Free Risk It: Paolo's Playhouse, Book 2 by Natasha Moore

Chapter One
    If the rain slashing across the windshield was any indication of how the evening was going to go, Amy knew she should turn the car around and head home right now. But rain was just rain, for goodness sake, not a bad omen. She wasn’t going to let a little cold water dampen her spirits or wash away the shivers of anticipation skittering over her skin.
    She had such high hopes for what the night might bring that she couldn’t help but be excited. Even if she had to turn the windshield wipers on high just to see where she was going. She took a deep breath as she turned into the parking lot in front of the renovated building where Paolo’s Playhouse was located.
    Paolo’s Playhouse. Just the name called forth all sorts of naughty fantasies for her. She could still remember the enticing words of the ad tucked in the bottom corner of the newspaper. They seemed to be speaking directly to her. A new playground for consenting adults. Playrooms for every interest or desire. Bring your own plaything or we can provide one for you. We’ll help your fantasies come to life.
    After a sleepless night hugging her side of the bed, Amy had called in sick to work that morning. It wasn’t really a lie. Her stomach had hurt ever since Will left for work, briefcase in hand, without kissing her goodbye. She’d never been one for taking chances, but ignoring the problem hadn’t made it go away. It had only made it worse.
    She had to do something, so she’d screwed up the courage to call the number in the ad. The man she’d talked to on the phone had just about the sexiest voice she’d ever heard. As he talked to her about the possibilities the playhouse offered, she couldn’t help but think about when she and Will had been young and in love, and couldn’t keep their hands off each other. The man—had it been the Paolo?—had been so understanding and assured her that he had the perfect playroom for them. Not even the current downpour could drown her enthusiasm.
    No. All that took was one glance around the parking lot. No sign of Will’s SUV.
    Amy pulled into the closest parking space she could find and slammed the gear lever into park. Then she took a deep breath and dropped her head back onto the seat. There was no sense in getting angry just because she’d arrived first. She focused on the ripple of excitement that ran through her body as she imagined what she’d find inside.
    The renovated brick warehouse held trendy shops and restaurants. No one would know there was a sexual playhouse on the third floor. What would it look like? Would it resemble an old west bordello, with dark flocked wallpaper and ornate furniture? Or was it like one of those dungeons she’d heard about, with scary equipment on the floor and hanging from the walls?
    After talking to Paolo, it didn’t sound as if it would be a sleazy place. God, she hoped it wasn’t. Will would never forgive her.
    When he still hadn’t shown up a few minutes later, she dug her cell phone out of her purse and punched in his number. Will didn’t answer. It went straight to his voice mail. He was always in some damned important meeting. She resisted the urge to leave him a message she might regret, closed the phone and tossed it back into her bag.
    Once she’d reserved the room, Amy had spent the last few hours in eager anticipation and careful preparation, showering and shaving, buffing and slathering on the scented lotion Will had given her for Christmas. She’d blow-dried her hair into a fluffier, sexier version of her no-nonsense bob and went a little more dramatic on the makeup. Would Will even notice?
    She rarely took the time—rarely had the time—to spend on herself. She worked a full-time job, in addition to being a mom and a cook and housecleaner and a wife. Troy and Eva always needed help with homework and rides to dance and soccer practice. Then there was laundry and dishes and all the other household chores. Who had time to be a sexy woman anymore?