Chapter 2
Two
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.