Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“This isn’t a game, Isla. You married a very dangerous man.”
“Perhaps you should’ve led with that when you dropped off that folder.”
“I thought you knew what you’d gotten yourself into. Sandy’s known him forever.”
“Does anyone really know him?” When Griffin doesn’t answer, I add, “If it makes you feel any better, you can just take me to the door.”
“Yeah, why not. I’ll just let Sandy kill me instead. Murder’s murder, right? Van’s bare hands or Sandy’s shotgun. One method is as good as another,” he adds mutinously.
“Why would Sandy kill you?” The silk of my dress slides against my thighs as I turn in the seat to face him. This dress is a prototype of something I was considering stocking on the website for Christmas. I’d ultimately decided against it because the amount of silk would’ve made the retail price ridiculous, plus the design is a little too risqué for the average buyer. The color of bronzed milk chocolate, the top is cut low across the bust, slightly corseted in style, and held up by the thinnest spaghetti straps. Nipped in at the waist, it flares and falls to the ankle but flashes a lot of leg, thanks to the two hidden splits that run to the top of my thigh. It’d been hanging in Niko’s huge walk-in closet, waiting for the right occasion. I guess this is it.
“He’ll kill me because of where you’ve asked me to take you.” Griffin’s hands tighten on the leather steering wheel, his brows tightening.
“I know where we’re going. I’ve been here before.”
His head turns so fast, I’m surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. “No.” His eyes return to the road. “I don’t think so.”
“A country house in the middle of nowhere? Leather chairs in dark corners, claret-colored sofas, and lush parlor palms. Cabaret nights—”
“That could be any one of a number of hotels you’re describing.”
“Oh, I’m not finished,” I say sharply. “Cabaret nights with very particular tastes. Guests in evening suits and cocktail dresses.” My eyes flick down Griffin’s black jacket as I pluck at the silk skirt of my dress. “Domino masks that hide faces, gossamer lingerie that exposes skin. Rubber.” My tone changes. The words now blunt and ugly. “Heavy-duty bondage wear. Beds not meant for sleep, built to hold a dozen bodies.”
“Okay, so you have been there.” He sighs. “Even if I wish you hadn’t told me.”
“A lifestyle club where clothing is optional,” I add, turning back to the side window. “I’ve only been once.” I twist back again. “I didn’t stay long, if it makes you feel any better.”
“Maybe you could write that down and sign it as proof because Sandy isn’t going to believe it from me.”
“Why do you keep bringing Sandy up?”
“Apart from the fact he’ll kill me for bringing you here, you mean?”
“I’m a grown woman. I can do as I please. Also, he doesn’t necessarily know where here is or what it is.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble, Isla, but Thornbeck Hall was where I first met him. Before either of us knew we were related,” he adds. “He was part owner of the club.”
The knowledge feels like a punch to the solar plexus. My brother. My wombmate. The person I thought I knew best in the world has so many secrets. He owned a sex club? I can’t even imagine him in a sex club. Oh God. I’m going to need therapy after this. Sandy is so upright and proper, I can’t—no. I will literally drive myself insane with the bullshit of today.
The tires hiss against the road, thanks to the earlier rain, as a sadness settles over me. Are all the men in my life liars? Feckless? Faithless? My father and Tom, yes. But now Sandy and Niko?
“How do…” No. Again. Don’t ask what you’re not prepared to hear.
“What?” His eyes meet mine warily. “How do I what?”
“Do you come here often?” I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“I used to. Not so much these days.”
“How does it work? Is there a membership or something?”
“Yeah. It’s ultra-exclusive. Van must make a fortune on the membership fees alone.”
For the second time today, I feel like the rug has been whipped out from under my feet. My brother owned it, past tense. My husband owns it now. Why would he hold on to a place that has such bad memories? The hush, the dark interior, the closer we get, the deeper I become entrenched in the memories. The deeper I feel this hurt.
A tight left at a discreet signpost, and the tire sound changes as the car moves over the gravel.
“We won’t use valet parking,” Griffin says as he drives around the side of the house.
“You don’t have to come in with me.”
The engine purrs as the car pulls into a parking spot, the headlights frightening a squirrel as it scampers up the trunk of an oak tree.