Page 24 of Lillian

First glance at the room inside has my head spinning. This isn’t anything like I was expecting. I’m not sure what it is I thought the inside would be like. Maybe the place would have sex swings dangling from the ceiling, women leading menaround by collars with leashes on them, or even people openly having sex on a stage.

And there is a stage—a big platform low enough to only need two steps that matches the Victorian theme of the room. Nobody is on it yet, though. And there is—thankfully—no bed for something I absolutely do not want to watch two strangers use out in front of a crowd.

Victorian-style chairs with the high backs and velvet cushions litter the space, placed strategically around the white columns with gilded composite-style moldings at the tops. Several large crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling and complete the elegant, almost regency feel of the space.

Already there are a ton of people here, much to my relief. Part of me wanted to show up five minutes before the close of doors, but Kim made sure I had Grace at her doorstep with plenty of time to spare. I half expected everyone to show up at least fashionably late. But looking around at the almost full room, people are excited to get the night started.

There are men and women walking around with trays of hors d'oeuvres. The women are scantily clad in black, sexy lingerie, and the men are wearing black boxer briefs. One of the men sidles up to me as I make accidental eye contact with him, but my stomach is too tied up in knots to even think about eating right now. I shake my head before he can even ask and spot a waitress with drinks on her tray instead of the appetizers.

That’s what I need. There are what look like a few cocktails on it, but I don’t want to be too tipsy. I just need something for the nerves. She gives me a sweet, red-lipped smile as I snag a red wine.

The first sip is bitter, but I feel it as it slides down my throat and settles in my stomach. The warmth that floods me is almost instantaneous. Wine is the only alcohol that can do that to me.On the next sip, I lean against one of the white columns in the room and survey the people roaming about.

It’s clear almost immediately there are people who came together and some who showed up alone, like me. There is a petite blonde sitting on a pretty brunette's lap in one of the high-backed chairs, both women. The brunette slides a lazy finger up and down the blonde's leg, while the blonde runs an absent hand through her long brunette hair. The familiarity in the touch and the way they speak in hushed tones as they both observe the people here makes it clear they’re already a couple. Maybe they just like to spice up their sex life, but I had assumed everyone here would be single, like me.

Stupid, Lillian.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I get the feeling that someone is watching me. Just as I think it, my eyes scan the crowd in a quick perusal, and I feel the blood drain from my face as my eyes lock on familiar hazel ones.

I blink.

I have to be hallucinating. In what world is my ex boyfriend at the same sex club on the same night for the same party as me? What are the odds?

Seriously.

What are those odds? One in a million? One in three hundred thousand? I went four years without any contact, never seeing his face, and now I’ve run into him twice in one week.

Realization dawns on me. Once, I can chalk it up to a coincidence. The look on his face when we bumped into each other a few days ago was genuine surprise. I make note of the way he’s eyeing me up and down, an undercurrent of frustration, maybe, but not an ounce of surprise.

How thehelldid he figure out I was going to be here?

We have a silent battle of wills, both staring the other down. My mind is racing, but I don’t break eye contact. Not until, that is, he pushes off the wall and starts to walk my way.

Absolutely not.

He doesn’t get to stalk me and then dictate conversation, too. In a small panic, I look at all the men closest to me before settling on the most attractive one I can find. My heels sink into the rug I’m standing on, making my approach quiet. I don’t get his attention right away.

Awkwardness engulfs me as I wonder whether to tap on his shoulder or just start talking. I’d look a little goofy tapping on his shoulder, I think. The man is a giant. At least six foot five and clearly fit. Muscles strain against his tight, black suit.

Lincoln’s figure gets closer from the corner of my eye, so I speak. “Hi,” I say eloquently to the tall stranger. His eyes drag down to my small frame.

Every part of me tries not to shudder. This man, while incredibly attractive, looks mean. Dangerous. The kind of guy you don’t want to ask what they do for a living because you’re afraid they’re going to tell you they kill people or something.

His eyes are hard, if not a little curious as they stare down at me. But he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t greet me back or show any interest like I may have suspected from a guy at a sex party. This won’t stop Lincoln from approaching.

I extend my hand, hoping to get him to engage with me. Maybe even make Lincoln a little jealous. “I’m Lillian.”

A little breath of relief shoots out of me as he takes my hand and doesn’t just snub it.

“Vincenzo,” his voice is low.Vincenzo.He looks much older than my thirty. Maybe in his forties with a dark, neatly trimmed beard and hair to match.

Still, all he offers is his name. Damn, this man is not making it easy. “Not having a good time?” I prod, half-teasing. The manis surrounded by beautiful, half-naked women, and he’s got a permanent scowl on his face.

“That will start once I’m in a room,” is his short reply. Right. I clear my throat and try to ignore the visual that pops up of what this man would be like in bed. I guess I may not have to ignore it, considering it’s a blind draw to find out who you go up with.

I am so out of my depth here. Damn Kim for making me sign up for this. No part of me is going to be able to sleep with a stranger. Not when I know the men paid to be here. It’s feeling veryPretty Woman.

Just as I think about stepping away, I see Lincoln has stopped a few paces away and is glaring at the man. This is too hard to pass up.

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