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We walk in silence to a small elevator I didn’t see earlier on my tour. She inserts a key and when it slides open, she smiles at me. “You go alone. See you tomorrow.”
I step inside, feeling like a gladiator at a Roman arena just before the steel gates rise up to spit them out to face their doom.
Except, I’m nowhere near gladiator-strong. My limbs are weak as kittens and my legs shake so hard, I fall back against the elevator wall. Only to immediately straighten because I don’t want to risk staining the robe, or anything else that has been picked for this first meeting.
When the car stops, I step out into a dark carpeted hallway and immediately notice this place is as different from the rest of the house as night from day.
For one thing, there’s tons of rigging. It begins at the door and runs along the walls both at waist and overhead level. Then continues along on either side of the darkened hallway and disappears into a room on the left from where a loud hum of electricity and machines emits.
The hallway ends before another set of double doors. They swing open before I reach them, and I step into yet another fantasy world. The decor in this section is bolder. Red and gold blend with mahogany. Darker Italian marble stretches across polished floors and expert stone masonry provides a backdrop for more stunning works of art.
My clicking heels draw to a stop at the counterpoint between two sweeping staircases, and I wonder just how big this place is and whether I’ll ever be found if I manage to get lost.
I turn in a full circle. It’s only then that I notice the cameras. Small, discreet. Some are rigged onto very thin cables. Others are stationary and blended into the decor.
But present. And numerous. And all trained on me.
Self-conscious in the extreme, I turn back to the stairs.
“Come upstairs, Lucky.”
It’s absurd that an electronic voice can grant me reassurance, but it’s exactly the impetus I need to take the right set of stairs.
The royal blue carpet muffles my footsteps, but I arrive at the top without falling on my face. There are unlit hallways to my right and left, and another shorter, illuminated hallway in front of me. I follow the lights and arrive in front of an open door.
I step through and stop.
The bedroom is unapologetically male. The imposing bed is made of steel and wrought iron. The sheets are black, the carpet a deep burgundy. There are several other items of furniture dotted around the room. A chaise by the window. A rocking chair that is in no way meant for an ageing man sits next to another commanding fireplace. A long, blood-red spanking bench with a matching ottoman is set against one wall. And at the foot of the bed, a backless double scroll-sided seat with a majestic and intricate design so beautiful, my breath catches. The plump seat is made of pure black silk, but it is the bronze carvings set into the arms that have me striding forward.
Halfway there, a scent fills my nostrils. Smoked cedar, a hint of sage and the unmistakable musk of predatory male. I lose sight of everything else but that scent.
My gaze darts around the room, seeking shadows where he could be waiting.
Watching.
I come up empty. If he means for my anticipation to ramp up, he’s succeeding. I make a full one-eighty, but I’m alone in the bedroom.
Alone with a dozen cameras. Now that I know what they look like, it’s easy for me to pick them out, even though the ones in here aren’t lit red yet.
Some are suspended overhead, two are fixed to the headboard. More blended with the furniture. Most of them are trained on the bed.
A soft whining sound behind me refocuses my attention. I look over my shoulder to see the doors swing shut.
“Your performance is about to begin. Do the cameras make you nervous?”
Duh?“Yes.”
“If you can manage it, try to forget they’re there.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“Remove your robe. Let me see you.”
Shaky fingers pull the ties securing my robe. The silk slides off my shoulders with the barest movement and pools on the floor. I slowly sink down, pick it up and lay it on the bed.