Intimate Exposure (11 page)

The room was quite full. Guests sat around low tables, all lit with stylized Art Deco lamps of cavorting nymphs, and the geometric rounded armchairs very similar to the ones Vicki had seen on the CCTV in the Salon. The walls were black glass, inlaid with chevron designs and sunbursts, and the long bar itself was a poem of streamlined chrome. A pianist was picking out Noel Coward tunes on a baby grand in the far corner, flanked by potted palms.

“It’s a perfect thirties cliché!” Vicki exclaimed, laughing aloud despite the tension between herself and the man beside her.

“You’re not wrong there,” Red said with a wry smile, “but I rather like it, in a kitsch sort of way. Don’t you?”

“It’s marvelous. I adore it,” she replied, meaning every word.

Red led her to an unoccupied table. It seemed peculiar that there should be one, given that there really were a lot of people standing around. It was almost as if it were reserved for them. Maybe it was? Perhaps VIP treatment was part of their prize? Red held out her chair for her, and as she settled herself, he took his place across the table from her. Almost immediately, a waiter appeared beside him, and he spoke to the man in a low voice, presumably ordering drinks.

Vicki bristled for moment—she’d not been given a choice—then bit back her vexation.

For the moment, Red was in charge. He was her master.

As he watched her steadily, she was forced to look away and instead concentrated on the black leather of the deep armchair she was sitting in.

“That scene we were watching…on the television—” she ran her gloved finger over the smooth surface of the hide, “—it was live, wasn’t it? It wasn’t a cable channel or a DVD, it was CCTV?”

Red laughed softly. “I thought you were watching the girl, Vicki, not scoping out the décor?”

I wasn’t really watching very much of anything… I was too focused on what was going on in
our
room.

But she tempered her answer. It seemed too intimate to refer to his cock inside her, even in the racy cosmopolitan glamour of the bar.

“I’m interested in design. I couldn’t help but notice the furniture,” she said as airily as she could.

Red was still regarding her thoughtfully, that slight “dare me” smile on his face. As she refused to look away, he took off his spectacles and polished them with a snowy white handkerchief.

The teasing bastard was back, obviously. He seemed intent on not supplying any further information.

“What on earth kind of place is this, Red?” she quizzed him, her voice dropping as the waiter brought two unfamiliar and rather muddy-looking cocktails in highball glasses. “It’s not a normal hotel, is it? Not with scenes like that going on. Does the mighty Shanley know what’s going on in his holdings?”

Red set his glasses back in place and slid the handkerchief into his pocket. “F. W. knows everything that goes on everywhere, Vicki. He has eyes throughout his entire kingdom.”

“In that case, what the hell is his game, sending us here? We won a prize, remember? A sweepstake… What if two born-again Christians on the staff had won? I don’t think there are any at Wickham-Drake, but there could have been.”

“Well, in that eventuality, I’m sure he’d have arranged for them to be accommodated at a very well-appointed but family-friendly hotel instead, with facilities for more wholesome pursuits like walking and antiquing and taking coach tours to local beauty spots.”

“Stop laughing at me!”

He wasn’t actually laughing, except in the depths of his amazing eyes.

“Perhaps F. W. thought that the Ivory Pavilion is a good fit for our particular sexual peccadilloes?”

“And how would he know about those?”

“He knows my preferences.”

“Yes, I don’t doubt that, you and him being such tight buddies and all… But how could he know about mine?” A horrible suspicion formed. “Unless you’ve told him, you unspeakable swine.” Outrage propelled her from her seat, but a far greater force—the dark, intense compulsion in Red’s eyes—made her sit back down again. “Why would you do such a thing? It’s…it’s
private.
”

Red paused a long time before speaking, a complex expression on his darkly bearded face. “I swear to you, Vicki. I have not spoken to F. W. Shanley on the subject of your personal life.”

His voice was steady and even, but there was something about the statement that set the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. He was telling her the truth, she didn’t doubt, but there was something decidedly odd about his delivery of it.

“Then how
would
he know? You’re the prime candidate for being his spy.”

“He’s a powerful man. A man like that has many spies, industrial or otherwise.”

Vicki glared, feeling more powerless than in any sexual situation. Some kind of psychic shutter had come down. It was obvious that Red knew Shanley, and knew him well, but she sensed he would not tell her how Shanley knew so much about
her.

She decided to try another tack.

“What’s he like, then? You obviously know the guy. Tell me what kind of a man the new big boss really is.”

Red’s dark head tilted, and for a moment she thought he was about to change the subject. But then, just as quickly, he seemed to loosen up. He reached for his drink, nodded that she
should sample hers and, when he’d taken a long swallow of the undeniably murky-looking liquid, he began to speak.

“Not much to tell, really. He’s about my age. Early forties. Determined. Driven. Well educated, naturally. And he’s compelled to protect and expand the financial empire he inherited at all costs.”

“That’s by the by, Red. What’s he like as a man? Is he married? Does he have children?” It was Vicki’s turn to look at Red with piercing intensity now. She needed to know. “Is he as kinky as you are? He must be if he owns a place like this and sends people to it for sweepstake prizes.”

“No, he’s not married and he has no children. He’s a widower and his wife died about ten years ago.”

A sharp pang of sympathy swept though Vicki, despite the fact that she still knew next to nothing about F. W. Shanley, other than he was a powerful man and an arch-manipulator. Although a decade had passed since her father had died, she still felt his passing keenly, so she could imagine that Shanley still missed his lost wife. There weren’t enough billions and businesses in the world to console you for the death of a loved one.

“Did he love her? Hasn’t he met anyone else since?”

“Yes, he loved her deeply, even though their relationship was sometimes rocky…” Red drank again, grimacing as if the drink were nasty.

In the pause, Vicki sipped from her own glass and found its contents were a delicious concoction of rum and apple juice and iced coffee. Licking a droplet from her lips, she frowned at Red. He seemed to be elsewhere somehow.

“And he’s still single? Not interested in finding someone new?”

“Oh, there’s someone. Someone who might be very important to him. Very important indeed.”

Vicki glanced about the room for a moment. It was filled with glamorous people and the women were dazzling. Groomed. Obviously wealthy. The sort of sophisticated beauties that a mysterious and obscenely wealthy plutocrat like F.W Shanley might be interested in.

“What is she? A supermodel? A European princess? Some international A-lister?”

“She’s a very special, intelligent and beautiful woman, but no, she’s not a celebrity…except to those who’ve met her.”

Vicki opened her mouth, curious to find out more about this unknown woman, but before she could speak, what sounded like an antique ship’s bell tolled loudly across the room.

“Dinner is served.” A fleeting expression of what could have been relief crossed his dark features as he rose to his feet and held out his hand to her.

By the time Vicki had glanced away to pick up her bag and then back again, the strange little look was gone again. Replaced by his familiar slow, teasing smile, the expression so wicked yet sexy that it made her forget any other existed.

Red tucked her hand beneath his arm proprietarily as he escorted her through a distinctly nautical-looking arch that led into a spacious dining room that also reflected a glittering ocean liner ambience. Vicki had no idea where they might be seated, and there were no place cards, but Red led her confidently towards what seemed to be the best table in the house. It was set into a semicircular alcove in a large bay window fitted with curved glass, which looked out over the bay and the sunset-painted sea.

If she hadn’t had such an intimate knowledge of his drives and predilections and what he wanted from her, she might have imagined that he’d chosen the spot for its pure, romantic drama.

She was certainly surprised to find a small black sateen-covered box, tied with an elaborate red silk bow, sitting in the center of her place setting. As Red drew out her chair to allow her to sit, she couldn’t take her eyes off the enigmatic and unexpected gift.

“Is this from you? Or from Shanley?” Touching the soft crimson silk bow, she wished that she could intuit from it what was in the box. The packaging was luxurious and very beautiful, but somehow it made her uneasy.

“Oh, this is from me, Vicki,” Red said, sitting down himself once Vicki was settled.

“Most definitely. In fact you could almost say that it’s
for
me as much as it is for you.”

“Er…thank you.” The sense of disquiet spiraled. What was in the box? She had a distinct feeling that it would be…a test, to say the least. The sultry expression on Red’s face was unmistakable. It was the demonic look he always wore when he was about to shock her and take her right to the edge. Her fear mixed with a raw, leaping excitement.

At that moment, the waiter brought menus and the wine list, and though the dishes described were mouthwatering and the wines rare and special, Vicki found herself sleepwalking through the process of ordering. She left Red to choose her food and requested sparkling mineral water as well as the wine he chose.

“Don’t you want to celebrate being here with me?” he challenged, smirking. “Especially after I’ve bought you gift.” He nodded toward the box. “Why don’t you open it?”

As if she was dealing with a booby trap or a jack-in-the-box, Vicki teased open the bow, then took a deep breath and lifted off the lid.

Inside, nestling in velvet, were a pair of rather beautiful red crystal spheres all banded and veined with swirls of black. A fine black woven cord fastened them together, and another length of the same cord lay coiled around them in the box.

Vicki knew exactly what they were. She’d recently seen similar items passed around by a girl at work who ran a small sex toy business on the side. But the ones Sharon had offered for sale were nowhere near as luxurious and finely crafted as these.

“They’re divine, Red. Just what I always wanted.” Vicki snapped the lid back on the box, her tone facetious even while her sex leapt in anticipation.

“I knew you’d be pleased,” Red shot back just as archly. He gave her one of his long searching looks, then suddenly the quality of his expression subtly mutated. Nobody outside their magic circle of two would have noticed it, but Vicki knew the gauntlet was about to be thrown down.

“Why don’t you try them?”

“Wh-what? Here?”

Red shook his dark head and made an exaggerated clicking sound of false exasperation.

“No, silly girl, just slip to the ladies’ powder room.” He chuckled softly. “Regardless of what goes on in the private salon, the normal proprieties are usually observed here in the restaurant.”

Vicki shot him a glare and considered ignoring him, but Red’s face returned to seriousness and dark intent.

Held by his eyes, she experienced that peculiar sense of lightheadedness he often induced in her. The normal world of work and life tilted on its axis, dropping her into a different and secret realm.

The magic mirror-land where Red’s mastery was complete.

Unable to speak, she snatched up her napkin, dropped it on the table and got to her feet. Grabbing the box, she spun and walked straight across the dining room and out into the foyer
where the powder room was, not looking back and not hesitating. Not doing anything that would give her chance to change her mind.

A few moments later, inside a cubicle, with her gloves off, she opened the box again.

As Chinese love spheres went, they were quite big, and she swallowed at the thought of putting them into her body. True, she’d had the eye-popping length and girth of Red’s penis inside her not all that long ago, and accommodated it both easily and joyfully. But there was a radical difference between living flesh and inert crystal.

I can’t.

She touched the spheres. They were so hard and so cold.

Oh yes, you can… You must…

Letting out a gasp, Vicki almost dropped them, and she spun around inside the cubicle. But a second later, she accepted the fact that it was only in her imagination that Red had spoken.

Breathing deeply, she prepared to obey him, but just as she was about to lift her gown and place a foot on the pedestal to give herself better access, she paused. There was a small tab in the corner of the velvet-lined box, and when she lifted it, she discovered a silver-capped glass vial with a viscous substance inside it.

Lube. You think of everything, don’t you, Red Webster?

Taking up her position again, she applied a little of the odorless super-slippery gel to her entrance, then pressed the first of the spheres against herself. Her body tensed, resisting the intrusion. The image of Red’s face floated into her mind. His eyes…

Fire and brandy eyes. Eyes of the devil. The eyes of a demon who could provoke her all the way to paradise.

Her flesh shivered and yielded, and first one sphere, then the second slid into place.

“Oh, Red,” she whispered, feeling herself obscenely stretched and beleaguered from within. She hardly dared move, but when she did, her breath caught in her throat.

Every step, every turn, every slight adjustment of her position set the spheres rocking and dancing against the inner seat of her pleasure.