“Your customers here do not know your identity, but theydoknow your mask. Are you not worried that they will find it suspicious that you are giving a new member a personal tour? Perhaps it would be better if I looked around on my own,” Ophelia replied.
Tristan’s smile was slow to form, but positively wicked in effect.
“Why, dear Ophelia, are you worried for me?” He teased.
“No,” she countered quickly, blushing behind her mask. “I just do not want to raise suspicions. It would do no good for either of us.”
“Mhmm,” Tristan hummed through his smile.
“Well, you have nothing to fear. No one, not even those ladies that were just here, know that I am the owner of the club. Theyjust believe I am a higher ranking member that may know the owner. So my mask does not matter. It will just simply look as if one member is showing another around.”
Ophelia’s eyes widened in surprise.
“But they called you Devil,” she replied, and Tristan let out a laugh.
“Our members are encouraged to take on the monikers of gods and goddesses, but there are only so many of those,” Tristan explained, “We have many men here that just go by ‘Devil’ as we have many women that go by ‘Angel’. Stop worrying and do as I say. I am not letting you roam this club alone. You might annoy me to no end but I still owe you my protection and will not be moved on that.”
“I do not appreciate your condescending tone,” she warned, “And furthermore, what is there to protect me from? I thought this club was all about findingwillingpartners?”
“It is,” Tristan agreed, taking a step closer. He raised his hand to her throat, ran his fingertips underneath her jaw and to the back of her head, then gently tugged at her pinned up hair. The sensation made her quiver with pleasure, and she clenched her jaw tight to stifle the whimper pleading to pour from her throat.
“However, this club is full of skilled lotharios and temptresses. You’d be surprised at how good some are at turning adamant nos into pleading yes’s.”
Ophelia trembled at his words. A day ago she would have never believed him, but after their kiss- after the way her body had betrayed her logic and feelings of loathing for him to give in to the pleasure he sparked in her? Yes, she now believed that such a power existed.
A power that, of all people, darling Lord Perfect possessed. Such knowledge still confounded her.
Flashes of that moment sparked in her mind. The way he’d kissed her first, throwing her off guard. Then the way she’d rushed back to him as if she couldn’t help it. Tristan,Lord Perfect,had been her first kiss…and it had been incredible.
“Let us go,” Tristan commanded, releasing the nape of her neck.
Ophelia shivered at the absence of his touch, hating that she’d liked it so much; but she squared her shoulders and followed him back to the main club room.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“What do you think?” Tristan asked, leading her once more back to the hidden hall behind the mirrors.
“I think I wish I had a way to write it all down,” Ophelia replied, shaking her head. “I have never seen so many carnal pleasures at once. It was very…overwhelming.”
Tristan chuckled as they walked side by side.
“I am afraid I could not let you do that,” he told her, “With reporters trying to sneak in, such a sight would have scared my members. You will have to work from memory.”
He opened the door to his office and waved her in.
“My painting crate!” She exclaimed, hurrying inside.
“I had one of my people move it in here while we were on our tour,” Tristan explained, closing the door behind them, “This is where you will be conducting your work from now on.”
Ophelia looked up from her crate and glared at him.
“I take it you will be spending your time in here as well?” She asked with a dry tone
Tristan smirked as he removed his mask.
“Is that a problem?” He asked.
“Must you answer my question with a useless question?” She needled.
