Chapter 2
NATE
The buzz of the club, familiar and comforting, envelops me the moment I step through the doors.
In my experience, there isn’t much in this life that can be counted on.
But Saturday night at Club Wyld is one of the few constants.
The hushed whisper of voices broken only by the occasional laugh, the sensual sounds of light jazz through the speakers, the dim lighting.
The couples filling the tables, huddled in dark corners.
The thrumming vibe of desire, barely kept under wraps.
I know, of course, that a closer look into those dark corners would start to peel away the thin veneer of respectability the room maintains.
More skin, more passionate embraces. Whispered words of promise and depravity.
Whispered words that hint at what might be happening, even now, beyond the thick steel door that leads to the back rooms.
“Well this certainly can’t stand.”
I turn in the direction of the familiar British accent, smiling when I see my old friend, Philip, approaching. “Nathan Chase without a drink in his hands? Unheard of.”
I glance at the tumbler of scotch in his hand. “I notice you’re not offering me your drink.”
He smirks. “If a drink-free Nathan Chase is unheard of, an empty-handed Philip Matthews is downright scandalous.” He nods at a passing waiter, the subtle motion sufficient to send the man scurrying off to the bar, before directing his attention back to me.
“You’re late,” he says. “Several of the scenes are about to begin.”
“I had some business to attend.”
His smirk grows. “Attempted hostile takeover by the Math department?”
I’m used to his ribbing in regards to my career. I’ve been hearing some version of the same joke for years. “We can’t all be titans of industry, Philip.”
“I’ll remember to tell your father that the next time I see him in Manhattan and he starts in on me about you.”
I grunt, well aware of my father’s thoughts on my choice of career—I really don’t need to hear those same opinions second-hand from Philip.
“Don’t worry,” he says, chuckling as he slaps my back. “Your father assures me you’ll grow out of it.”
“Any day now,” I agree, rolling my eyes. My reluctance to leave academia to join my father in his quest to rule the business world is obvious to anyone with half a brain. The fact that the old man hasn’t given up yet is beginning to verge on pathetic.
“So,” Philip says, turning his attention to the crowd. “Will this be the night you finally break the dry spell?”
I ignore this, as I always do any mention of the length of time I allow to pass between my dalliances. But Philip presses. “I mean it, Nathan. It isn’t good for you—you get too tense when you go without for so long.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I ask. “So, how’s the crowd looking tonight?” My eyes dart around the room. The lighting is dim, designed with the intention of providing privacy to the patrons, but I can still make out some familiar faces in the near darkness.
“Cherise is here, we might do a scene later,” Philip says as the waiter reappears, another tumbler of scotch on his tray. Philip hands it to me and I nod my thanks to the server before taking a sip.
“Macallan twenty-five year,” he says, before I can ask.
“Very nice.”
“It should be. That’s an eighteen-hundred-dollar bottle of scotch.”
I raise the glass to him. “Good to see our membership dues being put to good use.”
“I saw Ward and Ramsey earlier,” Philip goes on, back to the topic at hand.
“Jackson Dunn is here, for once. Luke and Rebecca are around, being as disgustingly in love as ever. She’s sporting a rather large diamond ring, by the way, to go along with that diamond collar he spent a fortune on.
Oh, and Jane has a new sub. I believe she’ll be showing him off later. ”
“Not surprising.” Jane has a reputation for going through her subs at a breakneck pace. And she always does like to show them off.
“Apparently our illustrious leaders were here earlier, but I believe they just stopped in.”
My eyebrows go up at that. The three men who own Club Wyld—Wyatt Chambers, Logan Harte, and Donovan Frasier—also make up the ownership team of Wyld Inc.
, one of the most successful and fastest growing tech firms of the last decade.
It always causes a stir in the membership when they drop by, particularly when they hang out long enough to play.
But with their busy schedule, it doesn’t happen often—being a young billionaire bachelor apparently doesn’t leave one with much free time.
Philip rattles off a few more names of close acquaintances, no one I find particularly interesting.
Same old crowd. My eyes scan the space, wondering if the woman from outside might be here somewhere, waiting for me.
But that’s most likely wishful thinking.
She had probably been merely passing. A woman like that—a woman whose innocence practically radiated off of her as surely as her body heat—isn’t meant to be in a place like this.
And she certainly isn’t meant to be with a man like me.
“You’re distracted,” Philip says, watching my face. “Who is she?”
I roll my eyes. The bastard thinks he’s so intuitive. Which makes it particularly aggravating when he’s right.
“Just someone I bumped into on the sidewalk,” I tell him, hoping I sound casual. In truth, I’ve been feeling a little uneven ever since the brief interaction. There was something about the way she stared up at me, something that looked an awful lot like trust in her beautiful chocolate eyes.
You’re just bored, I tell myself. Reacting to something new.
Again, Philip displays his uncanny knack for mindreading. “If you’re looking for a new toy, I’m sure you won’t have any trouble. All of the curiosity seekers climb down into the shadows to join us at the Fresh Meat Meet.” He clears his throat, smirking. “Excuse me—I meant Public Night.”
Philip has a point, though Public Night is something of a misnomer.
The doors to Club Wyld are never open to just anyone.
However, once a month the owners hold what most of the membership refers to as the Fresh Meat Meet.
A night where the doors to our depravity crack open for a lucky—and curious—few.
In order to get one of the guest passes for Public Night, you have to know someone who is already a member.
And since membership is highly secretive, the passes are nearly impossible to obtain.
“A curiosity seeker is the last thing I need.”
He chuckles. “You probably have a point. You’d scare any innocent straight back into a lifetime of vanilla sex.”
“Psh. I’m a lightweight compared to you.”
Philip slings an arm around my shoulder. “My dear man, everyone is a lightweight compared to me.”
We’re both chuckling at that when I see her. The chocolate-eyed woman from outside. She’s standing behind Andres, one of the club hosts, looking around with obvious interest as he gestures at the room to her in discreet explanation.
She’s lost the heavy wool coat she’d been wearing outside.
Her dress is simple enough to be deemed plain, knee length black silk cut in a sheath, the neckline dipping just enough to give the suggestion of cleavage.
The honey curtain of hair that had brushed my fingers when I gripped her arms to steady her hangs thick and shining down her neck, just long enough to kiss the delicate fabric of the dress’s spaghetti straps.
Even in the dim light of the lounge it seems to shine, like a glowing halo over her head.
But her dress and hair have little to do with the single-mindedness of my attention.
It’s something about the way she’s standing, entirely still except for the occasional slight fidget of the buckle on her clutch.
It’s the slight hunch of her shoulders as she stares around the room, wide-eyed.
She immediately looks out of place in this room full of confident, glamorous people.
Her unease is palpable, obvious even at first glance.
Captivating.
I haven’t felt such a strong, immediate pull to a woman in years.
Not since Renee. But I push thoughts of my former fiancée away, as I always do, particularly when I’m here at Club Wyld.
I have many years of practice in keeping thoughts like that locked away in tidy, well-guarded little boxes in my mind.
As the stranger listens to Andres, she brings a hand up to her chest, the movement absentminded, fingers tracing lightly over her collarbone.
And somehow, it’s that action that spurs me into movement.
I don’t understand what this pull is, how it could possibly be as powerful as it seems. All I know is that I can’t let her walk into this room, into this scene, alone.
Already there are too many men looking at her, sizing her up, making plans.
She’ll be eaten alive in the first five minutes at a place like this.
And I simply won’t allow that to happen.
“Nathan?” Philip calls after me. I hadn’t excused myself, hadn’t said goodbye. I had merely reacted. Oh well. He isn’t likely to be offended.
I cross the room in several long strides, reaching the woman seconds after Andres turned away to leave her on her own. “I see you didn’t take my advice.”
She spins to face me, her hand moving from that delicate collarbone up to her mouth. Christ, I want to follow its path with my lips. Her eyes widen as she takes me in, recognition in her expression. “I…what?” She’s stammering, off-balanced, and fuck if that doesn’t turn me on even more.
Something claws in my chest, equal parts protective and predatory. I want to wrap a chivalrous arm around her, to be the one to guide her into this dark and dangerous world. I want her to lean on me, trust me.
And then I want to defile her.