Free Gemini Heat by Portia Da Costa Page B

and yet still she came, her pleasure huge, somehow greater because of the humiliation.
    'That will be all, Fargo,' said the quiet, disturbing voice of the man who'd abused her. The chauffeur turned away as he was bidden, leaving Deana exposed - her flesh moist and rippling - to the hot, heavy air of the city.
    'Come along, Dee,' Jake continued smoothly as Deana cringed back. She was scared that at any moment a stranger might pass along the pavement, look in, and see her soft, pink sex uncovered and still beating slightly.
    Numbed, and feeling like a prisoner in a weird, pornographic half-dream, she bent down to pull up her knickers.
    'No, I think not,' he said, reaching down at her side, quickly disentangling the silk garment from her ankles then sliding it off over her shoes, 'I prefer you uncovered.'
    For one terrifying moment, she thought he was going to make her alight from the car with her pubis still exposed: but he made no demur as she eased down her slim leather skirt, set her bustier straight, then snatched up her bag and scrambled from the vehicle as if she had the devil on her tail. She dared not look towards the front seat where Fargo sat unmoving, but as she glanced back into the car's interior, she saw Jake drop her panties onto the middle of the black leather seat. He seemed to study them for a second, then he grinned wickedly and joined her on the pavement, stepping lightly from the car with his familiar effortless grace.
    Still smiling, he took her by the arm and led her towards an elegant Mayfair town house.
    The place was innocuous and mysterious and its frontage bore no label or sign. Except for the gleaming brass numeral 'Seventeen' in the middle of its dark-painted door.
    Chapter Four
    'Seventeen'
    L ooking Deana straight in the eye, Jake pressed the doorbell, then spoke the words 'de Guile' into the grid of a discreet security entryphone. His eyes were smokey and shadowed in the just-softening light of evening, but nevertheless their frankness seared her. She was acutely aware of the bare flesh between her thighs, and the gooeyness of her sex as she walked, and that Jake had knowledge of these things. He was surveying what he'd so recently exposed and enjoyed, looking straight through her clothes with those erotic, electric eyes of his and revelling in what he'd done to her body. She felt intense relief that her skirt was leather and substantial, because anything flimsy would've been soaked with her juices the minute she sat down again.
    The door swung soundlessly open and a man in a dinner suit let them in; greeting Jake with quiet obsequiousness and totally ignoring Deana. She felt as if the flunky had seen what'd happened in the car as surely as the silent Fargo had. Jake escorted her inside with exquisite politeness and solicitude, but it was obvious that to the mditre d' - or whoever he was - she was purely her master's sex toy.
    Inside, the house was an elegant neutral no-place. There was no way to tell if it was a private home, a club of some kind, or even a high-class brothel. Without knowing why, Deana had a feeling it could well be all three at once, but as they were ushered into a long, spacious, dimly lit room, the impression of a club was uppermost.
    There was a cleared, slightly raised area at one end of the room, which - covered in polished boards - was obviously an impromptu stage. A number of white clothed tables were scattered in the gloomy foreground, and at them, groups of people sat laughing and chatting in hushed but expectant tones. Some of them turned and stared when she and Jake passed by, and for one hideous moment, Deana wondered if she might be the show!
    They were led to one of the tables, however, and after she'd almost fallen into her seat with relief, she relaxed and looked around. In wonder.
    'Seventeen' was no ordinary house, and certainly no ordinary club. She and Jake were perhaps the most conservatively-dressed of its patrons, and if she hadn't "been wearing a leather