Chapter Seventeen
Sophie
My heart is in my throat as I sit beside Carlo in the back of the taxi on our way to Locked.
Before Spencer got on his flight, he texted Carlo asking him to meet him at the club tonight. Apparently, my husband asked his friend to take over his club shares this morning.
It’s a giant leap forward for Spencer. I couldn’t believe it when Carlo told me, but now I’m experiencing a sense of guilt about our plan.
Perhaps I should just let him resolve things the best way he can; maybe our intervention isn’t such a good idea.
“Are we doing the right thing?” I turn to ask Carlo.
A brief flash of frustration crosses his face, but his words are calm and understanding.
“Bella, your plan will definitely get you noticed.”
He picks up my hand, running his thumb over my wrist.
“We both understand this carries risks, but there’s no question about his fascination with seeing us together again.” His face lights up with a boyish grin. “He was fucking gagging for it when I spoke to him on the phone earlier.”
I take a long blink.
“It’s not a game,” I moan in frustration. “Spencer needs to see me the way he used to see me, not just as the mother of his child.”
“When he sees you dressed like that, it’s going to blow his tiny mind,” he grins.
I try to allow Carlo’s words to permeate my mind and relax my shoulders.
Our arrangements for tonight were last minute. Carlo took me out for lunch. When he received Spencer’s text, he insisted on buying me an outfit suitable for tonight.
We agreed I needed something that would get me noticed—sexy, but classic, nothing too obvious.
When we entered the boutique—where in another lifetime I was a frequent customer—Carlo spoke to the assistant, describing exactly what he was imagining. She instantly fell under the Moretti spell, peering at me with a good-natured envy on her face.
Like a magician, she pulled a dress that was almost exactly what he described. His eyes twinkled as he urged me to try it on.
A few minutes later, I was standing staring at myself. I hadn’t worn anything so revealing since my pregnancy. I pulled back my shoulders, trying to summon the courage to go out and show Carlo.
The dress is crimson, the deep cowl neck dipping almost to my navel, hinting at the swell of my breasts beneath its folds. A boned front with a lightly adhesive backing should hold—until I want it to move.
If the front is sexy, the back is criminal, plunging low enough that in the mirror I catch the first curve of my ass.
Carlo was very clear that he wanted me to wear something that showed my lily tattoo, knowing the moment certain people see it, they’ll automatically link me to Spencer.
He and I had matching tattoos in the same position when our daughter was born. Spencer paid my former boss to create something unique to us. It’s beautiful; I love it, but the image is distinctive. Once you’ve seen it, you won’t forget it.
As the cab draws up outside the club, a building I’ve stared at in photographs for the last couple of weeks comes into view, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my raging torrent of nerves.
Tonight, could either make or break my relationship. Suffice to say; I’m shitting myself.
Once he’s paid for the cab, Carlo opens the door and turns to offer me his hand, supporting me in my sky-high heels as I step out onto the pavement.
A warm gust of air flaps around the fabric of my skirt, and I drop my hands to make sure it doesn’t fly up. I’m not wearing underwear, and suddenly that decision makes me feel very vulnerable.
Underwear seemed pointless considering where we’re going. Besides, I didn’t have any panties low-rise enough that they wouldn’t peek above the back of this gorgeous dress.
“You look insanely beautiful, Bella. You will spellbind every man in that place the second they see you.”
I push the corners of my mouth up into a nervous smile, allowing my anxieties to unravel a little.
“Try to relax. You need to at least give the impression you’re enjoying yourself,” he murmurs, while winking flirtatiously.
I allow him to lead me toward an austere looking, highly polished black door. It’s the sort of door I’d expect at a solicitor’s office. Fancy, yet inconspicuous.
He scans his watch against a small screen, and the door slowly swings open.
Carlo squeezes my hand, a silent gesture of support.
We step into a very smart-looking foyer. This wasn’t on the website, and I don’t know why it’s flawlessly styled. I cast my eyes around; it’s exquisite and immediately gives a sense of warmth. Like a boutique hotel, not austere or pretentious as I expected it would be.
An immaculately presented lady catches my eye. She’s sitting behind a glossy desk, wearing a gorgeous black silky top. Her hair swept up into a glamorous updo. The only slight hint her outfit offers that she’s working for a sex club is her luscious red lips, which have the most perfect cupid’s bow.
The moment she sees Carlo, the cupid’s bow stretches in a welcoming smile.
“Good evening, Mr. Moretti. Welcome back.”
“Good evening, Carmella; it’s a pleasure to be back. Allow me to introduce my date for this evening, Mrs. Sophie Barton-Jones.”
Her eyes instantly enlarge until they’re practically bulging.
“As in Mrs. Spencer Barton-Jones?” she demands.
Her gaze drops, examining me.
“The very same,” I respond, steeling my spine and trying hard to project a level of confidence I’m not experiencing.
“Wow!” she says with an air of wonder, standing to extend me her hand. “I am delighted to meet you. Mrs. Barton-Jones, your dress is beautiful.”
My lips curl into a broad smile, and the knots of tension in my shoulder loosen a touch.
“Thank you.” I like this girl; she seems genuine.
“Is he here yet?” Carlo asks our hostess.
She shakes her head. “I haven’t seen him, but he might have come in through the office entrance.” Her slim shoulders shrug apologetically, and she peers down to the screen on her desk. “Claudette’s in the bar. She’ll be able to tell you.”
He bobs his head, satisfied with her response.
“Do you need me to sign Sophie in as a guest, or is she exempt?” he asks, cheekily.
She grins again and winks at me.
“If you’ll sign the visitor’s book, so that we know you’re in the building for safety reasons, but under the circumstances, I think we can forgo the usual paperwork.”
Carmella taps an iPad, passing it to me with a stylus.
“Just sign in the box, please. I can fill the rest in for you, Mrs. Barton-Jones.”
I smile, amused to be getting the royal treatment.
“Sophie,” I correct her, and scribble my signature on the box she gestured to.
Once I’ve passed the stylus back, Carlo takes my hand again and leads me toward a set of double doors lined with pretty pale pink velour fabric. As we approach, they slowly slide open.
“Ready?” Carlo murmurs.
“As I’ll ever be,” I mumble through gritted teeth.
My stomach is dancing with nerves and sparks of excitement. The sensation is familiar. It reminds me of the emotions I experienced entering the clubs with my husband.
A sultry rhythm surrounds us as we enter a room decorated to resemble a high-class champagne bar. I instantly understood where the inspiration for this space came from. It’s almost a replica of the bar at the hotel Spencer and I stayed at on honeymoon.
The familiarity helps to ease my anxiety. The color palette here is soft, earthy shades, with the beat of the music being reminiscent of a heartbeat, just enough volume to be felt by the body without being too loud that you can’t converse without shouting.
I’ve seen this space on the website, but the photographs there don’t do it justice.
Aside from the odd girl sitting on a man’s lap, we could be in any of a hundred bars in this city.
Planting and sculpture create intimate seating areas. It feels natural, like a garden, but inside. Weirdly it’s tactile in here. I want to touch the plants to see if they’re real.
Most of the tables are full, and there are significantly more men in here than women. The moment we step inside, dozens of eyes turn to us.
A highly charged atmosphere ripples through the space.
With his hand hovering over the skin on my back, Carlo guides me up some steps to the raised bar. My current position leaves me vulnerable, as if I am on display for others to evaluate.
I realize that’s his intention. He wants me to be seen.
“Let’s have a drink before we go through,” Carlo murmurs, his mouth closer to my ear than he’d normally allow himself. Possessive. Making certain everyone in the room knows I’m his.
I nod, pleased that he knows me well enough to be aware that I need a little Dutch courage before going any further.
“Martini?” he prompts.
I smile and nod, pleased that he remembers my drink of choice, even though I haven’t had one for years. Since having Lily, it’s rare for any alcohol to pass my lips at all.
No sooner had we sat down than a stunning lady with long dark hair and gorgeous, dewy-looking olive skin sidled up to us.
She’s wearing a gold satin slip dress that fits her so perfectly it looks custom made.
Her nipples are poking through the sheer fabric to make it obvious she skipped a bra tonight, too.
“Good evening, Carlo,” she purrs, leaning in to kiss him on both cheeks in a typically European way.
“Claudette,” he murmurs against her cheek.
He somehow manages a friendly tone without his usual warmth.
Standing closer to him than is usual, she arches her back, turning to me with a broad, friendly smile. “Mrs. Barton-Jones, I believe?” she quizzes.
There’s something too pushy about this girl. I’m instantly wary but return her smile.
“Wow, word travels fast in this place?” I reply with a hint of sarcasm, taking her dainty hand in mine.
“Not much happens in here without Claudette knowing about it,” Carlo says, grinning at her smugly.
“We do our best,” she replies to him. “It’s a pleasure to be acquainted with you, and to put a face to a name. I’ve known your husband for over a year.”
Intimately, I recall Spencer telling me about nights he’s had with this woman.
He even told me she worked at a sex club.
If my memory serves me correctly, and when it comes to my husband’s sex life, I make a point of remembering; Claudette fell for him.
Spencer told me he had to stop spending time with her because she was becoming too clingy.
Keeping my smile loose on my lips is hard. I attempt to push away the biting spike of jealousy that stabs my gut. From her expression, I suspect we’re both experiencing similar sensations.
I nod, my words trapped in my mind. But thankfully, Carlo saves me.
“Is Spencer here yet? He’s asked me to meet him.”
“His flight experienced a delay. He landed at Heathrow twenty minutes ago. Tony’s just picked him up.”
She glances down at a beautiful, delicate bracelet with a tiny clock face on it.
“I’d expect him in about half an hour,” Claudette replies.
How on earth does she know all this? As if I’d asked out loud, she replies.
“He called earlier to ask me to make sure Travis doesn’t leave until Spencer’s had time to meet him.”
“I’ve booked room 212,” Carlo informs Claudette.
“Yes,” she studies me silently, questioning whether Carlo and I are using it together. “I noticed. It’s ready for you whenever you want it.”
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
“Can I organize you both a drink?”
We place our order, and I’m relieved when Claudette leaves us for a few minutes.
“Spencer told me about her. He was right; she’s a beautiful woman,” I say as Claudette slips out of view.
“She’s a desperado, and used to hang on Spencer’s every word,” Carlo hisses.
His voice is so low that I have to lean forward to hear him.
“Basically, she wants a rich husband. I made the mistake of having a night with her six months ago. I’ve been trying to shake her off ever since. Hopefully, your being here will help her understand she’s got no chance.”
I frown.
“Claudette’s a nice girl, but you’re in a different league,” he murmurs, before closing the gap between us to kiss me.
He’s gentle at first, but quickly upgrades our peck to an open-mouthed snog. This is our first sexual contact in years, and his attention elicits a fizzing of excitement swiftly followed by a nagging shred of guilt.
His timing, though, was impeccable, leading me to assume he did it for effect rather than desire. I silently admonish myself to tamp down my flushes of excitement. Carlo’s playing a game.
Claudette places our drinks down beside us as he breaks our connection, and we thank her.
“Is there anything else I can get for either of you this evening?” she politely inquires.
“No, thank you,” Carlo responds on behalf of us both. Eyeing me with dark, lust-filled eyes. “I think we’ve got everything we could want.”
His voice is deep, and so loaded with desire, that my body responds to him, disregarding my prior warning.
“If you need anything, drinks; more personnel in your room, just buzz me,” she says.
Her lack of subtlety surprises me when I’m sitting so close.
He reluctantly drags his gaze from me, turning to her. I take a moment to examine him. Carlo is so handsome, with his jet-black hair and dark brown eyes. He’s wearing a pale blue shirt today; the triangle of skin at the open neck is as tempting as ever.
“Actually, there is one thing you can do.”
Claudette nods eagerly, shifting her whole body to face him; she’d only need to stick her tongue out to complete the visualization in my mind of a dog, panting with the need for attention from its owner.
I have to fight my lips’ inclination to curl up into a smile, certain Carlo’s playing her for our amusement.
“When Spencer arrives, don’t mention Sophie by name immediately.
Just tell him you saw me dancing with a beautiful woman in a red dress, who has a lily tattoo just like his on her right buttock.
” He grins and winks at her. “When he’s peeled himself off the ceiling, let him know which room we’re in, but do not, under any circumstances, give him admittance to that room. ”
Her eyes grow wide.
“I want the corridor blocked. Nobody else can look through the viewing window, only Spencer.”
She smirks. “Are you causing trouble, Carlo?”
He licks his lips, turning his focus back on me, and raising the heat in the room as he does.
“Nah, just having a little fun. I won’t allow him to smash the place up,” he lifts three fingers up, “scout’s honor.”
Fucking hell, he’s sexy. Just watching him deliver his little speech is turning me on. I glance at Claudette, a smile dancing on my lips.
“You’re a very brave woman,” she murmurs conspiratorially. “We will charge your account for any damage, Mr. Moretti,” she replies pointedly before stepping back. “It sounds like you’re in for a fun night. Enjoy your evenings.”