Page 10 of Sinful Mafia Santa

“You’ve been to Kynk!” Samantha’s voice is full of sing-song longing, like I’ve opened a present she hoped to find beneath her own Christmas tree.

Fiona’s eyes widen. “What’s it really like?” she asks.

“I wasn’t… I didn’t actually…” A toilet flushes as I fumble my answer. I saw the club, sure. But I didn’t really participate. Not after Gage found me at the bar.

Samantha turns to Alix. “You’vebeen there. Come on. Spill.”

Alix should be laughing. She should be sharing naughty details or—if she’s coy—teasing about what she’s done in the secret halls of Brooklyn.

Instead, her face has gone still. She stares into the middle of the room, her eyes flat, unseeing.

“Alix?” Samantha asks, her voice suddenly soft with concern.

“Are you talking about Kynk?” comes a voice from across the room. I look up to find a woman wiping her hands on a thick white towel. She’s tall like a dancer, and thin like one too. I suspect Roger Turner wouldn’t bother staring at her chest; she has the athletic build of a boy. “That’s where I met Connor.”

“Jaq!” Samantha exclaims, a little too boisterous, a shade too bright. “Tell us what we’re missing!” She waves the newcomer over, but part of her attention is still on Alix. As Jaq joins our little circle, Alix shakes off her stillness with a determined shudder.

Fiona pushes for details. “Is there really a stage? Did you play out scenes in public?”

Jaq grins and tosses her towel into a woven basket in the corner. “That first night, Connor took me to his private room.”

“And?” Samantha urges.

Jaq wrinkles her nose. “I’m not the type to kiss and tell.”

Fiona smiles slyly. “Not even to your new best friends?”

Jaq shakes her head.

Fiona wheedles. “Just tell us what you were wearing.”

Jaq laughs. “My old school uniform. Plaid skirt. White top. Knee socks and saddle shoes. All of it about two sizes too small.”

Fiona’s eyebrows rise. “That sounds like it has potential…”

This time we all laugh—even Alix. But then she fishes her phone out of her pocket. Glancing at the screen, she says, “Text from Trap. He wants to know if we’re planning on staying in here all night.”

Jaq shoots a shy look at us in the mirror. “Really? That’s an option? We can just stay here?”

Samantha squares her shoulders. “IfIstay, I’ll faceconsequences.”

Fiona quips, “You mightconsequencethree or four times tonight, if you’re lucky.”

Jaq looks longingly toward the stalls until Alix touches her shoulder. “You know Connor is lurking in some corner, not saying a word to anyone. We need you to bring out his better side.” Her glance takes in all of us. “Let’s go, ladies.”

The gentlemen stand when we reach our private dining room. Gage pulls out my chair, leaning close to my ear as I settleinto place. “I’m afraid to ask what you found to talk about for so long.”

“You should be,” I say, with a wink. Before he can retort, the servers descend with a first course of Oysters Rockefeller.

The meal unfolds like some sort of fairytale feast. We’re a party of twenty-four. There should be glitches in service, food served too cold, wine served too warm. But everything about the meal is perfect—the flavors and the pacing and the relaxed conversation.

Gage listens to my raves about the menu, about the exquisite wine pairings that feature obscure bottles I’ve never tried before. He never jokes about my hearty appetite, never asks if I have a hollow leg, never questions where I put all the food I’m enjoying.

Jaq and Connor leave first. Fiona’s next to go, whispering in the ear of the man she came with, cocking a hip before she bids a sassy Merry Christmas to the room.

Gage clears his throat and swallows the last of his brandy. I pride myself on my ability to take a hint. We say our goodbyes and step into an empty elevator.

“What?” Gage asks, eyeing me in the polished metal door.