Page 57 of Theirs to Tempt: The Marriage Claim

There’s no way I can argue with that logic, even though the lines aren’t meant to be crossed. “Do you use one?”

The men exchange glances.

“No.” A smile tugs at Lucian’s mouth. “Our reputations are already…well known.”

I meet his gaze. “Tarnished, you mean.”

He lifts a shoulder in an easy shrug.

“You should use one,” Caleb repeats.

I think for a second. I need something that fits me. Then I smile. “Moneypenny.”

“Bravo.” Lucian’s mouth twitches.

Miss Watson doesn’t so much as blink as her fingers move across the keyboard. The fact she didn’t react makes me wonder what other names attendees have chosen.”

Then she slides a small box toward us. “For your phones, please.”

Both men immediately surrender theirs.

That surprises me enough that I hesitate.

“Privacy is absolute inside the dungeon and in the private rooms,” Miss Watson explains. “No phones. No photographs. No recordings.”

That makes sense.

Reluctantly I add mine to the box.

All that handled, Miss Watson nods. “Welcome to the Retreat, Moneypenny.” Then she reaches beneath the desk, and a section of the paneled wall across the room slides open.

Lucian guides me toward the elevator that was hidden behind the wall.

When we reach it, he touches his thumb to the biometric scanner plate.

“Where are we going?”

“To meet the club’s owner. Altair Montgomery.”

The man Piper all-but swooned over.

Impossibly my heart rate accelerates even more.

The second floor is nothing like I imagined when I realized we were coming to the club.

This space is enormous and unexpectedly elegant, with modern art, dark leather furniture, gleaming crystal, a full bar, and a kitchen beyond it. It feels less like a dungeon and more like an extraordinarily wealthy man’s private residence crossed with a command center.

Then I notice the screens.

One massive projection screen dominates the far side of the room, divided into live feeds.

I freeze.

I recognize the foyer we entered, but…

There are images of what I imagine is the actual club.

A woman is restrained to some kind of padded bench while a man stands behind her.