Seven Nights of Sin - Lacey Alexander [87]
Brenna found herself in a space about the size of a large closet, yet it was decorated in lavish Las Vegas decor—plush red carpet and wallpaper of tan and gold—and before them stood a shiny gold elevator door. Damon pushed the only button, an up arrow, and Brenna said, “Um, I know this is a surprise, but…why is this place behind a locked door?”
“It’s a very private club,” he said, his expression giving away nothing.
Beginning to get a little nervous, she swallowed. “Private how?”
Just then, the elevator door opened. Inside, the walls were mirrored from top to bottom, and each corner sported thick gilt molding from ceiling to floor. They stepped in, Damon’s hand at the small of her back. “Not many people know about it,” he replied, “and when we reach the top, we’ll be asked to sign a statement saying we won’t reveal anything about the club—its location, what we see, who we see—to anyone.”
“Um, why?” Her skin prickled. “There’s nothing illegal going on, is there?”
Damon ran his palms reassuringly up and down the tops of her arms. “Relax, babe. This is just a place where people come to indulge in activities they’d rather keep private, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Not that he’d really answered her questions or assuaged her curiosities.
But before she could ask anything else, the ride ended, the elevator doors parting to reveal a small, dark area that automatically drew the eye to yet another shiny gold door. Above it, a rather old-world, Roman-looking script spelled out Caligula’s.
Stepping from the elevator, she turned to Damon. “Caligula. Wasn’t he the Roman emperor who had a lot of sick, kinky kinds of sex?”
Damon’s eyes glimmered in reply. “Correct.” And without another word, he opened the gold door.
Inside Brenna found a hallway lined with pristine white Roman arches draped with greenery and flowers. The walls on either side sported murals that gave the impression they stood on a Roman street and that the ancient city stretched in all directions around them. A man and woman, each attractive and wearing white togas trimmed in gold edging, greeted them.
“Welcome to Rome,” the guy said, lifting a hand as if to motion to the city’s splendor. Around his head rested a gold laurel wreath like those worn by Caesar and other men from that age.
“We’re pleased you have arrived,” the lady said, her voice warm, formal. Her short, toga-like frock draped over one shoulder and left her pointed nipples clearly visible through the white cloth. She held out two rolled pieces of what looked like weathered parchment tied with thin gold cord. “These are the terms you must agree to before entering our fair city.” Then she motioned to two open archways on either side of the hall. “And there you shall find the garments of our citizens—choose one to your liking and prepare for an evening of sensual delights unlike you have ever known.”
“My lady, you shall find your dressing room through the arch on the right,” the guy said, “and sir, proceed to the left.”
And before she knew what was happening, Brenna found herself ushered through the indicated arch, her roll of parchment clutched in her fist.
She wasn’t sure whether she was happy or sad to find another “citizen of Rome” waiting inside. The lovely dark-haired girl wore another revealing white dress and smiled prettily as Brenna entered. “Welcome,” she said. “I am your maid, Clodia. Once you’ve signed the document, I will help select your apparel for the evening.”
Brenna stood dumbfounded, given that she still didn’t know exactly what took place here. “Um, okay.” Hurriedly, she unrolled the parchment and found, in historic-looking script, the same general message Damon had relayed. Signing with a pen fashioned to resemble a quill, she passed it to “Clodia,” who then motioned toward various styles of women’s togas displayed on mannequins around them.
“When you choose,” the woman said, “bear in mind that everything you’re wearing now must come off. All jewelry and undergarments included.”
“I see,” Brenna murmured, studying