Page 40 of Beneath the Blindfold

Seven years ago, Court had been a cheerleader at Ohio State. She was five-foot-nothing and maybe a buck-ten, as my Grampa would say. Tiny. Blonde, white, and so fucking pretty she’d been used in a bunch of the marketing material for OSU’s football program.

And she just got better looking as the years went by. First time I’d seen her when Tariq brought them to Chicago, she’d cut her long hair short and gone darker. Still blonde, but more natural looking. It made her eyes bluer and brighter. Made her look sexier, which I didn’t think was possible.

I couldn’t stop my gaze as it slid down her tight body. Was she wearing leather pants? Fuck me, the girl was a dime whatever she had on, but the loose, draping shirt she wore was mean. It covered her perfect ass from view, and I needed to see it in those pants she’d poured herself into.

When Court’s gaze landed on me, a smile broke out, and wires crossed in my brain. She didn’t look pissed . . . she looked relieved. What the fuck? Maybe Kyle hadn’t told her anything. Maybe she’d gotten the address somehow and still thought this place was legit.

I dug my fingers into the wood frame of the door where she couldn’t see my grip, and tried to sound normal. “Courtney? What’re you doing here?”

She stared at my suit and blinked. Was the color throwing her off? Her big blue eyes shifted to look up at my face. “You wanted to talk.” She took a step forward. Even in heels, she was a foot shorter than I was. “You said it was important.”

I worked my fingers deeper between the wood. If I went after it, I’d separate the jam from the wall. “Yeah, but how’d—”

Her voice was casual and steady. “I know what you do. I’ve known about this place for months, Julius.” She glanced at Deiondre, then back to me. “Can we go inside?”

The door frame splintered and cracked in my hand, making her jolt. She’d known . . .for months? I brought my hands down, jamming them in my pockets as I turned to let her through the doorway. My brain chugged along, trying to keep up.

Courtney was dressed to go out, but she was alone.

“Did I fuck up your date?” I asked.

Her faint smile made my confusion worse. “No.”

As she walked past, I got a hit of her perfume. Just a hint of her scent had me swallowing hard. Did this girl have any idea what she did to me? I pulled the handle closed, putting a door between us and Deiondre.

Courtney took in her surroundings. The narrow room had fancy couches on one side and a bar on the other, which was currently dark. When we were open, I staffed one guy behind it. He made sure the clients had whatever they wanted before their appointments, or if it was a walk-in, they had to hang out in this room while I evaluated their membership application and went over the rules.

“I got questions,” I said. A fuck-ton of questions.

She nodded, but stared at the floor instead of looking at me. “I do, too. Like, if you had ruined my date . . . would you be glad?”

Trap, my brain warned. There were way bigger things to talk about right now. Worry squeezed my voice. “What do you know about my club?”

“You don’t sell wine.”

I sucked down a breath and my shoulders lifted. My chest was tight. “Yeah? What do I sell?”

Finally, she looked at me and licked her lips. She did that shit when she was nervous, and had no fucking clue how much it turned me on. Her mouth was sexy as hell. She was so quiet, it was almost a whisper and I couldn’t tell if she was judging me. “You sell women.”

My pulse kicked up another notch. “Nah, not exactly.”

Her eyes went big and she looked confused. “Then, you tell me, because I heard you—”

“I sell an experience.”

Her lush lips rounded into an ‘oh.’ The sudden urge to grab her and slam my mouth over hers was fierce, but I kept my goddamn hands in my pockets. She hesitated, but the look in her eyes . . . what was that? Interest?

“An experience,” she repeated, “with beautiful women, who are naked, blindfolded and bound.”

Shit, she really did know. “Who told you?” I asked.

It wouldn’t be Tariq. Their divorce was messy, and . . . fuck me. It couldn’t have been Kyle either. Besides him saying he wouldn’t tell her, he’d been my attorney, too. That was privileged info.

She peered up at me like I was fascinating, not disgusting. How was that fucking possible? My heart roared along, like a stupid girl skipping through flowers. Courtney was my best friend. Having her know this and not judge me was fuckinghuge.

“There’s a guy who plays offense for the Bears. He came here last year with his wife, and . . .” She shrugged. “Players’ wives talk.”

I staggered back a step, taking in the info I hadn’t seen coming. As a businessman, I was glad she hadn’t said the client’s name. We didn’t use them in the club, since the whole point of the blindfolds was to keep identities a secret.

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