Page 96 of Flawed

"Yep."

The driver stops in front of a residential townhome. I glance outside. "Why did he park here?"

Pina points to the building. "That's the club."

I peek through the window again. "There's no one around."

She nods and looks at her watch. "We have four minutes to get in, or they won't let us inside tonight."

"Seriously?"

"Yep. Leave your coat here and open the door," she orders.

My stomach flips. I glance back at her, unbutton my jacket, then take a deep breath. I open the door and step out.

Pina follows then leads me up the steps and knocks on the door. A huge bouncer, dressed in a suit, answers. He seems to know her and motions for us to step inside.

Another woman guides us through another door, down a hall, and into another room.

I freeze, shocked by the huge room of people and all the sexual acts taking place.

Pina laces her arm through mine. "Don't stare."

"I'm-I'm not," I say, but I can't tear my eyes off the oversized bed in the middle of the room. There's an orgy occurring, and dozens of people sit at tables or on couches, watching it.

Pina continues leading me through the club. In some ways, I feel like a piece of meat. So many eyes are on me—male and even some female ones. And they all have a sense of freedom I can't explain.

We roam several VIP rooms, drinking champagne, turning down offers from guys who hit on us, and dancing to different songs. Then Pina takes me to what she calls the private section.

And I no longer feel confident about anything sexual. Everything in front of me is an introduction to things I've never seen before. It's fascinating, but what surprises me is how I feel watching it.

At some point, Pina steps into a room that doesn't have a window. One of the men I recognize as part of the O'Connor clan follows her. I stroll down the hall, stopping at each room until I get to a window where no one is watching. Six people are in the room having an orgy. They're incorporating toys into their play. I get lost in their show, sipping more champagne, when a hard body stands flush to my back. A warm hand circles my waist, pressing against my stomach. The smell of white musk and patchouli, mixed with weed and a hint of scotch, flares in my nostrils, lighting up every sense in my body.

There's only one man who feels and smells like that. I don't have to look up to know it's him. I freeze, hold my breath, and try to stop my insides from quivering.

His hot breath hits my ear, sending fresh tingles down my spine. He murmurs, "What are you doing here, stellina?"

Slowly, I tilt my head and stare at the man I never stopped thinking about yet did everything I could to avoid.

Ten years have passed, doing nothing for how my skin hums against his. He's aged, proving the stereotype true that men only get sexier as they get older.

His frame is more developed, further built from years of working out. Wrinkles comb the corners of his eyes, creating a perception of wisdom. Streaks of silver run through his hair, making him look even more powerful, daunting, and taboo.

He's breathtaking, but the expression in his eyes almost knocks me over. It's haunting. Ghosts battle against so many emotions, I wonder if I'm seeing things.

Has he missed me?

I just want him to.

Is that the same regret and pain I struggle with on a daily basis?

Why did I come here knowing he could be here?

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing will come out.

Luca's hand slightly trembles as he slides it over my cheek. He swallows hard and then his face hardens. "This isn't a place for you."

17

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