Page 87 of Take Me Under

“We have a VIP table and bottle service arranged,” he told her.

She tilted her head, already reaching beneath the bar to retrieve a menu. “Right this way.”

She stepped out from behind the counter, her outfit clinging to her every movement as she guided us toward a raised VIP section. It was hard not to notice the glances club patrons gave us as we passed. The eyes of both men and women noticeably lingered on me more than Anton, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I looked like an imposter in my conservative dress or if it was something else. All I knew was that I couldn’t shake the sense of being stalked.

Anton’s hand remained on my back, a silent reassurance. Or perhaps it was a warning to those who stared for a little too long. I couldn’t be sure. The entire environment was surreal.

The bartender led us to a private booth along the edge of the dance floor, elevated from the main floor but with a perfect view of the crowd.

“Your server will be right with you,” she purred before turning back toward the bar.

I exhaled, settling into the plush seating as Anton took the spot beside me, his arm stretching casually over the back of the booth. Then he turned to me, his gaze sharp and assessing.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the pounding bass.

I hesitated, scanning the dance floor. Everywhere I looked, women draped themselves over the men, their bodies pressed too closely to be mistaken for casual dancing. The more I watched, the more my heart raced, intuition kicking into overdrive.

“Just trying to take it all in, I guess,” I said cautiously. “Is this how women dress in clubs nowadays?”

“This isn’t a typical club, princess.” He paused, allowing his fingers to casually brush my bare thigh. “This place caters to a more diverse clientele, and they’re selective about who they let in.”

A shiver ran through me. I had already come to that conclusion.

“What kind of club is it?” I asked, bracing myself for the answer.

Before he could reply, our server appeared. She was a stunning woman with an impossibly toned figure, her outfit just as revealing as the bartender’s. She focused her attention on Anton, her smile practiced and poised.

“What can I get you?” she asked. Her accent was French, solidifying my suspicions about the international crowd.

Anton didn’t spare the menu a glance. “We’ll take a bottle of Louis XIII.”

Her brows lifted slightly, seeming impressed. “Excellent choice. Is the standard selection of mixers okay?”

“That’s fine.”

“Yes,monsieur. I’ll be right back,” she said with a nod before walking away with hips swaying as if she knew all eyes were on her.

I turned to Anton. “What’s Louis XIII?”

“Cognac. I’ll drink it straight, but I wasn’t sure about your preference and figured a variety of mixers would be best.”

“You don’t want me to drink liquor straight. I’d be drunk in a hot second if I did that,” I said with a laugh. However, after having only been here for fifteen minutes, I was beginning to think liquid courage might not be a bad idea. I should have had more wine at dinner.

Anton shifted closer, his fingers trailing up my arm. A shiver of goosebumps raced down my spine despite the heat of theroom. Leaning in until I could feel his warm breath on my ear, he said, “Watch the crowd. Tell me what you see.”

I did as he said, letting my gaze wander. The scene before me was charged, electric. If it weren’t for the way most of the women dressed, one might assume it was a normal night club. But this place was anything but normal. The people moved in a rhythm that was more carnal than casual. I wasn’t sure how to define it yet, and I didn’t want to give voice to my suspicions.

My eyes zeroed in on a woman in a skin-tight red dress with a deep plunging neckline. She leaned against a glass partition, her head thrown back as a man pressed against her, his hands gripping her waist in a way that made it very clear they were doing more than dancing. A few minutes later, they made their way to an open doorway in the back corner of the room. A guard stepped aside to let them pass, and they disappeared from my line of sight.

My eyes shifted back to the dance floor. Another couple was in the corner, her arms wrapped around his neck, their bodies moving in a slow, intimate rhythm. Watching them seemed wrong—as if I were intruding on something deeply personal. A few moments later, they too disappeared through the mysterious doorway. But this time, when the man keeping guard moved back into position, his eyes met mine. I looked away quickly, heat flooding my cheeks over being caught staring.

Everywhere I looked, there were overabundant displays of shameless touching in an environment that seemed to welcome indulgence. I’d been to France and Germany. I’d heard the stories about their provocative, illicit club scene. But surely Anton wouldn’t have brought me to one ofthoseclubs. It was probably just my imagination running overtime.

I swallowed, shifting in my seat, needing to know the answer.

“Give it to me straight, Anton. What is this place exactly?”

His fingers traced slow, lazy circles on my thigh as hestudied me. His dark eyes held mine, full of heat and something far more dangerous. It was as if he were memorizing every line of my face so he could best assess my reaction to what he was about to say.

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