Page 3 of Dirty Intentions

CHAPTER THREE

Daniella

The elevator doors opened to a large floor space. Two desks sat in the middle of the room and a bay of one-way mirrors appeared to look down over the main floor. My anxiety was already high, but then I saw him. It went up a whole other level.

Dressed all in black in a well-tailored suit, he walked towards me with a masculine confidence which left no doubt he was in charge. He was gorgeous in a dangerous way with chiseled features, midnight black hair and a scruff that made me wonder what it would feel like between my thighs. Jesus, where had that thought come from? I blamed the sex God in front of me along with the visual from the rooms still on my mind.

He stopped a foot in front me and held out his hand. “May I see your ID card?”

Damn. His husky voice was as sexy as he was.

I swallowed hard before fishing it from my clutch and handing it over. My voice escaped me, though I didn’t know whether it was from his presence or from my nerves over the fake ID.

“Scan this.” He held it out for Tank Man.

“Yes, sir.”

After taking the card, Tank Man opened a door off to the side, offering me a glimpse of monitors.

The moment the door closed, I felt very aware we were alone. The floor may have been spacious, but at that moment it felt anything but. “What, uh, what is this about?” I’d finally found my voice.

“It’s about the camera, and the pictures you were taking.”

He didn’t seem like a man who would appreciate a false runaround, so I didn’t bother to deny it. “I’m guessing it’s against club rules?”

“You’d guess right. And if you turn it over, I won’t press charges.”

“You won’t press charges against me for taking pictures in a sex club?” As if he would call the cops here. I might be shaking in my boots, but I wasn’t stupid.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Take off your mask, please.”

I swallowed hard but removed it as instructed. Perhaps if I cooperated, he’d be more willing to let me keep the photos.

“I’ve never seen you here before. What’s your name?”

I looked beyond him to where the big man who’d taken my ID was coming out of the door. “I’m sure your human tank can tell you.”

His lips twitched, but he simply turned towards his man with a quirked brow.

“Beth Jones, sir. But the membership code belongs to Eric Patterson.”

Note to self. When lying and going undercover, wear shoes I could actually run in. These four-inch boots were definitely not fitting the bill if I wanted to make a break for it.

“Go back to your station downstairs, Chad. Send up Lance, please.”

“He so didn’t look like a Chad,” I commented once the door was closed. Hey, even if I was screwed, I could still be sarcastic.

***

Shane

I was the type of man accustomed to having people nervous upon meeting me. I might not be big like the “Tank” she’d referred to, but at six foot one, two hundred pounds, I’d been known to intimidate the people I wanted to. But this woman was cracking jokes. She was challenging me about the police, despite her hands shaking when she’d handed over the ID card and taken off her mask. I appreciated that she hadn’t bothered to lie or play dumb.

“Who is Eric Patterson to you?” I hadn’t missed the way she’d involuntarily flinched when his name had been mentioned.

She lifted her chin. “My soon-to-be-former fiancé.”

“I’m guessing he doesn’t know you’re here?”

---