Eyes Wide Open (15 page)

“It is?” she said, standoffishly. “So, just ’cause I’m dressed like this means you get to treat me like a naughty little girl, does it?”

Spluttering, he shook his head. “No, nothing like that. We’re just surprised to see you here—and concerned. And even more concerned that you’re here alone. Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“Not a fucking clue,” she spat. “And whose fucking fault is that?”

“Right,” Logan interjected, the low level of his voice brooking no argument from either of them. “We’re leaving—now.” He held a finger up to stop Fiona interrupting. “
Now.
I’ll reimburse you the fucking entrance fee. Clearly, we need to talk.”

Chapter Eighteen

Despite being safe in the knowledge that neither James nor Logan would ever hurt her, Fiona experienced more than a frisson of fear as Logan led her back along the corridor, toward where she’d come into the club. James was close behind, and although he didn’t look as stern as his partner, a glance told her that he was far from happy. She really was not looking forward to the talk Logan had in mind.

Fifteen minutes later, and James and Logan were back in street clothing, and she’d replaced her shoes and socks with the flats she’d arrived in and hidden herself beneath the coat once more. She stared intently at the floor as she was all but frog-marched from the building, cheeks blazing, and handed into the rear of a black limousine.

With a man either side of her, Fiona had nowhere to run, to hide. Her blood boiled with a mixture of embarrassment and anger, and she had no idea how to express either of those emotions for the time being. She’d just have to wait and see what they had planned next, what information the talk uncovered.

Apparently the men either had too much to say, or couldn’t decide where to start, because they remained resolutely silent.

Fiona gazed out of the windows, peering at the sights as they passed them by—the Thames, with the view down to the Houses of Parliament and the London Eye, the relatively nondescript streets of Pimlico and Victoria, the step upmarket as they glided past the rear wall of the Buckingham Palace estate, up to Hyde Park Corner and eventually back into the quieter, more reserved Mayfair.

As they grew closer to the hotel, Logan threw Fiona a look. “How did you get out of the hotel like that without anyone seeing you? I can’t imagine your bosses would be too impressed with one of their staff going about dressed that way.”

She gestured to the coat. “Quickly, and holding onto this bloody thing for dear life. If only I’d known you could get changed at the venue, it would have saved a lot of bloody embarrassment. The Tube journey was horrendous.”

Unless she was mistaken, the merest flicker of amusement crossed Logan’s face, but she couldn’t be sure, because no sooner had it arrived than it was gone, and the stony expression was back. “For all our sakes, I think we should go in separately. Perhaps you should use the staff entrance, Fiona? And take out those bloody pigtails. They’re damn cute, but they’ll attract attention. You may as well have a neon sign pointing at your head.”

Grumbling, she did as he said, stashing the hair bobbles in the tote bag. “Are you going to get the driver to drop me around back, then? I assume he’s discreet.”

Logan eyed her. “I think it’s possible he invented the word.”

Shrugging, she turned moodily away from him, ignoring James too, and returned to peering out of the windows. They were almost there. “So where are we having this talk of yours, then? I presume not in the bar?”

Glaring, Logan replied, “Certainly not. Would it be convenient for you to come to our suite?”

“And what if it’s not?” She was just being awkward for the sake of it now and all three of them knew it.

Logan sighed. “Well then, James and I would have to come down to your room. But I imagine it’s much smaller, and if one of your colleagues was to see us entering…” He didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t need to.

“Fine. Which suite are you in? I’ll go get changed and come up.”

“You’ll come
straight
up, Fiona. This cannot wait.” He told her the name of the suite—not the same one as last time, but she suspected it would be just as plush.

“Fucking hell.” She turned to James. “Is he always this bloody bossy?”

James, apparently not knowing how to reply without getting into trouble, eventually gave a cute nod and a sheepish grin. “If it makes you feel any better, he’s generally right.”

“Hmph. Well, you would say that.”

A look of hurt crossed James’ face, and Fiona wished she could take her words back. She hadn’t meant them. It had just been her anger and irritation speaking. Reaching out and giving his hand a squeeze by way of apology, she then said, “All right, all right. I’ll come
straight
up. Let me out then.”

They’d pulled up by now, and the chauffeur came around and opened the rear door. Logan helped her out, before sliding back into his place. Giving her a meaningful look, he said, “See you in a couple of minutes.”

Thanking the driver—just because his employers were being twats didn’t mean she should be rude to him—she turned and made for the staff entrance. Only when the car pulled off, driving around to the main entrance, did she dare risk a glance. Sticking her tongue out rudely at the retreating vehicle, she giggled at her tiny act of rebellion then let herself into the hotel.

As she hung around in one of the service corridors for a few minutes to give them a chance to get inside the building and on their way to their suite, Fiona was glad to find that no one was around. She’d have had a tough time explaining why she was loitering in the first place, never mind if they noticed what she was wearing. Thankfully, though, the Totally Five Star relied much more on boots-on-the-ground security personnel than CCTV—the latter mostly reserved for the public areas—so there wouldn’t be any bizarre imagery of her skulking around, resembling a flasher, before scurrying up to one of the luxury suites.

Feeling that she’d let enough time elapse, Fiona pulled herself up straight, adopting a casual air, and strode confidently in the direction of the nearest bank of elevators. The staff members she passed were busy, so they exchanged nothing more than a polite nod or a quick hello, and she got all the way to the top floor without incident.

As she knocked on the door of James and Logan’s suite, however, she had a feeling that that was about to change.

The door was flung open almost immediately, and Logan grabbed her hand and all but yanked her inside, closing the door behind her. She was glad she didn’t have the sexy heels on any longer, because the force with which she’d been propelled into the room would have made her highly likely to fall flat on her face. It wouldn’t have hurt, because of the carpeting that felt like a duvet beneath the feet, but it would still have been embarrassing, and she’d had enough of that particular emotion for one evening.

“Where the hell have you been?” Logan demanded, relieving her of her tote bag but allowing her to keep the coat. Whether that was for her sake, or his and James’, she wasn’t sure.

“Fucking hell,” she shot back, jabbing her hands on her hips, “you’ve really got a bee in your bloody bonnet tonight, haven’t you? If you must know, I was giving you two chance to get here first. I didn’t particularly want to be seen hanging about outside your room, especially dressed like this, all right?”

Some of his ire apparently dissipating, Logan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It had grown since the last time she’d seen him. The almost-curls she remembered were now full-on curls, and she wondered what it would be like to grip them in her fists as his talented tongue played between her legs.

Sounding almost defeated, Logan asked, “Can I get you a drink, Fiona?”

“Yes, please. Since I barely drank half of the one I bought at the club, it’s the least you can bloody do.”

With a strained smile, he gritted out, “What would you like?”

“A Screaming Orgasm.”

A snigger from the bedroom doorway alerted her to James’ presence. He must have been in the bathroom when she’d arrived. Giving him a small smile and hoping he’d forgiven her mean comment in the limo, she shifted her attention back to Logan. “Well?”

Coolly, he said, “I take it you are referring to the cocktail.”

“Yes. Obviously.” Had she not been so pissed off, she might have requested the other kind, too—but not now.

“Fine. James?”

“Ooh, if you’re making cocktails, I’ll have a Mojito.”

Rolling his eyes, Logan said, “See what you’ve started here?”

“Well, you did ask. And actually, I thought you’d order from room service.”

“I could. But this’ll be quicker. I don’t want to mess around any longer. This talk is happening.”

Cocktail in hand, Fiona settled back into one of the plush armchairs, while James and Logan sat on the sofa. She took a long pull on the straw, enjoying the mix of flavors as they hit her tongue. She swallowed, then said, “Well?”

“Are you going to tell us why exactly you were at that club?” Unsurprisingly, Logan took the lead.

“Aren’t you supposed to be smart? I’d have thought that much was bloody obvious.”

“Fiona…”

Spurred on more by James’ concerned expression than Logan’s firm tone, she said, “Look, this is your fault. After what happened last month, you guys put a lot of ideas in my head.
A lot.
Obviously we were a little preoccupied, so I didn’t get the chance to find out more about the whole spanking, BDSM thing, but it intrigued me. However, since you two buggered off without giving me any way of contacting you, I couldn’t ask you. So I took matters into my own hands. I went online, did some research, bought this”—she pulled one of her coat lapels aside to indicate her outfit—“then went to that club. I thought the best way of finding out what it was all about was to go there and see for myself. I couldn’t very well take any of my friends with me, which is why I went alone.”

By now, James had dropped his head into his hands, and Logan looked thunderstruck, then angry all over again. “You figure it’s
our
fault? How so, when you were the one that upped and left the suite in the middle of the night without leaving your phone number? We couldn’t very well get a message to you, not without someone finding out and asking questions, so we had no choice but to check out without contacting you. So, rather than pointing the finger of blame at us, how about you think about that?”

Fiona opened her mouth to snap out a retort, then closed it again. For fuck’s sake, he was right. She
had
left without giving them a way of getting in touch. But she’d had no idea they’d
want
to get in touch.

In a small voice, she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I just thought it was a one-night thing and that’s how it was going to stay. I had no idea you would even
want
to stay in touch, so leaving contact details didn’t even occur to me.”

Looking up, James said calmly, “All right, it looks as though we’re all partially to blame for this situation. So let’s move past pointing fingers and arguing. It’s getting us nowhere. I, for one, Fiona, am sorry we left you feeling so misinformed and that you felt you had to find out more about the BDSM and fetish scene by yourself. Had we known, we’d never have let you go alone—”

“But I was fine,” she cut in. “I’d only been there a little while and was just about to go into the performance room and see what it was all about. Then you two turned up, and the next thing I know I’m being hauled out of there like a naughty child. Which reminds me…” She turned her gaze on Logan. “You owe me the entrance fee.”

Wordlessly, he stood, pulled his wallet from his pocket, retrieved two notes and handed them over. Then he retook his seat. “All right,” he said, “what do you want to know? Where should we start?”

Taking another pull on the straw as she mulled over Logan’s question, she swallowed, then replied, with a shrug, “From the beginning, I suppose.”

Chapter Nineteen

“Fine,” Logan said, with a curt nod. “James?”

Also nodding, James said, “Yep, no problem.”

“Great.” Logan stood and slipped off his shoes, using his foot to shove them under the coffee table out of the way. “You two finish your drinks. I’ll be in the bedroom when you’re ready. Don’t be too long.”

Turning smartly on his heel, he strode into the bedroom, leaving Fiona and James exchanging amused looks. Patting the sofa beside him, James said, “Come sit here, sweetie. Let’s chat a while as we finish our drinks.”

Doing as James asked, Fiona settled down beside him and continued sipping at her cocktail. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. You know…in the limo.”

“Forget about it,” he said, with a wave of his hand. “I know you just said it in anger, so let’s not mention it again. It’s been a weird evening all round. Hopefully now we can improve it exponentially.”

“I like the sound of that.” Fiona grinned, her mood picking up now that she knew James didn’t hold her comment against her. Eager to find out what the bedroom had in store, she sucked hard on the plastic straw, then let out a laugh at the loud slurping sound she made. “Oops! Think I’m empty!”

Downing the remains of his own drink, James took Fiona’s glass and put them both on the table before standing up and holding out his hand. “Come on. Let’s set about righting some wrongs, huh? Your education awaits. Though,” he added, as Fiona took his hand and he pulled her up off the sofa, “Logan likes fast learners. So do your best to keep up. Trust me. It’ll be worth it.”

They stepped into the bedroom and Fiona, hyper-aware of James’ comment about being a fast learner, drank in the sights, trying hard to make sense of them, commit them to memory. A series of implements sat, perfectly lined up on the silver silk duvet cover. Most looked to be for corporal punishment, but she also saw some satiny material, some thick leather handcuffs, something else with leather straps and a ball attached and a couple of weirdly-shaped sex toys, one bigger than the other. She reminded herself that the whole point of her being here was that they were going to teach her all about this stuff—so just because she didn’t know what everything was
now,
she’d be thoroughly educated by the time she left. Hopefully.