Sweet Surrender (Sweet #1)(48)

Yeah, life was real good.

CHAPTER 25

In the last three days, Faith had been more sexually adventurous than she had in her entire life. She’d also made a complete ass of herself in front of more men than she’d slept with. Which was pretty dismal when she added that up in her head.

She sank lower in the tub and gazed down at her freshly painted toenails. But not even the bright, cheery pink managed to pick her spirits up.

Gray’s words churned over and over in her head, an unending litany of just how stupid she’d been. Now that he’d laid it out for her, it seemed so clear.

Her idea of a man taking control had been handing him a checklist of activities to perform. She’d have been better off to hire a male prostitute and give him a script. But amid her lament, one single thought formed and took hold.

With the right man, she wouldn’t have to give directions, and the simple fact was, she’d never been with the right man. That much was obvious. She’d responded out of frustration in the only way she saw how. But Gray had balked at her subtle control. He was a man used to doing things his own way. He would have been perfect for her if she hadn’t managed to convince him she was a flighty twit playing games.

She was more confused than ever. Her gaze slid to the cordless phone she’d carried into the bathroom with her. She had two options. She could call Micah, but she was sure he’d respond with an invitation, and she wasn’t prepared for that. Or she could call Damon and get his opinion. He seemed open enough, and she felt comfortable talking to him.

After a moment’s hesitation, she picked up the phone and called the private number Damon had given her. On the second ring, he picked up.

“Damon, it’s Faith. I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

“Of course not,” he said warmly. “What can I do for you?”

She hesitated for a long second. “I need to talk to you. Is there any way we could meet for a late drink? I mean if you’re not busy,” she rushed to say.

“I’ll send my driver for you,” he said.

“Driver? I can just meet you.”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll send the driver in say, an hour? Does that give you enough time? I know a great place across town where we can be assured of privacy.”

“Yes,” she said finally. “An hour is fine.”

“Great. I’ll see you then.”

She let the phone slide from her fingers. Then she hoisted herself out of the tub to dry off. A driver? Who the hell sent a driver? It sounded positively decadent. Did the position of club manager pay that well, or was having a driver merely a perk of the job?

He’d said private and across town. That, coupled with the bit about the driver, had her thinking something a little more elegant than jeans and tennis shoes was in order.

Exactly an hour later, she went to answer the door. She’d chosen a classy black sheath with spaghetti straps and had worn the sexy, ultrahigh heels Damon had returned to her just days before. She’d piled her hair artfully atop her head and chosen simple teardrop diamond earrings. She checked her lipstick in the hall mirror before opening the door.

She was greeted by a large man in a somber-looking suit. He wore dark shades, even though it was well past nine o’clock.

“Miss Malone?”

“Yes, that’s me,” she said with a tentative smile.

He returned her smile and offered his arm. “Mr. Roche would like you to join him. I’ll be driving you to your destination.”

Her eyes widened when she saw the car he’d arrived in. Maybe she’d been expecting a limo, but seeing a freaking Bentley knocked her for a loop. Who the hell had a Bentley at their disposal? Were sex clubs that lucrative?

The driver assisted her into the backseat, then closed the door behind her. She sank into the butter-soft leather and closed her eyes in appreciation. As they drove away, she gazed out the tinted windows at Gray’s truck. She emitted an unhappy sigh and turned her attention back to the interior of the car.

The soft strains of a classical melody filled the air. She turned her head to look out the window again, enjoying the lights of the city.

Thirty minutes later, the Bentley pulled up to an awning where a doorman opened the car door and extended a hand to help her out.

“Right this way, Miss Malone,” he said.

She arched her brow, surprised and impressed by all the pomp. She was more intrigued than ever about Damon’s status as the manager of a sex club.

She was escorted into a darkened, intimate restaurant, where she was promptly handed over to the maître d’, who bowed and kissed her hand. He held an arm out to her and escorted her farther inside.

The furnishings screamed exclusive, reservation only. She wished she’d paid more attention when they’d pulled up, though she doubted she’d recognize the name anyway. The only place she haunted on a regular basis was Cattleman’s, and exclusive it was not.

To her surprise, the maître d’ escorted her past the common dining area and into a smaller, private club room in the back of the restaurant.

When they entered, Damon rose from the small table across the room and smiled. He reached out for her hand then nodded at the maître d’. “That will be all, Phillip.”

Phillip smiled and backed from the room.

Damon pulled a chair from the table and gestured for her to sit. Then he circled around and eased into his own chair. He reached up and loosened his tie then proceeded to unbutton the cuffs on his long-sleeved dress shirt.