same selection.
Del Conte took a bite of lettuce, then said, “I like to dine with different guests. Get to know the people who avail themselves of the Windward . This is a place where you can indulge any fantasy you’d like to explore.”
Cole saw Henry lick his lips. Stewart’s face took on a speculative look.
Del Conte ate some more salad. His guests followed suit, and Cole choked down a few bites, pushing the rest around his plate.
Del Conte tipped his head toward Cole. “How did you hear about us?”
“From an old college buddy.”
“One of our previous guests?”
“Yes.” Cole named a guy who had been mentioned in the briefing book, hoping Del Conte wasn’t going to check the reference. Or perhaps that had been taken care of along with the rest of his cover story.
The Windward ’s owner turned to Emma. “I’m so pleased that Cole brought you here.”
She swallowed.
Before she could speak, Cole cut in, “We’re a couple.”
“Which means what, exactly?” their host pressed.
“That we’re together—exclusively.”
“You don’t like watching her with another woman?”
“No.”
“With another man?”
“No.”
Del Conte looked at them inquiringly. “Then what brought you to the Windward ?”
“We were planning on having some fun together,” Cole answered, struggling to keep his voice even. “I’m sure you have equipment and settings we won’t find anywhere else.”
“Undoubtedly. What do you like in particular?”
“The ancient world.”
“Greek and Roman slaves?”
“Yeah, and Druid,” he answered, just for the fun of it. He knew Emma was sitting rigidly beside him, holding her fork in a death grip.
“And you sent Emma to the beauty salon to have her pussy shaved. It might be more fun to make it part of a scenario.”
“Like what?”
“Well, suppose you were doing a medieval scene. She could be accused as a witch and dragged off to a prison cell. You’d be the inquisitor. Back then, they shaved off all the hair of the accused women so that they could look for witch marks.” He smiled. “0f course, discipline fits very well into that scenario.”
Cole stroked his chin. “Hum. I guess I never thought of that.”
Beside him, Emma sucked in a sharp breath, her gaze going from Cole to Del Conte.
Before Del Conte could make another clever suggestion, the lights flickered out, then came on again, and Cole saw Emma staring at the stage.
Two people were standing there now. A man with a loincloth like the waiter. His coffee-colored skin was oiled so that it gleamed, and a mask hid his face.
The young woman with him was wearing a ripped dress and also a mask. She stood with her arms above her head, chained to a vertical bar held in place by two upright posts. Her legs were spread about eighteen inches apart and chained to another crosspiece.
Lord, was that Karen Hopewell? Cole stared at her, trying to figure out if it was the woman they’d been sent to spring from this place. After several moments, he decided it wasn’t her. The hair color was wrong, and she looked heavier than Karen.
Beside him, Emma tensed, and Cole reached down to take her hand.
On the stage, the man walked to the woman and began running his hands over her body. Then he gripped one of the tears in her dress and ripped at it, leaving a long gash in the fabric. He found another open place and pulled away more fabric, exposing more of her skin. Just as he shredded the dress enough to reach inside and caress her breasts, the lights went down again. When they came up, the couple on the stage was gone.
“Aw,” Henry muttered. “It was just getting good.”
“A little tease,” Del Conte purred.
The main course came. Roast beef. Cole asked for rare and was able to choke some down. Again, the lights dimmed and came up to reveal a couple on stage. He was pretty sure the entertainment featured the same man and woman, only this time the guy was the one tied up.
The woman was cracking a whip
Del Conte took a bite of lettuce, then said, “I like to dine with different guests. Get to know the people who avail themselves of the Windward . This is a place where you can indulge any fantasy you’d like to explore.”
Cole saw Henry lick his lips. Stewart’s face took on a speculative look.
Del Conte ate some more salad. His guests followed suit, and Cole choked down a few bites, pushing the rest around his plate.
Del Conte tipped his head toward Cole. “How did you hear about us?”
“From an old college buddy.”
“One of our previous guests?”
“Yes.” Cole named a guy who had been mentioned in the briefing book, hoping Del Conte wasn’t going to check the reference. Or perhaps that had been taken care of along with the rest of his cover story.
The Windward ’s owner turned to Emma. “I’m so pleased that Cole brought you here.”
She swallowed.
Before she could speak, Cole cut in, “We’re a couple.”
“Which means what, exactly?” their host pressed.
“That we’re together—exclusively.”
“You don’t like watching her with another woman?”
“No.”
“With another man?”
“No.”
Del Conte looked at them inquiringly. “Then what brought you to the Windward ?”
“We were planning on having some fun together,” Cole answered, struggling to keep his voice even. “I’m sure you have equipment and settings we won’t find anywhere else.”
“Undoubtedly. What do you like in particular?”
“The ancient world.”
“Greek and Roman slaves?”
“Yeah, and Druid,” he answered, just for the fun of it. He knew Emma was sitting rigidly beside him, holding her fork in a death grip.
“And you sent Emma to the beauty salon to have her pussy shaved. It might be more fun to make it part of a scenario.”
“Like what?”
“Well, suppose you were doing a medieval scene. She could be accused as a witch and dragged off to a prison cell. You’d be the inquisitor. Back then, they shaved off all the hair of the accused women so that they could look for witch marks.” He smiled. “0f course, discipline fits very well into that scenario.”
Cole stroked his chin. “Hum. I guess I never thought of that.”
Beside him, Emma sucked in a sharp breath, her gaze going from Cole to Del Conte.
Before Del Conte could make another clever suggestion, the lights flickered out, then came on again, and Cole saw Emma staring at the stage.
Two people were standing there now. A man with a loincloth like the waiter. His coffee-colored skin was oiled so that it gleamed, and a mask hid his face.
The young woman with him was wearing a ripped dress and also a mask. She stood with her arms above her head, chained to a vertical bar held in place by two upright posts. Her legs were spread about eighteen inches apart and chained to another crosspiece.
Lord, was that Karen Hopewell? Cole stared at her, trying to figure out if it was the woman they’d been sent to spring from this place. After several moments, he decided it wasn’t her. The hair color was wrong, and she looked heavier than Karen.
Beside him, Emma tensed, and Cole reached down to take her hand.
On the stage, the man walked to the woman and began running his hands over her body. Then he gripped one of the tears in her dress and ripped at it, leaving a long gash in the fabric. He found another open place and pulled away more fabric, exposing more of her skin. Just as he shredded the dress enough to reach inside and caress her breasts, the lights went down again. When they came up, the couple on the stage was gone.
“Aw,” Henry muttered. “It was just getting good.”
“A little tease,” Del Conte purred.
The main course came. Roast beef. Cole asked for rare and was able to choke some down. Again, the lights dimmed and came up to reveal a couple on stage. He was pretty sure the entertainment featured the same man and woman, only this time the guy was the one tied up.
The woman was cracking a whip
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