My anticipation climbs with every mile that passes—along with the feeling that I’m insane. But that doesn’t stop my body from humming with nervous, excited energy.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I know that better than I know my own name.

I don’t make reckless choices anymore. I’ve worked too hard to get my life exactly where I need it to be to take risks.

Yes, I searched for clubs like this months ago. My curiosity was piqued after I heard some of the Voodoo Kings football players discussing where they were headed after their Mardi Gras bash. Later that same week, I caught the tail end of a conversation between two ladies at lunch who mentioned a place where identities were hidden and fantasies were fair game.

Two instances in one week made it beyond tempting, but my search for a place people like that would frequent came up empty. Would I have ever worked up the nerve to go if I’d discovered Haven?

Highly doubtful.

The most likely outcome would have been me climbing in bed with a dirty book and a toy, and making myself come before falling asleep.

What happened the other night was a mistake, even if the stranger doesn’t believe that.

Girls like me can’t afford to be reckless. We don’t get that many chances, so screwing them up has harsher consequences.

So, what’s my excuse for tonight? Craziness? Curiosity? A little of both?

I decide it doesn’t matter as I give my name to whomever is at the other end of the speaker perched on a pole outside the gate. Now that I know what’s hiding behind it, the wrought iron seems even more decadent.

Someone spared no expense making sure the outside is just as perfect as the inside. The trees are perfectly trimmed and the moss seems almost artfully draped. The muted glow of the lights lining the drive adds to the enticing allure. Come, it says. Don’t hesitate. You’ll never find another place like this . . . and certainly not another man like him.

The voice in my head is interrupted by reality.

“Welcome back, madam,” the voice replies through the speaker as the gate swings open.

My foot stays planted on the brake, and I consider what the hell I’m doing for the thousandth time since I whipped that U-turn.

Turn around, I tell myself. Turn around and never look back. Forget this place and this man and go on with your safe little life.

My brother’s warning rings in my head about the kind of people who come here. Bad people. Does that make my stranger one of them? And even if he is . . . do I care?

I squeeze my eyes shut and another voice emerges, louder than the last.

You only get one life. Live the hell out of it. No regrets.

As the two options clash in my brain, the gates move again—this time to close and shut me out. Which would make my debate moot, because my choice is being stolen from me.

My hand, already on the gearshift, ready to throw my Bronco into reverse and retreat, is overridden by my gut. I punch the accelerator and my tires grab the pavement, rocketing me forward before the wrought-iron barrier can keep me from my destination.

Just one more time.

I’ll steal one more night and walk away. I can do that. Rafe will never know. No one will but the stranger and me.

My resolve strengthened, I inhale several long, deep breaths to steady myself as I slow the Bronco behind another car. A uniformed valet accepts the keys from a masked man climbing out of a white Mercedes, and a fraction of my nervous energy calms at the sight of another patron. At least for a moment, then another thought breaks through.

What if I see someone I recognize or who recognizes me? I need a mask, and it’s not something I carry around in my Bronco. Why didn’t I think ahead?

When the Mercedes pulls away, another masked man exits the front door and approaches my car. He’s wearing a similar uniform to the valets and the doormen I saw last time, but his mask is a different color. He rounds the hood, and my nerves spike when he opens my door.

“Madam, I was informed that you might be in need of an accessory.”

My mind, already halfway in the gutter by being in the proximity of the club, goes straight to the multitude of possible accessories to which he could be referring.

“Excuse me?” I ask, pulling away from the open door.

He regards me curiously as he pulls something silver from his inner breast pocket and holds it out. “Your mask, madam.”

“Oh. Yes. Thank you.” What did you think he was going to offer you, Temperance? Nipple clamps?

“If you’ll step out and present your card, I’ll help you tie the mask and show you inside.”

My card?

“Umm, one second.” I turn away from the window and pull the card out of my bra—because I’m classy like that—and offer it to him.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

I slide out of my Bronco and lean over to snag my purse and hook it over my shoulder. Taking the mask from him, I turn and give him my back. He deftly ties it on, and I adjust the positioning before facing him again.

“Please follow me, madam.”

His avoidance of using my name sends a clear signal that anonymity is prized here, which is perfectly okay with me. Preferable, actually.

With more confidence than I feel, I stride after the man, climbing the front steps. When the door opens, I’m once again transported to a different world.

Once inside, the thumping bass beat from the upper floor creates a slow, throbbing pulse that carries through the entire building, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m going to see the inside of the room where it comes from tonight.

“I’ll take care of her from here,” says a familiar voice, a voice I don’t want to hear here.

My gaze cuts to the woman standing just inside the foyer—my boss’s best friend, Magnolia Maison.

Lord above, what are the odds? I don’t answer my own question because, really, why shouldn’t I have expected to see the notorious madam in a sex club? I should almost have expected it, but I didn’t. And now . . . she could tell my boss. Great.

I drop my head and pretend to cough so I can cover the bottom half of my face in a last-ditch effort to conceal my identity and avoid what will certainly be an awkward conversation with Keira.

“Ain’t gonna work, chérie. We’ve got some talkin’ to do.” Magnolia crooks her finger. “Come on.”

“But—” I protest, but she turns around and strolls out of the entryway.

Over her shoulder, she adds, “Don’t worry. You’re not gonna be late. He ain’t here yet.”

I swallow as my stomach flops. How much does she know? If I had to make a wager, I’d assume everything. Because that’s how Magnolia operates.

She leads me down a hallway on the first floor into a richly appointed room that looks like it’s half office and half boudoir. Gold-and-red wallpaper gives it a bold air, which suits Magnolia’s personality, or at least what I know of it.

“Close the door behind you.”

I push the wooden panel shut and lean against it, anchoring my purse to my side. “Please don’t tell Keira I’m here. This doesn’t have anything to do with work. It’s . . . personal. And, honestly, I really don’t want to have to explain any of this. You know?”

Magnolia turns away from my rambling pleas and lifts a crystal decanter from a mirrored brass bar cart. From the scraps of information I’ve pieced together, I know Magnolia has been a madam for years, at least before an incident left her—and Keira and me—injured a few months ago.

I open my mouth again to fill the silence, intending to ask her how she’s doing, but my lips seal shut when she speaks.

“Everything that happens here is personal, chérie.” She looks over her shoulder at me as she replaces the stopper in the decanter. “Keira doesn’t need to know anything. Her man either. I know how to keep a secret.” An eerie feeling creeps up my spine as she turns and raises the tumbler to her red lips. “I’d offer you some, but we both know you’ll decline.”

Her statement—and knowledge of my drinking preferences—reinforces what I suspect is the God’s honest truth. Magnolia Maison isn’t someone I should underestimate.

She uses the glass to gesture at a leather chair with its back to an unlit fireplace. “Sit. Let’s have ourselves a little chat.”

I don’t know why I’m obeying, but my feet move and I lower myself into the chair. Magnolia takes a brocade chaise longue. She sips the liquor and studies me.

“Who knows you’re here?” she asks, not at all the question I expected.

“No one.”

She tilts her head to the side. “When you’re meeting a dangerous man, you should always let someone know where you’re going. That’s just being smart.”

“Dangerous?”

“Oh, girl, you don’t have a clue what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?”

I think of the man who was at the distillery earlier tonight. The one who invited me back here again, and I couldn’t resist.

Not wanting to sound as naive as I must appear, I straighten. “I can handle myself.”

Magnolia smiles before throwing her head back and filling the room with rich laughter. “Lord, you’re just as stubborn as Ke-ke. Once upon a time, I had to tell her how things worked. Didn’t suspect I’d have to tell you. You should already know that people aren’t always what they seem.”

That eerie feeling returns. “What do you mean?”

“I know about you. Your people. Where you come from.”

I stiffen, lifting my chin. “So?”

“Lock down your attitude, girl, I’m not here to threaten you. I’m here to help you.”

“How?” I’m beginning to lose my patience.

“By giving you a helpful piece of advice. Keep whatever you’ve got going on here in the club. Don’t take it outside. That’s when things get dicey.”

“Sounds like you don’t think I should even be in the club.”

She takes another drink before replying. “That’s not at all what I’m saying. Come and fuck to your heart’s content. I’m the last person who’ll ever judge you for that. But you need to be careful. Be smart. Realize that this isn’t your world, and you aren’t equipped to handle the consequences of your actions if you take it outside the club. That man you’re addicted to is smooth as hell but twice as dangerous.”

A million questions surge to the forefront, but as I open my mouth to give voice to the first one, someone knocks on the door.

Magnolia glances toward it before meeting my gaze once more. “That’s my next appointment. You ever need anything, you got my number. He should be here by now. Enjoy your night, Temperance. Be smart.”