Page 20 of Craving Danger

I follow her to the seating area, and when I sit down on a stool at one of the round tables, I force a smile to my face.

“A server will bring you a martini,” she says before walking away.

Feeling more anxious by the minute, I glance at the other members. They’re all relaxed and seem to be enjoying themselves.

It’s just an hour with a man who won’t touch me.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

I’m a strong and confident woman.

The server brings my drink, and I quickly take hold of the glass and down half of it. As the alcohol hits my stomach, I feel queasy and leave the rest of the martini.

Getting up from the stool, I walk to the nearest staff member, whose petite frame indicates she’s a woman, and say, “I’m ready to go to the room.”

“Right this way, Miss Blakely,” the woman says.

As I follow her toward a hallway, my muscles are tense, and my stomach spins with nerves.

There’s no backing out. I can do this.

She opens a golden door, and I’m taken into a room that’s decorated in the same black and gold as the rest of the club.

My eyes land on the bed, and avoiding it, I walk toward the armchair that’s in the corner of the room.

Before I can even take a seat, a man comes in and the staff member says, “The only rule is no touching. Enjoy your time together.”

Before I can catch my bearings, she leaves us alone, and the door shuts behind her.

Oh shit.

My eyes are locked on a man who can’t be much older than me. He’s not bad-looking, which only makes me feel more nervous.

He’s taller and stronger than me.

Shit.

A smile spreads over his face as his eyes sweep over my body. “My name is Kevin. What’s yours?”

“Ah.” My tongue darts out to nervously wet my lips. “Samantha.”

As my eyes dart to the door, he asks, “What do you want to do?”

My gaze snaps back to him. “We can sit.”

I glance over my shoulder before I take a seat on the armchair.

Kevin plops down on the edge of the bed, and bracing his arms behind him, he stares at me as if I’m his next meal.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he says.

I glance at my wristwatch and see only five minutes have passed. Fifty-five to go.

“I’m new,” I murmur while I position my handbag on my lap.

His eyes drop to where my hands are gripping my handbag, and he lets out a chuckle. “You look tense.”

“Yeah,” I mutter.

---