Chapter 2
The New York City pavement echoed beneath Sarah’s stiletto heels as she approached the hidden door to one of the city’s more secretive clubs. Across the street, a man in a business suit gawked at her.
Her wig was freshly brushed after coming out of its bag in the hotel room. Makeup as bold as her intentions illuminated her face. Beneath her black double-breasted trench coat was an outfit that would make her prim and proper British mother dig out her Victorian ancestor’s fainting couch. Fishnet stockings poked out from the bottom hem. That was enough to send a message to every man she was about to see in the club.
She had a membership, of course, obtained thanks to her job, of all things. The Monroes owned the most upscale sex club outside of New York City. After two years of wandering around the place and looking at the charts and figures from the backend, Sarah knew exactly how to secure a membership as a “single and willing” member. Sex clubs demanded as many single female members as possible, offering deep membership discounts and plenty of incentive to return many times. Free drinks and food. First dibs on private rooms if they could secure a good date. Their own personal bodyguard for the inevitable weirdo who thought his good looks and money meant he could take whatever he wanted. Other women had that problem. Not Sarah. As soon as she became Angel, she rarely said no.
“Here comes trouble,” the bouncer muttered with a small grin. “Go easy on them tonight, tiger. Lots of new guys in there. Some conference in town.”
“Oh, good. Then I won’t be bored.” Sometimes, when there was no new blood, Sarah deigned to take on a man she had already been with once or twice before. Usually she liked to keep it new. Part of Angel’s persona was tallying up as many men as possible. Part of the risk, which translated into part of the high.
Angel made all the stupid decisions and enacted every fantasy Sarah harbored in her thoughts. Every time she met a new man, it was like Christmas came so many days early.
Maybe this time it would be the best she ever had.
Maybe this time she would be able to forget.
Maybe this time she would reclaim what had been stolen from her.
She could never go as Sarah, the frumpy, recognizable assistant of one of the world’s richest businessmen. But as Angel? She was another hottie, another enticing cunt to fuck.
Why, she got excited from thinking about it.
The club was packed more than usual, but most of the newcomers were women – with dates. Sarah didn’t get the same thrill from picking up a random woman as she did with men. Nor did she care to be the third wheel in somebody’s marriage. So even though she received more than a few curious looks in her direction as she passed through the main room, she didn’t bother anyone with her attentions. Besides, Angel liked to get a feel for the crowd before making any decisions for the night.
Unlike some other clubs she had been to over the years (such as her boss’s) this one did not partake much in public displays of sex and nudity. Most hookups happened behind closed doors of private rooms, and those looking for an exhibitionistic thrill could arrange to get on a stage in one of the back rooms. For all her strange behaviors, Sarah didn’t care much for exhibitionism. Voyeurism, on the other hand, was a different matter she often enjoyed.
There were “private” rooms with two-way mirrors, so the people inside could watch themselves and get off on being watched. Except they couldn’t see who, and how many people, were watching. Few hung around for the foreplay, anyway. If Sarah timed it right, she could walk by a room as a couple made it to the main event. Yet the dark and black lights made it difficult to see details. Just a few half-naked bodies here and there getting it on.
Now, if a girl wasn’t going to hang out in the main room and wanted to find a partner or two for the evening? She had to know some of the bouncers well enough to gain admittance to the more VIP areas.
Admittance, if one did not pay for the privilege, was restricted. The main VIP lobby was where those staying in New York chose to do their sleaziest business. Women employed by the club got the biggest tips in there, whether they served drinks or conveniently shoved their pussies in men’s faces. Some working girls had a partnership with the management. In return for their unquestioned admittance, they talked their prospective clients into buying the most expensive drinks in the house.
Sarah was neither. She didn’t want to be paid to do what she did, for that killed the thrill. Besides, men behaved differently with women they thought they genuinely seduced as opposed to paying for the opportunity. Sarah wanted her men as emotionally raw as possible.
Soon after learning how this club worked, she made nice with the bouncers – sometimes really nice. The weekend management was particularly interested in her motives. She wasn’t hooking, and she wasn’t shopping for a rich husband… so what was her story? Why did she want access to these powerful men?
Sarah told them she simply had a taste for the finer things, thanks to her British mother. Well, Angel told them that. Deep inside, the real Sarah thought Because the man who wronged me would be in a room like this. Russell Monroe was served a karma sandwich from hell, but Sarah had never received her personal vengeance.
She never received the closure she craved.
The bouncer standing outside the entrance to the VIP room looked her up and down before opening the door for her. Instantly, the scent of expensive cigars, cologne, and liquor hit her, but not before she spotted a small group of men sitting in a circle of chairs, chatting.
“Good luck,” the bouncer said, before closing the door again. “Tough crowd tonight.”
If men had gathered in this room, it was either to unwind (such as a bachelor party) or conduct serious business outside of the public eye. Yes, some men want to do business in pleasure clubs. That was apparently what Sarah stumbled upon with her chosen group.
The men spoke a mashup of English and some other language Sarah did not immediately recognize. German? No. Swedish? Possibly. Maybe Norwegian.
Ah, if it was none of those, it must have been Danish.
Now what were a group of Danish businessmen doing in New York? Fuck it. Sarah knew. No good. Since when were Danes ever up to any good?
She perched atop a stool, feet swinging and smirk keeping a keen eye on the three men in their flustered circle. Two of the men were older. Tall, thin, either previously blond and now gray or still clinging to a few blond roots.
The third was unlike both of them, although he conversed as easily as the other two.
He was more muscularly built, his frame threatening to burst from his suit, although not for fault of the suit’s tailoring. Sarah knew a custom made suit when she saw one. No, what made this man exceptionally powerful was how he was forced to sling his elbows against his knees and brace his large feet on the ground. He didn’t slouch. Yet his broad shoulders suggested he worked out. A lot.
But what tickled Sarah’s fancy the most was the face. Clean, angular jaw. Cheekbones that gave him character without claiming the whole of his face. Wide forehead with only a hint of a few lines. Eyes as blue as the lights shining in the hallway. Brows that furrowed whenever the other men spoke. Occasionally he said something in English before jumping back into Danish. His English accent was familiarly American.
As it so happened, this man and Sarah made eye contact exactly once during his meeting. It was in that moment, when a chill shot through Sarah’s body, that she realized she would be sleeping with this man tonight.
Perhaps he didn’t know it yet. Look at the way he glances back at me. One last time before giving the men he was with his undivided attention.
There were other men in the room. Some readily available for a woman to make their nighttime dreams come true. Some of those even approached Sarah, informing her of her beauty, in case she didn’t know she possessed it.
They wanted to buy her drinks. She wanted them to leave her alone.
It took an hour for the two older blond men to shake the American’s hand and excuse themselves from the VIP room. By then, Sarah had her pick of three different men, two of whom were still in the room. But she didn’t care about them. The only one she cared about was the man checking his phone and firing off a text. Either way, he wasn’t looking Sarah’s direction.
A shame. Because those dazzling blue eyes should be soaking her up. Always.
Sarah admired the way his powerful hands punched numbers and letters into his phone. The curl of his lips into a smile as he thought himself awfully clever. The relaxed posture that took over when he decided he was now off the clock. He sank back into his chair, still comfortably powerful, commanding, and regal in the way he sat. He was both open to communication and closed off from the world. If only Sarah could get him to notice her.
She gestured to one of the servers. “Is he a bourbon man?”
“Close.” That got Sarah a small smile. “Scotch.”
“Get me one, please.”
The server glanced between Sarah and the man. “Aiming high tonight, even for you.”
“Am I? I have no idea who that is.”
Sarah didn’t care to hear the man’s name from anyone but him. Better that way.
Within five minutes she had a glass of scotch and a wink of encouragement from the server. Sarah slipped off her stool and approached the imposing figure still perusing his phone.
When he could be perusing me… for shame.
“You look thirsty.” The glass of scotch hung from her hand, her other hand on her hip. “Care to join me?” Her nail tapped against the glass.
Those sultry blues looked her up and down, mostly lingering on her face, but occasionally taking in her coat and wig. Men loved blondes, didn’t they? Just have to ask my boss that question to find out the answer. Not that Sarah gave one single shit about Mr. Monroe’s opinion about… anything.
“I know you can speak English.” Sarah sat in one of the chairs a blond man once held down. “I heard you speaking some earlier.” She placed the glass of scotch on the small table between them.
“My English is better than my Danish, yes.” The man pocketed his phone before leaning farther back into his chair. “To whom do I owe this extraordinary pleasure?”
His voice was deep, yet friendly. A warm tone that would have put the real Sarah instantly at ease. Angel got turned on from a voice like this.
Really, really turned on.
“Angel.” She primped without realizing at first. Stuck out her chest and fingered the long locks of her wig. “That’s what they call me around here.”
“Let me guess,” the man said with a mild droll, “you’re sent straight from Heaven.”
“Some people think so.”
“Those people tend to be men, hm?”
What do you want from me? Sarah flashed him her teeth as she leaned forward, elbows on her knees. It gave him a fantastic view of her cleavage in her pushup bra. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you around here before.” She played a dangerous game referencing that she had been here before. Some men didn’t like hearing that. Stole their fantasies, or something equally ridiculous. “You must be from out of town.”
“You can say that again.”
“From Denmark?”
He arched his eyebrows. “So you recognized Danish? Don’t come across that very often in the States.”
“Well, it wasn’t German. And it wasn’t Dutch. Nor was it Swedish.”
“Ah, yes. The bastard language of Europe. I’ve heard it all before.”
“You Danish?”
“Technically.” Sarah’s intended smiled back at her. “Born there, mostly raised here. Bilingual and bitter about it.”
Bilingual men were sexy as hell. Especially if they spoke a language Sarah wasn’t terribly familiar with. “I have dual citizenship too. British, on my mother’s side.” She rarely used her UK passport, though. Only when traveling there for business, and she never stayed long.
“That so? Also, I’ve only been a dual citizen for about a year now. Used to be impossible to have dual citizenship until they changed the laws. Felt quite funny being a grown man asking to have it back after I had renounced it to be 100% American filth.”
Sarah had heard something about that, but only in passing. Besides, what the hell did she care about that? The Danish thing was a mere segue toward seducing this man. “You still haven’t told me your name.”
“Lucas.” Before Sarah could reply, he continued, smiling, “Lucas and Angel. What a Biblical pair we make.”
“Suppose that’s true.”
A brief pause commenced. Sarah bit her lower lip and admired Lucas’s muscular physique as it lurked beneath a pesky suit. I could remove that quickly. I have quite the record. He’d be amazed at how quickly I could remove his suit and get my mouth on his cock.
He caught her checking out his lap.
“Do you work for the club, Ms. Angel?”
She bristled. “No.”
“Ah.” Lucas chuckled. “An independent woman. I can respect that.”
Sarah needed to correct something. “I’m not an escort.”
“Too bad. You have the skills to make a killing.”
She cocked her head to the side, the fake hair on her head brushing against the chair. “That so? How much do you think I could make?”
“For a night, or per hour?”
“Either.”
“Hmm.” Lucas studied the glass of scotch Sarah had left between them. “Last I heard, the going rate for a real pro was thousands a night. So, if I had to spitball a beautiful woman such as yourself coming onto a man like me in a place like this… at least $5000 for the night.”
“You’re right. If I worked one night a week, I’d make a killing.” She crossed her legs, making sure Lucas had a good view of her outer thigh. “Chump change for you, I’m sure.”
“No comment on that.”
“What would you like to comment on, then?” Lucas could come from a failing family for all Sarah cared. As long as he could play the part of rich businessman too posh for his own good, Sarah was guaranteed a good time. “The weather?”
Lucas picked up the scotch. “If I drink this, will I pass out?”
“Are you kidding?” Sarah scoffed. “You asking if I drugged that?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised. Places like these? You drug a poor bloke, next thing I know I’m waking up in my hotel room totally cleaned out.”
“Please. If I wanted your money, I’d charge you for my time.”
“But then you wouldn’t have to have sex with me.”
“Have to have?” Sarah stood up, her heels bringing her closer to Lucas and his cinnamon-infused cologne. “I don’t think you know what’s going on here, Mr. Lucas.”
He did not move away from her as she approached. His hand grazed against his chin. “Tell me what’s going on, Ms. Angel.”
She put a hand on his shoulder. Oh my sweet God, he’s so… sturdy. The amount of raw power lurking in this man’s body could be used to send Sarah to the stratosphere of sexual pleasure.
Oops. Her coat came undone and opened. If Lucas had been expecting a dress beneath it, he was sorely disappointed. A black pushup bra, thong, and garters would have to do, now wouldn’t they?
“I’m seducing you.” Her knuckles gently nicked his cheek. “Anything you want. For free.”
“Well, this is a turn of events.” Ah, but Lucas was the tiniest bit flustered. Sarah could tell from the way he shuffled in his seat, energy ready to burst from his body. “I’m used to doing the seducing.”
“If you want, you can do that.” Sarah turned. Her coat lifted high enough to expose her ass in his face. “Convince me to go into a private room with you, Lucas.”
That tenuous moment was filled with expectations. Sarah expected his hand on her ass. A kiss to her flesh. A growl in the throat. Words of sex, meant to turn her on, to entice her to sit in this man’s lap… legs spread with his zipper down.
She didn’t want to know his last name. What he did for a living. If he was married. What he had for dinner. All she wanted was his attention. On her. In her. Long enough to make her feel like she had some control in her damn life again.
“Why would I do that?”
Fantasy shattered.
“Because you want me, Lucas.” Sarah slowly turned her head over her shoulder, daring those illustrious blue eyes to defy her. “Because you have to have me. Because letting me walk away without acquiring carnal knowledge of my body will be the greatest regret of your life.”
“You presume to know my greatest regrets yet.” A growl powered through the undercurrent of his voice. Still, he did not look away from her eyes.
“No. I presume to know what you desire, sir.”
“Because…?”
He was fishing for the perfect answer. If Sarah failed to supply it, she could kiss this encounter goodbye.
“Because I want you as badly.”
Lucas eyed her with careful consideration. He sucked one of his cheeks into his mouth before looking away. He crossed his legs, in case Sarah accidentally saw the erection sprouting in his trousers. She kept her grin of triumph to herself.
“You don’t even know me, Angel.”
“That’s supposed to be my line, Lucas.”
He stood up behind her. His presence enveloped her, inviting her back against his chest, arms wrapped protectively around her. Sarah caught the eye of the server who had brought her the scotch. The woman smiled in approval and flashed the number four in her direction. Room 4 is available. Good to know.
“This whole night is so backward. Next you’ll be telling me you want to be on top.”
“Actually,” she said with a happy sigh, “I’d much rather you take the lead on that. If you don’t mind.”
“This has got to be some kind of trap.” Lucas bit his knuckle, as if he could barely restrain himself from grabbing her and hauling her off to the nearest bed. What’s stopping you? I don’t have all night. “What’s your story, Angel?”
“Don’t you know the story of any angel, sir?” Sarah stepped away, her hand lingering against his chest. His hard, devilish chest that was a greater siren song than that warm voice echoing in her ears. “Once we’re doing shit like this on Earth, we’re considered fallen goods.”
“A fallen angel hasn’t done anything good with her existence.”
“If you don’t consider doing this something good,” she began, walking in the direction of Room #4, “then I don’t know what to tell you. You either want me or you don’t, Lucas. No strings attached. Should be a dream for you.” She winked at him.
He followed her.