Her gaze focuses, snapping to me. Shaking her head, she smiles sheepishly, her cheeks flushing. “Sorry… just thinking. I recently had a friend suggest a sex club to me.”
Now I wasn’t fucking prepared to hear that. It’s not that I think Bailey’s a prude. I genuinely thought there was only a slim chance she’d be offended by my project. But I never thought she’d actually entertain the merits of that type of hedonism.
“Well, it’s your lucky day,” I say before I can stop myself. “After I decide which investor to partner with, we’ll be moving to the design stage. I could use your help.”
“But I don’t know anything about sex clubs,” she exclaims, her eyes bright with interest despite her words.
“That’s what research is for,” I say, leaning forward to cross my arms on my desk. “We’ll visit a few local clubs to compare the elements, which will help in deciding on the attractions for my new resort.”
“You want me to go to a sex club… with you?” I don’t miss the slightly hysterical edge in her tone, but she remains composed in all other respects.
“For research,” I remind her almost primly, to mask the underlying lust. “We’ll simply observe. Nothing more.”
“Um… well, okay,” she replies uncertainly.
“This is strictly business, Miss Robbins,” I say pointedly. “Nothing more.”
“Of course,” she hastens to assure me. “I understand that. And you need me to…”
Her voice trails off. It’s obvious she’s a tad overwhelmed at the idea of researching sex clubs. In a steady, bland tone, I continue, “So far, you’ve been adept at learning as you go. I think you’ve shown an aptitude for what it takes to make this career work for you. You understand the interplay of the various departments, and I’ve come to trust and rely on your opinions. So I would appreciate your assistance with this project. However, if it makes you uncomfortable—”
“It doesn’t,” she reassures me. With her chin lifted, the worry in her expression dissolves completely. She sits ramrod straight in her chair, shoulders tossed back with confidence. “I can absolutely assist you with this project.”
“Excellent,” I reply, beaming. I feel a strange sense of pride in her for pushing out of her comfort zone. Strange.
But I hope like hell she doesn’t unmask my more deep-seated desire to see how she interacts in that environment. Because she will have a reaction, no doubt. No one can walk into The Wicked Horse without being affected by what they see. “No time like the present to get started. Tonight, we’ll visit a club where I’m actually a member. It’s the most exclusive in Las Vegas, and it has many aspects I think can be incorporated into my new resort.”
“Of course,” she replies, then bends over her iPad. “I have one thing I need to take care of this evening, but I can meet you there.”
“I’ll pick you up,” I reply, interjecting enough command into my order that, as my employee, she can’t refuse.
Her head snaps up, and she swallows hard. “What should I wear?”
Another image slams into me… Bailey naked, splayed on silk sheets, while covered in my semen. That’s what I’d like her to wear.
Instead, I gesture toward her. “You can wear what you have on. This is, after all, just business.”
CHAPTER 8
Bailey
I’m so freaking nervous that I’m sweating. And there’s nothing sexy about sweaty pits.
You aren’t supposed to be sexy, Bailey, I admonish. This is business.
Still, I can’t deny that the thought of walking through a sex club with Declan Blackwood isn’t affecting me on all kinds of levels. Emotionally, mentally, in my nipples and between my legs.
Shit. Why did I agree to this?
Because he’d said it was only business. He’s not interested in me in a sexy way.
Yet, when we’d stepped into the lobby of the Onyx Casino and he’d placed his hand on my elbow, my entire body felt electrified.
Oversensitive.
Needy.
Shit, I’m in so much trouble.
I’m on edge because I’m terrified that Declan can tell I’m on edge. That I’m plumped, primed, and every other embarrassing scenario that could take place in front of this gorgeous, enigmatic man.
“Are you nervous?” he asks as we enter the elevator that will take us to the top floor that houses The Wicked Horse.
“Not really,” I reply.
I’d done some research on it, surreptitiously, this afternoon. It’s a private membership club with a hefty fee I could never afford, but I don’t think this is what Jeff meant when he’d suggested a sex club. He knows I could never afford this place.
Separated into themed rooms, it seems as if pretty much anything goes. Surprisingly, Declan had told me today that over fifty percent of the membership were actually monogamous couples that came here just to play in an open environment. He assured me everything was safe and tasteful, but that things could get a little “crazy” at times.
The thought of what might constitute “crazy” has my nerves feeling like electrified wires.
When the elevator stops and the doors slide open, I brace for what I might see. Declan ushers me out, and, frankly, I’m… well… let down. It looks like we’re in an upscale bar with plush seating, dim lighting, and a massive bar with three bartenders serving drinks to sexy, well-dressed couples.
From behind a podium, a hostess greets us. “Good evening, Mr. Blackwood.”
Declan doesn’t respond. He merely inclines his head.
Hand tightening on my elbow, he asks me, “Would you like a drink?”
“Uh…” I demure.
“You’re tense,” he mutters, guiding me to the bar. “I can feel it pouring off you in waves.”
I don’t disagree, and yes, a drink would relax me. “I’ll take bourbon… neat.”
Declan chuckles as we head to the bar. “Relax, Miss Robbins. Just remember that what goes on in here is consensual and fun. Everybody has sex. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“I’m not,” I assure him, pulling my arm from his grasp to look up. “It’s just… I’m a little nervous in an environment with my boss that is about as far from what an employee and a boss should be doing.”
“I promise I won’t bite,” he says with a wicked grin, then turns his attention to the bartender to order two bourbons. When he angles back toward me, his eyes twinkle as he adds, “Unless you ask me to.”
A blaze of lust and need sweeps through me, causing my spine to tingle and my skin to warm. I can feel the heat in my cheeks. Declan must see it, too, because he’s far too observant not to. Plus, he’s smirking.
The bartender brings our drinks and I don’t respond to his last baited statement. Instead, I pick up my glass as I glance around. “To be honest, I sort of expected to walk into a porn movie.”
“You’ll get there soon enough,” Declan replies as my gaze comes back around. “But there’s a civilized component to this club I enjoy, and that’s an element I wish to carry over into the new resort. The ability to have a few drinks to unwind and relax. Maybe enjoy some conversation.”