that smells of mulling spices and expensive whiskey. As my eyes adjust to the brighter light, I take in what has to be the most beautiful bar I’ve ever seen.
Soaring ceilings painted with clouds and cherubs float above walls covered in gleaming gold leaf and mirrors cut into geometric art deco patterns. A massive curved bar dominates one wall, its dark mahogany surface polished to a mirror shine and backed by shelves of glittering bottles that stretch all the way to the ceiling.
Crystal decanters catch the light from several chandeliers, sending rainbow prisms dancing across the black marble floor. Men and women in effortlessly chic evening wear lounge on velvet banquettes or perch on brass bar stools, their quiet conversation creating a low, intimate hum that makes my skin tingle.
The library we pass through next is even more impressive. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line every wall, filled with leather-bound volumes in muted jewel tones. A spiral staircase made of wrought iron curves up to a second-level gallery, where more books and intimate seating areas wait in shadowy alcoves. Here, the air smells of leather, old paper, and something spicy and sensual.
Maybe incense?
Or maybe it’s the cologne the gorgeous older man beside the fire is wearing…
I gape at him as we near his table, my mouth falling open as I take in his tousled brown hair with the hint of gray at the temples, broad shoulders, and perfectly tailored suit. He looks like a movie star from a bygone age. and I’m possessed by the certainty that I’d like to sit close to him.
Very close.
So close I’d know for sure if that delicious sweet-tobacco, clove, and leather scent was coming from him or the bowls of herbs on the mantel…
As we pass by, his gaze locks with mine for a split second, but that’s all it takes to electrify me from head to toe. My pulse jumps in my throat, my breath catches, and suddenly I’m positive he feels it too, this instant, powerful curiosity.
He wants to know me as much as I want to know him.
And he wouldn’t mind if I pulled up the chair across from his and joined him for a drink…or something more.
A beat later, Raven turns left, and the gorgeous man is behind us, but I swear, I can feel his eyes on me, burning between my shoulder blades, making me keenly aware of my dress’s low back and every inch of bare skin along the hollow of my spine.
Wow…
I never expected anything like that to happen tonight. Nothing like that has ever happened to me, not in my entire life. I was beginning to think I wasn’t an “instant chemistry” kind of girl.
But maybe I am.
And maybe sticking around the club after my meeting would be okay, after all…
My plan was to speak to Twyla about my special request, hopefully get confirmation that I’ve been approved for one of her “top-secret” services, and head back to my hotel to recover from the trauma of doing hard new things.
But this isn’t nearly as scary as I thought it would be.
Most of the patrons seem older than I am by a good ten or fifteen years, but I’ve always been more comfortable with older people. According to my parents, I was born an old soul, always more at ease in the kitchen chatting with my adult relatives at family gatherings than outside running wild with my cousins.
And these people seem nice. Their smiles as they chat are genuine, their laughter is warm. They seem like lovely, ordinary people enjoying a festive Christmas Eve with friends…or reading alone in sexy solitude like a hero ripped straight from my romantic fantasies.
Suddenly, I feel silly for assuming The Garden’s patrons would be sex-crazed deviants desperate for a carnal fix.
After all, Weaver isn’t a deviant.
I mean, he probably is in the bedroom—the look in his eyes when he watches Sully cross a room can get pretty predatory at times—but that’s only part of his personality. There’s a lot more to Weaver.
Maybe there’s more to me, too. Maybe I can be the good, dutiful, responsible girl my parents raised me to be and a wild child who approaches gorgeous older men at sex clubs…
Sex club.
I’m really inside a sex club .
The bizarre reality hits all over again, making my heart beat faster as Raven presses a code into a keypad hidden behind a fold in yet another heavy velvet curtain, opening a door concealed in the wall’s wooden panel. With a bracing breath, I follow her up the stairs, doing my best not to hyperventilate.
This is really happening. I’m about to ask a complete stranger to help me hire a prostitute, which is not only scandalous but completely illegal.
If I’m caught, I could go to jail for this.
Or prison. Maybe for years .
And yes, Weaver is probably right—the police likely have more important things to do than prosecute a shy, twenty-something woman looking for a safe way to learn about sex from a respectful, vetted, disease-free older man—but still!
This is not like me! Not at all.
“Ms. Kincaid will be with you shortly.” Raven gestures to a plush leather chair in what appears to be a normal office, albeit with some very provocative art on the walls. I don’t think a single person in those paintings is wearing clothes, and I’m pretty sure one of the women is making out with a minotaur. “Would you like something to drink while you wait? Water? Tea? Glass of wine? Bourbon on ice?”
“No, thank you.” My voice is a strangled squeak, but I force a smile and try to appear chill as Raven closes the door.
The second she’s gone, I sink into the chair and drop my head into my hands, pulling in deep breaths, struggling to remember everything Weaver told me about how to handle myself tonight…
One month earlier … .
It’s Thanksgiving at the Swallows’ compound and all my best friends are here to share the end of the day with my family, the way they have every year since we were kids. Elaina and Sully do an early afternoon meal with their families, then head over to my place for our traditional evening meal, dessert buffet, and game night.
As usual, the chardonnay is flowing freely and the turkey is running late. But unlike seasons past, I’ve spent the past two hours watching my girlfriends canoodle with their sexy boyfriends and feeling increasingly alone.
This is it.
I’m about to be left behind.
If I don’t find a way to grow up, glow up, and find a relationship of my own, I’m going to be the odd person out for the rest of my life. Which would be fine if I didn’t want a sexy boyfriend, but I do.
I really, really do.
Watching Gideon’s big hand curve around the small of Sydney’s back as they stand chatting with my cousins in the living room is enough to make my entire body ache with longing. And when Weaver kisses Sully’s forehead before gathering their appetizer plates and heading into the kitchen, I’m seized with the powerful certainty that I have to do something.
Now.
Right now.
Following Weaver into the kitchen, I’m relieved to find my mom and aunts still in the sitting room, killing time playing bridge until it’s time to put the finishing touches on the side dishes.
If I hurry, there will be no one to overhear the madness about to come out of my mouth.
“I need your help,” I blurt out, my pulse already racing. “With something…kind of crazy.”
Weaver glances up from where he’s just finished sliding the dirty dishes into the already overflowing machine. “Crazy, huh?” His lips hook up on one side as he closes the washer. “Is this going to get me in trouble with Sully?”
“No.” I shake my head, blinking as the room spins a little.
Wow. I have had a lot of chardonnay.
But that’s okay. That’s what had to happen to give me the courage to say the crazy stuff out loud.
“But you have to promise not to tell her that I told you that she told me what she told me,” I babble, words coming fast with a mixture of nerves and fear that we’ll be interrupted before I get to the big ask. “I promised I wouldn’t tell, but I have to tell. I would usually never break a promise, but I’m desperate and afraid I’ll never get another chance at something like this if I don’t ask this favor now.”
His smile fades, his expression growing serious as he nods. “All right. Shoot. I’m happy to help if I can.”
He’s telling the truth.
He loves Sully so much that her friends are his friends now. Weaver cares about Elaina, Sydney, and me, and wants our dreams to come true, I truly believe that.
The knowledge helps keep me from blushing hard enough to catch fire as I explain what Sully told me about the sex club they visited in New York.
And about his friend, who she was pretty sure ran a high-class escort service on the side, although Weaver refused to confirm or deny her hunch the night they were there doing wicked things to each other in a secret room…
“So, if that’s true,” I exhale in a rush as Weaver continues to stand staring at me with his inscrutable gray eyes. “Well, then I would like to…you know.”
His brows lift the slightest bit. “No, I don’t know.”
I swallow around the anxiety knot in my throat. “Well, if it is true, and the people she employs are safe and nice and trustworthy—and not too terribly expensive—then I would…” I take a fortifying gulp of my chardonnay, blurting out as I swallow, “I’d like to hire someone to show me things. Sexual things.”
His expression shifts only the tiniest bit, but Weaver is a master of the stone face. That twitch around his eyes was the equivalent of a jaw drop from anyone else.
I hurry to assure him, “I’ve thought about this, I promise. I know what I’m asking.” The wine makes the words tumble out faster. “I’m twenty-four years old, with no prospects on the horizon, and I’m dying to know what I’m missing. But I can’t find out here. Everyone knows everyone, and everyone thinks I’m a boring little mouse with the sex vibe of a bag of animal crackers.”
“Animal crackers?” he echoes dryly. “I doubt that. You’re an attractive young woman, Maya. Not to mention kind and a wonderful friend.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes, the way I do every time some well-meaning member of my family says the same sort of thing. “Thank you, but no one around here shares your opinion, and I’m too much of a scaredy cat to try to pick up a stranger in Boston or New York City or anywhere else. Men are dangerous, Weaver. I’ve listened to all the murder podcasts. I know the statistics. In the U.S., men are the leading killer of women under the age of forty-four. Killer , Weaver. I could be killed trying to find a boyfriend or by my boyfriend if he turns out to be as awful as my sister’s ex-husband. And I’m not ready to roll the dice on that. I just want to satisfy my curiosity with someone professional and…safe.”
A darkness moves behind his eyes, but I know I’m not the thing that’s made him angry. “I’m sorry you have to consider things like that when looking for a partner. Men should be fucking better.”
“I know, but a lot of them aren’t, so…” I trail off with a shrug. “So maybe it’s not totally crazy to do something like this?” I glance toward the front room, ensuring we’re still alone before adding in a soft hiss, “Even though it’s technically illegal, and I guess I could go to jail if I get caught?”
“I’m sure the police have better things to do than prosecute a young woman looking for a safe way to engage with a man on her own terms,” he says, sending a flutter of hope through my chest even though he still looks decidedly less-than-thrilled by our conversation. “Does Sully know about this plan?"
“No.” I shake my head. “Like I said, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that I knew about the club or your friend. And I don’t want her to know. I don’t really want you to know, either, but you’re the only person who might be able to connect me with this woman so…”
He sighs as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m probably going to regret this, but…all right. I’ll set up a meeting.”
I bite my lip and stand up straighter. “Really? You will?”
“I will. When are you available?”
“Christmas Eve through New Year’s Day,” I say, hurrying on at his surprised look. “It’s the only time I can get away from the rental business. I’ll be in New York City for the entire week. I told my mom I’m cat sitting for a friend of Sydney’s. She wasn’t happy about me missing the holidays with the family, but she knows how much I love cats. And I told her I’d take Pudge with me so she wouldn’t have to cat-sit my cat while I was cat sitting someone else’s cat so…”
He sighs again. “All right. Fine. I’ll make a call and text you the details.”
I set my wine on the island, threading my fingers together in a single grateful fist. “Oh, thank you, Weaver. Thank you so much. You won’t regret it, I promise.”
Now …
But will I regret it, I wonder as the office door opens, startling me out of the memory and banishing worries about how Pudge, my orange tabby, is doing back at the hotel with the clanging pipes.
Twyla Kincaid ambles in, the picture of leonine grace in a perfectly tailored beige suit. Her golden hair falls in shiny waves down to the middle of her back and her makeup is applied with a light touch that leaves her looking natural and effortlessly pulled together.
She’s nothing like what I expected, either.
She looks more like the CEO of a luxury brand than a madam.
She studies me for a moment before offering a crooked grin. “Well, well, I wasn’t sure you’d show, Weaver’s friend. But you did. I’m proud of you. It isn’t easy, taking your destiny into your own hands as a woman, especially when you’re only twenty-three.”
“Twenty-four,” I wheeze, having trouble drawing a full breath. “And my name is Maya.”
Twyla’s smile widens and her hazel eyes dance. “Twenty-four. Wonderful. Twenty-four is the perfect age for a woman to realize she’s the only one who’s going to make her dreams come true.” She clasps her hands together. “Now, let's see what we can do to take care of you, Maya. Tell me exactly what you’re looking for. I want to know all your hopes, dreams, and fantasies. Don’t hold anything back and don’t be embarrassed. This is a safe space, and I promise you, I’ve heard it all before.”
I swallow hard and gather my courage, pushing aside the last of my nerves and doubt.
I’ve come this far.
No turning back now…