Beneath These Lies (Beneath, #5)(59)

“We’d ease you in.”

My mouth dropped open and I blinked at him. “So it is a sex club?”

“Guess you’ll have to come and find out.”

Rix climbed out of his side of the SUV and came around to my door. My mouth was still hanging open when he offered me a hand, and we crossed the short stretch of sidewalk before reaching a black steel door. When the door opened without Rix having to knock, and a woman in a red dress stood inside, I remembered to shut my mouth.

“Right this way, sir.”

As she led us across a shiny black-lacquered floor to an elevator bay, also painted black, it was anticipation and not trepidation filling me. With Rix by my side, I didn’t feel fear. Maybe that was the upside of knowing that wherever you went, you were with the scariest SOB in the room.

The woman in the red dress didn’t follow us into the elevator, but she did press a button and the doors slid shut.

“So, you’re not going to tell me.”

Rix shook his head. “No. You get to experience.”

He pulled something from his pocket and dangled it from his fingertips. It was a mask. Lace and satin, embroidered in silver thread and studded with crystal gems. Black ribbon ties fluttered down.

Oh my God, we really are going to a sex club.

“Is that necessary?”

Rix nodded. “Even I’ll wear a mask. It’s required tonight.”

“Is this—”

“I promise you’ll enjoy it, so stop worrying.” He held the mask out, carefully laying it in place, and tied it around the back of my head before sliding a much simpler black mask over his face.

The doors opened then, and my first impression was of low music, clinking glasses, and hushed conversations. We stepped into a large room filled with dining tables and large, round velvet columns lining both sides. The floor was the same black lacquer as downstairs.

There were no whips. Or chains. Or naked people.

Instead there were men dressed in suits, women in skirts and dresses, and all were masked.

Everything was set up facing a large stage with a black velvet curtain. Ornate silver light fixtures hung from the ceiling.

“What is this place?” I asked, my voice quiet.

“Tonight, it’s the hottest burlesque club you’ve never heard of before.”

Burlesque?

“Really?”

Rix nodded and led me to one of the velvet columns, which was actually a private booth of some sort. Raised several feet off the floor, the table sat in the middle with a half-round black leather upholstered bench seat. It had a perfect view of the stage, and was concealed from view unless you walked right up to the opening. Candles flickered on the table, and a bottle of champagne chilled in a bucket.

Rix gestured to the rounded stairs. “Ladies first.”

I climbed the stairs and slid across the smooth seat with his hand heating the small of my back. The lights began to dim almost immediately.

“Just in time,” Rix said as he reached for the champagne. Popping the cork without hesitation, he poured two glasses. I accepted one, and he clinked the rim of his to mine. “Cheers, duchess. I think you’re gonna like this.”

The house band started to play, which was coincidentally when I noticed there was an orchestra pit. The curtains split to reveal two black wrought iron beds made up with silky black sheets.

A woman leaned against the frame of one, dressed in an elaborate red-and-black top and skirt, and a man against the other, wearing simple black slacks, a white dress shirt, and a black tie.

I’d watched burlesque before, but never anything completely scandalous, only the run-of-the-mill sassy striptease. I’d seen the LIVE SEX SHOWS signs on Bourbon Street but hadn’t thought they were legit. More a scam to lure in drunk tourists willing to hand over money for the real NOLA experience.

But this . . . They started to move with the music. The woman pretended to ignore the man, who, even from our vantage point, looked hungry for her.

Was that what someone else would see when Rix looked at me? I glanced over at him, taking my eyes from the stage for just a moment, to find him watching me, his silver eyes intent.

Ah . . . so that’s what this was about. See how the straight-laced chick reacts to naughtiness. I slid closer to him on the bench and pressed a fingertip to his jaw, intending to turn his head back toward the stage.

“You’re here to watch the show,” I whispered when he kept his eyes on me.

“You’re the one I’m watching, duchess. Every chance I get.”

My cheeks heated, but so did other strategic parts of my body. “Rix . . .”

“Valentina.”

The music, sultry and sexy, picked up a deeper bass beat, and I looked to the stage and back to Rix.

“Watch the show.”

I complied and was captivated.

The woman was teasing the man. She sat on one of the beds, fluffing her hair, checking her lipstick in a compact. The man came closer, but she stood and bent to fix her shoe, popping her rear out in his direction, but rose before he could touch. And then the clothes started to come off.

His first. He pulled off his tie and tossed it on the bed he leaned against before unbuttoning and rolling up his cuffs.

Her attention dropped to the tie, and she flipped her hair before unsnapping part of the front of her sequined top and shimmying it off. Instead of revealing skin, it gave way to a deep V-cut strapless number. She tossed the discarded layer at his face, but he caught it in midair. The act unleashed him.