Page 4 of Claim

There were ways to protect myself, but sometimes not having to stay on alert was a nice change of pace.

Over the years, I’d let my guard down too many times, only to regret it later.

Plus, I knew Lucian preferred that I explore things about myself in the walls of his club versus someone else’s.

I know what he would do—to anyone who dared to cross the line when it came to me.

Using the word unhinged when describing his temper wouldn’t do him justice.

Thank God he no longer monitored the club every night. He preferred to spend time at home with his wife, Elaine, and their children. No little sister wanted to venture into their older brother’s kink club and then run into said big bro there or even worse, have him witness her first foray from spectator to participant.

I entered the vast expanse of the lounge. Immediately, my skin prickled with awareness, and energy pulsed all around me. The strategic placement of unique furniture and styling gave the area the ambiance of multiple rooms. Allowing a variety of groups to mingle and relax without feeling they were right on top of each other.

A shiver slid down my spine, and my skin prickled as if a predator watched me.

This never happened any of the other three times I’d visited the club. Then again, I’d never wanted to experience the pleasure available here to this level. Those other times, I enjoyed watching and losing myself in the beauty of the public scenes. They drew me and pulled at a part of me I rarely allowed free.

However, tonight there was something, this unexplainable urgency, to delve into the world firsthand.

Maybe the mix of what happened earlier in the evening with the need to feel something other than the expectations drove me.

To lose myself for one night before returning to my everyday life of being a persona non grata.

I scanned the room, noticing a few stares in my direction, but none connected with the sensations currently stirring inside me.

That this unknown feeling aroused me more than scared me made no damn sense.

A cocktail. That’s what I needed—something to take the edge off. Then I’d figure out what had riled my senses.

Strolling to the bar in the far corner of the room, I slipped onto a barstool.

“Welcome back, gorgeous.” The handsome blond bartender, Tate, said.

He gave me a dazzling smile, setting a cocktail napkin in front of me.

“Dirty martini with extra olives, am I correct?” He set a martini glass on the prep station and waited for my answer.

“You remembered. I’m impressed.”

He winked. “That’s my job. I have to keep all the beautiful ladies happy.”

“Is that right? And it wouldn’t have to do with me being the boss’s sister?”

“Absolutely not. I play no favoritism at all. But I will if you give me the latest celebrity gossip.” His sheepish smile had me grinning back at him and relaxing.

The last time I’d visited the club, Tate and I’d spent most of the night sharing stories about our over-the-top encounters with A-listers.

“Honestly, I have nothing new to share. Just the same old, same old.”

He lifted a brow before he rested his arms on the bar and then set his chin on his hands. “Don’t be coy. Give me something.”

“Okay. Umm… You know that tabloid story about the fight for the pre-fashion week events?”

“You mean about the model who found out her designer boyfriend was sleeping with another model?”

“Yep?”

“All lies. It was a publicity stunt to get people to the fashion show. They are a throuple. Have been one for as long as I can remember.”

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