Chapter 2 Chapter 2

NOIR

TWO HOURS LATER

I stood on the sidewalk outside Noir, staring at the entrance while seriously questioning whether I'd suffered some sort of temporary mental breakdown. Two hours ago, I'd been at Jess's bar, minding my own damn business, when Tannin decided to share the delightful news that Torin had purchased a BDSM club. Since then, I'd driven home to Harbor View, changed clothes three times, argued with Murphy about absolutely nothing, and somehow convinced myself that coming here was a perfectly reasonable thing to do. Which was bullshit, and I knew it.

Standing outside Torin’s sex club wasn't exactly how I'd imagined spending my evening, especially as we were separated, and I'd spent the last four weeks trying to convince myself that distance was precisely what I needed. It appeared my curiosity had other ideas.

The building itself wasn't what I'd expected, there were no flashing neon signs advertising questionable activities, no half-naked people hanging around the entrance, and certainly no enormous leather-clad man waiting to greet potential customers with a whip. Instead, Noir occupied a renovated brick building with darkened windows, discreet exterior lighting, and a polished black sign bearing its name in elegant silver lettering.

A security camera watched the entrance, and a broad-shouldered man dressed in black stood beside the doors, looking considerably more professional than the bouncers I'd encountered at some of the bars around town.

I glanced down at my clothes, wondering for the hundredth time whether I'd made the right choice. Black jeans, ankle boots, and a fitted burgundy blouse that showed just enough cleavage to make me feel attractive without suggesting I'd come looking for employment. I'd considered wearing a dress, but that had led to another twenty minutes of standing in front of my closet, trying to decide whether I wanted Torin to notice me or whether I was simply being ridiculous. In the end, I'd chosen something comfortable enough to run in if the evening went spectacularly wrong…because preparation was important.

My phone vibrated inside my purse, and I pulled it out, half expecting Tannin to have developed some new and exciting way to irritate me. Instead, I found a message from Jess.

You make it home?

I stared at the screen, considering my answer.

Technically, yes. I'd made it home, changed clothes, fed Murphy, and left again without informing anyone that my next destination was a place where people apparently paid membership fees to explore their deepest desires. Perfectly normal evening.

Yep, I typed, slipping the phone back into my purse.

It vibrated again almost immediately.

Good. Don't do anything stupid.

I looked up at Noir, then back at the message.

Well, shit. That ship had sailed.

I returned my phone to my purse and took a deep breath before crossing the sidewalk toward the entrance. The security guard straightened slightly as I approached, his gaze moving over me with professional interest rather than the kind I'd half expected from a man working outside a BDSM club.

“Good evening, ma'am,” he greeted, stepping away from the door. “Are you a member?”

“Not unless somebody signed me up without my knowledge,” I answered, giving him a polite smile.

His expression remained neutral, although I caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Are you here to inquire about membership?” he asked, gesturing toward the reception area visible through the glass.

“Actually, I'm looking for the owner,” I explained, adjusting the strap of my purse.

“Do you have an appointment with Mr. Montero?” he asked, glancing toward the entrance.

I nearly laughed, an appointment with my husband. There was something deeply offensive about the idea that I might need to schedule time with a man whose dirty laundry I'd once spent an entire afternoon threatening to burn.

“No,” I admitted, looking back at him. “But I know him.”

The guard studied me for another moment before reaching toward the radio clipped to his shoulder.

“May I have your name?” he asked.

“Marlowe Montero,” I answered automatically.

The name slipped out before I could think better of it. I'd been using Mills more often lately, particularly when I didn't feel like explaining my marital situation to strangers. But standing outside a business Torin owned, I'd reverted to the name I'd taken when we married.

Wonderful. Even my mouth was conspiring against me.

The guard's expression changed slightly, and he stepped aside before speaking quietly into his radio. I couldn't make out what he was saying, although I had a fairly good idea that my arrival was about to become somebody else's problem.

While he waited for a response, I glanced back toward the parking lot and considered turning around.

I could still leave. Nobody had forced me to come here, and Torin certainly hadn't invited me. For four weeks, he'd been doing exactly what I'd asked. He hadn't shown up at Harbor View unannounced, hadn't tried to manipulate his way into my life, and hadn't used our marriage as an excuse to demand my attention. He'd given me space, and it seemed, I was a contrary bitch who didn't know what to do with it.

“Someone will be right out to speak with you, Mrs. Montero,” the guard informed me, lowering his radio as he opened the outer door. “You're welcome to wait inside.”

“Thank you,” I replied, stepping past him.

The reception area was surprisingly elegant, with dark wood paneling covering the lower walls and soft lighting illuminating a long reception desk. Leather chairs occupied one corner, arranged around a low table, while a subtle scent of sandalwood hung in the air. Music drifted from somewhere farther inside the building, quiet enough that it didn't interfere with conversation. Nothing about the place felt cheap or sleazy, which was frankly disappointing because I'd been prepared to judge the hell out of it.

A woman with dark hair pulled into a sleek bun stood behind the reception desk, checking something on a computer. She looked up as I entered and offered a professional smile. “Good evening. Welcome to Noir,” she greeted, setting aside her paperwork. “Can I help you?”

“I'm waiting for someone,” I explained, glancing toward the hallway beyond the desk.

“Of course,” she replied, gesturing toward the chairs. “Please make yourself comfortable.”

I thanked her and wandered toward a framed display on the wall rather than sitting down. It contained information about membership expectations, privacy policies, and the club's code of conduct, and as I read through the first few paragraphs, my eyebrows began climbing. Consent was emphasized repeatedly, along with communication, confidentiality, and the right of any participant to withdraw from an activity without explanation.

Interesting…very fucking interesting. Torin had purchased a business where respecting another person's boundaries was apparently the foundation of the entire operation. The universe had a terrible sense of humor and I had a feeling I had just stepped within the Devil’s playpen.