Prologue #2
“I’ll need to see some ID,” he insists, though he keeps his tone perfectly level—not an ounce of suspicion slipping in. Very professional.
“Oh, I…” I pat my pea coat’s pockets, knowing damn well that cash is the only thing I’ll find in them. “I must have left it at home…”
“It’s fine, Dom.” The deep voice that cuts in beside me sends a shiver down my spine. “This one’s on me. I’ll take one as well.”
The bartender doesn’t hesitate.
With a curt nod, he turns to pour my shot, and I take a shaky breath in through my nose before I look at the man who came to my rescue.
My heart stutters painfully.
He’s tall. I can tell, despite the fact that he’s reclining on the stool next to me, his elbows propped against the bar.
His suit coat is open, the top buttons of his dress shirt undone in a sexy, casual display that shows off the tips of a few curling tattoos on his chest.
Judging by the strong angle of his jaw and the stubble that darkens it, I’d wager he’s old enough to grow a full beard—in his mid-twenties if I had to guess.
Definitely older than me—old enough to be drinking the booze he’s ordered.
He’s still young enough to be a bit on the lean side of muscular, however—and he’s dangerously handsome.
His dark eyes act like mirrors in the club’s dim light, somehow fathomless, and yet, at the same time, they reflect the world back at me like the surface of a still lake.
His lips curve, tilting into a charming, lopsided grin that devastates me.
He looks perfectly at ease, even smug, like he can read my lie before it’s left my lips.
“Here to experience your first time?” he teases, his eyes dancing as he takes me in, inch by seductive inch.
Do I have a sign plastered to my forehead saying, “I’m a virgin”? And even if I did, who is this guy to assume something so personal about me? What kind of question is that, anyway?
Righteous indignation rises inside me as my face bursts into flames.
“Excuse me?” I demand, my chin tilting up as my spine stiffens.
“That is none of your business—even if you are buying me a drink,” I snap.
“But if you must know—you presumptuous ass—it’s definitely not my first time. I’ve had loads of sex.”
I’m about to lay into him about how a modicum of manners might increase his very low chances of finding a woman willing to sleep with him when his low chuckle brings me up short.
Does he think he’s funny?
Is he toying with me, laughing at me for getting offended by his crude, offensive question?
I mean, yes, we’re in a sex club—about which I know next to nothing—but still, I would have thought a little bit of polite conversation wouldn’t be too much to expect.
If this is what Kelly and Hannah consider godlike, maybe I don’t need to see what it’s about, after all.
I start to slide off my seat when he speaks.
“While that’s good to know,” Tall, Dark, and Arrogant says, his wolfish smile deepening until a wicked dimple appears at the peak of his crooked smile, “I meant, is this your first time at Portentia’s?”
“Oh.” I suddenly wish I had the ability to turn invisible—or at least could crawl under a table and die. “Right. Um, yes. First time.”
Thankfully, Dom returns at that moment, setting a generous shot of whiskey in front of me and a second one in front of my rescuer-slash-the-man-I-just-called-a-presumptuous-ass-for-apparently-no-reason.
Snatching up the lowball glass, I take a massive gulp—and fight the urge to cough and spew the liquor as it burns down my throat like liquid fire.
Eyes watering as I cringe, I cover my mouth to keep the whiskey down.
Then I realize the tall, dark stranger is holding up his own glass as if to toast me.
That one eyebrow climbs higher up his forehead, disappearing beneath his perfectly styled black locks.
And that lopsided grin straightens into a brilliant, white-toothed smile.
Forcing the liquid down my throat, I clink my near-empty glass against his. “Cheers,” I say, avoiding my family’s usual toast of sláinte in a weak attempt to hide my Irish roots.
“Saluti,” the stranger agrees, the Italian silky smooth as it slides from his tongue.
As I polish off my whiskey, he sips his, watching me with open interest.
I’m about two seconds from bailing, turning tail and sprinting from the club before I make an even bigger fool of myself than I already have.
That would probably be the smartest thing I’ve done all night.
Clearly, I’m out of my depths here, and the longer I stay, the more likely I am to put my foot in my mouth again—or worse, draw enough attention that someone recognizes who I am.
But when the handsome stranger beside me sets down his glass, his head cocking as he studies me curiously, I have this inexplicable urge to stay, to hear the question lingering in his eyes.
“Tell me, what brings you here tonight…?”
His question lingers, waiting for me to fill in the blank as he silently asks for my name, and my heart stutters.
“Aisling,” I provide. “Just… Aisling.” It’s probably a mistake to give him my real name, but I’ve already forgotten the alias I’d intended on using, and I’m too tongue-tied to come up with one on the spot.
“Aisling,” he repeats, his voice caressing my name like it’s the sweetest of desserts. “A beautiful name. I’m Rafael. My friends call me Raf.”
God, even his name sounds sexy. Rafael, like the archangel—or the famous Renaissance painter.
Somehow, I get the feeling he’s more than just an artist in name. And I want to find out.
He holds out his hand, his skin a rich tan beneath the neon lights, and mine is startlingly pale in comparison when I reach out to take it. But rather than shake, like I expect, he curls my fingers around his—and lifts my knuckles to his mouth.
Electricity jolts up my arm and straight to my heart as his lips brush softly across my fingers, his eyes holding mine the entire time.
Then slowly, he releases me, his amusement growing as my mute silence stretches.
He asked you a question, I remind myself, but it takes me a moment to recall what it was. “Just curious,” I breathe. “A few of my friends were talking about the club not too long ago, so I thought I’d check it out.”
There. Finally, something that sounds casual.
I breathe a sigh of relief and feel the trickle of warmth in my veins as the shot of whiskey starts to kick in.
That’s all I needed.
A little liquid courage.
“Well, I’m glad you did,” Raf says, his dark eyes playful yet somehow spine-tinglingly intense. “Would you like someone to show you around?” he offers. “I’d be happy to serve as your… guide for the night.”
Is that how it’s done? Just sit at the bar, catch a man’s eye, then let him… lead the way?
My palms feel clammy with nervous anticipation.
I want to know. I want to learn what all the fuss is about, have my own experiences so I’m not just the innocent little virgin who does nothing more than become the perfect little wife.
But God, I can barely keep my heart from leaping out of my throat.
And it takes all my courage to swallow the racing organ back down to my chest so I can speak. “I think I’d like that,” I say with far more confidence than I feel.
With a nod, Raf stands, unfolding to his full, impressive height, and he offers me his hand once more.
I take it, allowing him to help me off my stool, and warmth pulses through my core as his other hand finds the small of my back.
He guides me through the club’s spacious main room, leaning close to murmur near my ear as he gestures to the secluded alcoves. “Those areas are open seating, first come, first served,” he explains, his warm breath caressing my skin. “If you don’t mind something a bit more… inclusive.”
I swallow hard, seeing what he means as my eyes land on a couple that have stripped naked, the man bending the woman over the table at the center of their alcove as he thrusts inside her for all to see.
Several people linger near the alcove’s entrance, watching, drinks in hand.
One bystander has his hand down his pants, rubbing himself openly.
My mouth goes dry, the heat climbing up my neck until I’m certain my cheeks must be nearing the color of a tomato, and my eyes drop to the ground.
I am so not ready for that.
“Don’t worry,” Raf assures me, gently steering me toward the back of the room and a hallway at the far corner that I hadn’t noticed until now. “If you’d prefer something more private, there are rooms for that as well.”
The club’s music becomes more muted as we step into the purple-lit hall.
Doors with numbers line both walls.
An elevator stands at the far end, a hulking guard looming beside it.
That seems to be where we’re headed as Raf guides me down the hallway.
I catch the sound of soft moans and deep, guttural grunts from within the rooms.
Pulse racing, I suppress a shudder as goosebumps ripple across my flesh.
Everything about this place oozes sex.
It’s the strangest mix of sophistication and sin, so far from the rough-and-tumble yet friendly bar scene I’m familiar with.
But even around all the rowdy, alcohol-brazen men who frequent my family’s establishments, I’ve never felt more vulnerable than I do now.
At my family’s bars, everyone knows who I am.
No man would dare touch me—not even a hand on the small of my back—and my brothers are always there to ensure that.
Perhaps that’s why Raf’s touch feels like it’s searing into my flesh now, despite the thick layer of my jacket that still separates us.
It makes my stomach quiver with nervous anticipation.
“We’ll take my usual room, Victorio,” Raf says as we reach the far end of the hall.
The guard grunts, pressing the call button and waving a key card in front of a black pad.
The numbers tick down above the elevator doors, indicating its descent, and I glance back down the hallway, toward the exit, as we wait.
This could be my last chance to turn back.
But I don’t want to.
That’s when I hear the muffled sound of a slap and a high, pained cry.