Her jaw dropped. "There's a sex club in Denver?"
"Lady, there are a dozen different underground private sex clubs in Denver."
"Oh. You can tell I don't get out much."
"It's not like they're advertised."
The conversation she'd overheard between Ronin and Knox at the dojo, where Knox asked if Amery was the reason Ronin hadn't shown up at the club, made more sense. "So you're offering to take me to this sex club?"
"Yes."
"Will you tell Ronin if I decide to go?"
"Not sure. I'd hate to tell him you'll be there and then you get cold feet and pull a no-show."
Amery started to protest that she wouldn't do that, but she couldn't guarantee it. There was a huge chance she would chicken out.
"Ronin hasn't said anything about what went down between you two. Not that I'm surprised; he's the most private man I've ever met. I've worked for him for years and still only know parts of him."
"That drives me crazy."
He shrugged. "It is what it is and that's the way he prefers it. What I do know of him I respect the hell out of, so it makes it easier to accept the walls he's built around himself to maintain that privacy."
No doubt Knox had Ronin's number.
"The other reason I know something unpleasant happened is that Sensei has been a fucking taskmaster the past three days. His training regimen for advanced students is difficult, but he's kicked it up a notch to brutal. And that's with all his classes, not just the higher-ranking belts and the MMA trainees. He's been equally brutal on himself-driving harder than usual during his workouts."
She had a moment of relief that Ronin wasn't unaffected by what'd happened between them.
Knox stood. "So think about it." He handed her a business card. "Call me either way."
"I will."
"I'm really hoping you'll say yes."
• • •
AFTER two restless days and two sleepless nights, Amery called Knox on Friday morning and agreed to go to the club. And she told him to make sure Ronin knew she'd be in attendance.
That decision made, she tackled the next one on her list.
She'd been vacillating about agreeing to work on Cherry Starr's project, given the erotic subject matter. She didn't want to alienate her existing clients, some of whom were religious organizations.
On the other hand, broadening her job opportunities made good financial sense, especially in this economy. Besides, she could call that branch of her design company something else. Like Hard-time Designs. Or Hard-up Designs. Or Hard-on Designs. She snickered at the last one, opened her e-mail, and started to type.
Cherry,
Again, thanks for your honest and informative response. I'm very interested in helping create a sexy cover for your book. If you want to send me the parameters for the image as well as what you envision for art and an approximate deadline, I'll get started on it as soon as possible.
Thanks, A~
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"WHAT does one wear to a bondage sex club?"
Knox looked up at Amery sharply. "Ronin didn't instruct you on what to wear?"
"I haven't heard from him. So I was surprised he told you to bring me to the penthouse first." She paused. "Is that part of the scene? The rope master or whatever he's called specifies clothing?"
He nodded. "Especially if you're being displayed."
Displayed. That word twisted the knots in her stomach tighter. Amery almost bailed on this adventure right then.
But she knew she had to go.
She wandered to the window. Twilight sent a pinkish orange glow across the Denver skyline. "What time are we supposed to be there?"
"In an hour."
"Doesn't exactly give me any time to shop." Wasn't as though Amery could call up Emmylou and ask to borrow fetish wear. Or Chaz either, for that matter, but if she had to lay odds on who owned leather and rubber clothing, she'd pick Chaz.
"I have a suggestion," Knox said.
"Me going naked is not an option."
Knox let loose a big booming laugh. "Ronin would have the head of anyone who saw you naked without his permission-including mine."
Again she fought the urge to bristle at the word permission.
"I think the reason he wanted you here is that there are women's club clothes in storage on the fifth floor."
Amery asked, "Whose clothes?" even when she knew the answer.
"They belong to Ronin," Knox said diplomatically. His gaze moved over her clinically. "You're the right size."
"So Ronin has a type?" she snapped. "Average-height strawberry blondes of Nordic descent with small breasts and pasty white skin?" And no backbone. "Is that what Naomi looks like?"