Secret Games. Jeanie London
cried indignantly. “This isn’t a pleasure palace. It’s a romance superclub.”
Which sounded like a classy name for a pleasure palace.
Sam could tell by the way Maggie straightened her spine and lifted her chin that he was about to be treated to an in-depth explanation of the differences. Slipping the sheaf of papers from the end table, she sank to her knees beside him and spread what he recognized as printouts of a Web site over his lap.
Steeling himself against the brush of her fingers on his jean-clad thigh, he made a valiant effort to focus on the papers she brandished at him, tried to concentrate on her words rather than the wispy hairs fringing her cheeks.
“I went online and researched these tonight. Superclubs are the hottest travel destinations right now. They cater to newlyweds and lovers for weddings, honeymoons and vacations. Long-term couples go to get away from the daily grind and put romance back in their lives. I found one that’s perfect.”
With one casual graze of her fingers, she hooked the errant strands of hair behind her ear. She wasn’t making this easy on him, but Sam knew Maggie had no idea she was providing him such distraction and undermining her own sales pitch in the process.
When she ran a painted pink fingertip over the page, he forced himself to follow its path, wrangled his unruly thoughts into compliance and read about the club’s more unique features.
Fun, active and romantic, our superclub is unique, the perfect escape for energetic—and slightly wicked!—couples. After all, the point is to honeymoon or reignite the spark.
Romance-themed suites are also available, including the lush Roman Bagnio, Victorian Bordello, Sultan’s Seraglio, Warlord’s Tower, Wild West Brothel, Demimondaine’s Boudoir, Roaring Twenty’s Speakeasy, Sixties’ Lovenest, Red-light District and the Space Odyssey.
Specialty shops offer a variety of romance enhancements designed to drive your partner wild.
“Jeez, Mags. Perfect? Leave it to you to find this place. What’s it called?” He scanned the page for a name. “‘Falling Inn Bed, and Breakfast, the perfect place to experience love in the mist.’ That fits. What’s the mist? Some steamy sauna room with a water bed?”
Maggie rocked back on her haunches and exploded in laughter. “No, silly. The mist stands for Niagara Falls. There are superclubs everywhere—Vegas, Aspen, even in the Bahamas. The closest are in Niagara Falls and the Poconos. Since I’ve always wanted to see the Falls…”
Her voice trailed off, but Sam was only half listening. Visions of Maggie dressed in a harem girl’s costume grabbed his attention. Her long, slim curves revealed through the sheerest whisper of silk. Flashes of firm breasts and smooth belly. She had an innate sense of movement, polished with years of dance lessons, and he could envision her dancing for him so vividly, the tinkle of finger cymbals rang in his ears.
Then another of the superclub’s unique features caught his eye and snapped him from his fantasy.
Each superclub offers a variety of free services, including wedding coordination—let someone experienced in the ways of love help plan your special wedding.
Which led straight back to the question Sam didn’t want to dwell on: who was Maggie taking on this erotic research trip? His head pounded harder, but he knew better than to ask. Knowing the bum-of-the-month’s name would not make a difference.
Besides, Maggie wouldn’t be planning a wedding on this trip or any other, as near as he could tell. Given her inability to commit, he couldn’t see her being persuaded to take the plunge.
Then again, Maggie was one of the most impulsive people Sam knew. What if this turned out to be the one time she let her heart rule her head?
“So, who’s the lucky guy?” The question popped out, despite his determination not to ask. Out of the frying pan, he thought morosely, and into the fire. “Forget what I said about a tax write-off. Whoever he is, he should be paying.”
To Sam’s surprise, though, Maggie averted her gaze and hurriedly folded the superclub’s printout, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “Well, actually, I’ve been giving some thought about who to take.”
The uncertainty in her voice stopped him. The black temper responsible for this dull ache in his head receded. Miracle of miracles. Maggie didn’t have a date.
Grabbing his mug, Sam slugged back the remains of cold coffee. Maggie retreated to the corner of the couch again, curled tight in her little ball, sipping tea that, like his coffee, had to be stone cold.
“What kind of thoughts?” he asked.
“About how to convince him. I’m not sure he’ll go.”
Sam found that hard to believe, but apparently not Maggie. She seemed fidgety and had an uneasy look in her eyes. He wondered if she was feeling the effects of discussing sex. Though they’d shared different aspects of their various relationships before, the details never included even vague references to the bedroom. What took place between lovers had, by mutual, unspoken consent, been off-limits.
Sam had always assumed Maggie needed to keep the stable parts of her life—mainly her home and their friendship—separate from the more transient aspects and wasn’t comfortable blurring the boundaries. He knew she was no virgin, but in all the years she’d lived above him, she’d never had a date spend the night. She’d hosted plenty of dinners and get-togethers, but no man had ever walked down those stairs the morning after.
Sam knew because he’d been watching.
Maggie may need a push to think of him as more than a friend, but Sam had been thinking about it ever since he’d kissed her in their high school production of Rogers and Hammerstein’s Carousel.
Not only had he been watching Maggie, he’d been watching closely, keeping her near at hand, and fitting into her life wherever he saw an opening.
He hadn’t had a new opening in a long, long time.
“When are you taking this trip?” he asked to get her talking. Who was this guy who had Maggie so reluctant to talk?
“Valentine’s Day, of course.” She burst from her silence with a dramatic sigh. “The ancient celebration of amore. It’s perfect.” Then she grinned. “Besides, Lyn and Charles are closing the office on Monday for a long weekend, and I can’t afford to miss much work. I don’t know if there’s availability, though. I couldn’t find more information on the Web site.”
“You’ve still got two weeks. You might luck out.” He set his mug back on the table.
They lapsed back into silence, Maggie looking even twitchier than before. Then she drew a deep breath—steeling herself for the confession, Sam guessed.
She unfolded her legs, the ridiculous Gumby heads flopping wildly as she planted her feet on the floor and eagerly leaned toward him. “Sam, I’d like you to come with me. I can’t go alone, so I want you to be my cover, help me observe how couples reignite their passion at this superclub.”
Observe. He’d like to observe all right. Visions of harem girl Maggie flickered in his head again, earning a physical response from his body and kicking in his pride. A lethal combination. His instincts were up. And Sam had based his entire career on his instincts.
“You won’t be distracted by the sexual atmosphere. Not to mention that I trust your judgment. And since you’re familiar with long-term relationships, your input will be invaluable.”
Sam didn’t need a sexual atmosphere to be distracted by the idea of having sex with Maggie. He’d been preoccupied with that subject for years. He’d even tried to bridge the distance between friendship and romance before. One near miss in high school. Maggie had never put two and two together. What she’d dismissed as his temporary lapse of sanity had actually been his amateurish attempt to pursue her. Their friendship had emerged unscathed that go-around.
He hadn’t been so lucky in college.