Cowboy Casanova - Lorelei James [7]
“I wondered how a place like this survived in a smaller town like Gillette without rousing local suspicions. So neither their father nor their grandfather ran any type of club from here when they were in charge?”
“The Depression hit them pretty hard. Then the country went to war. I guess they had a bi-weekly poker club for a few years in the 50s and 60s, complete with cocktail servers who dressed like Playboy Bunnies. Who knows what else went on in the private rooms? They turned the hotel side into a flophouse in the 70s and 80s during the oil boom. Then after the energy bust, that side sat idle until Cody and Trace’s dad retired and moved to Arizona.”
“And yet the Rawhide Bar survived?”
“Mostly because it is a regular local bar that anyone can wander into and buy a drink. The club part is completely separate.”
Ainsley pulled her coat around her skimpy clothes. “And who makes up the majority of the members?”
“A few locals. Most are from out of town. Some from out of state.”
“How do potential new members hear about this place?”
“It’s not easy, since members have to sign a bunch of privacy and nondisclosure forms. Clientele recommendations come from managers of clubs like this in other parts of the country. Some members will talk to Murphy about someone they think might be a good fit for the club. Then Murphy investigates them. If he has enough interested parties, we host a guest night. In the last two years we’ve gained thirty new members.”
“No problems with Jim Bob blabbing at the town diner that he saw Betty Sue getting screwed silly by a man who wasn’t her husband?”
Layla laughed. “Not in the six years we’ve been here. But there are stringent rules, because a place like this is so hard to find, especially in rural America. The members are very protective of this place and the people they’ve connected with here. I know several female members who trust a Dom with a flogger or a whip, but they haven’t exchanged last names. First names only. No sharing of personal information unless it’s mutually agreed upon. And then only if Murphy is aware they’ll be meeting outside the club. There isn’t a lot of bullshit because all the members are here for the same thing.”
“Which is?”
“Sex with varying levels of kink. Sex without strings.”
Ainsley met Layla’s curious stare. “What?”
“Nice job distracting me and stalling for time. I bet I sounded like a tour guide, breaking down every single thing and providing historical footnotes.” Layla struck a pose. “And here we have a spanking bench covered in the softest cowhide. Look at the manacles, lined with rich Cordovian leather. Only the best at the Rawhide Club.”
“Did you notice the words to that TV ditty are kinda dirty?” Ainsley belted out, “Head ’em up, move ’em in, move ’em out…Rawhide!”
Layla groaned. “I am so glad there’s no karaoke at this place.”
She smirked. “Let’s mosey on in and find us a cowboy to ride until our hides are raw.”
Chapter Three
Ben was contemplating sub choices when a flash of red caught his eye. He swiveled on his barstool to watch the siren in the silk kimono saunter through the room.
Oh hell yeah, his night had just improved tenfold.
She perched on the edge of her barstool, every inch of her so prim and proper Ben’s fingers itched to muss her up.
After he watched her for a few minutes, he asked Murphy, “Who is the hot number in red with Layla?”
“Her name is Angel.”
“Angel,” rolled off his tongue. Perfect name for her. Sipping his beer, he focused entirely on her. Lush body, lush mouth. Great smile. Expressive eyes. She was off-the-scale sexy in his opinion. So why the hell was the woman wearing a wig? Not a subtle one, but a sleekly styled black wig, the last inch of hair dyed candy-apple red. Was she trying to look dangerous? Hip? Naughty?
Be interesting to coax the truth from her. Some very interesting extraction techniques popped into Ben’s head.
She must’ve sensed him staring at her because she turned and met his gaze head on. Their eyes remained locked for several long moments as Ben waited for her to lower her