Claiming Cleo (Masters Club 2)

He said nothing, however, as he focused on maneuvering through the Manhattan traffic. Taking his cue, she remained silent as well.

She regarded him surreptitiously as he drove, her nipples perking in appreciation of his male beauty. She wanted to rub her knuckle along his firm jaw. She loved the way his golden-blond hair flopped over his forehead. His straight brows and thick lashes were a darker blond, his eyes a deep, liquid brown. He was a big man, easily a foot taller than she, with broad shoulders and plenty of muscle. Yet he carried himself with an elegant, effortless grace, whether in black leathers or, as tonight, in a well-tailored sports jacket over an open-collared button-down shirt.

He wove his way along small, narrow streets, finally turning onto a side street with cobblestone paving Cleo had never noticed in her periodic wanderings around Greenwich Village. There was always so much to discover in this city. It was one of the reasons she loved it.

He eased to a halt in front of an unmarked gate. A young man in a valet uniform instantly appeared. He opened Cleo’s door as Jack put the car in park and stepped out. Cleo allowed the young man to help her out, feeling very posh as she did so.

Master Jack exchanged a few words with the valet, who nodded and then slid behind the wheel, no doubt to park the car somewhere nearby. They walked the short distance to the gate. Master Jack punched in a code on the panel beside it. It made a clicking sound as the lock released. He pulled the gate open, gesturing for Cleo to precede him.

As they walked along the worn cobblestone to the small building, Master Jack placed a light hand on Cleo’s elbow. She could see no sign or anything that even indicated the place was a restaurant. Her curiosity was now raging, but she held her tongue.

The door opened as they reached it, as if someone had been watching for them. They stepped inside, Cleo’s high heels clicking on the marble floor.

“Good evening, Mr. Hartford,” an older gentleman in a dark gray suit said, his accent decidedly French. “We are so pleased you could join us.” He offered a gracious smile to Cleo, who smiled back.

“It’s nice to see you again, Jean-Pierre. It’s been too long,” Master Jack said.

“Indeed, monsieur. Welcome back.”

The elegant space was dimly lit, candlelight reflecting off fine china and polished silver. Classical music played softly from hidden speakers. Wonderful aromas of garlic, butter and roasting meat wafted through the air, waking Cleo’s appetite. The place was small, containing only a dozen or so freestanding tables, maybe half of them occupied by diners. There were also several small tables set against the back wall.

The maître d’ led them to a table in the center of the room, so small it could accommodate only two chairs. He pulled out one of the chairs for Cleo as Master Jack took his place across from her.

“The sommelier will be with you momentarily,” the man said with a gracious nod.

As if summoned, the waiter instantly appeared, a large, black leather menu in his hands. “Good evening, sir,” he said, placing it in front of Master Jack. “Would you care for wine this evening?”

“Yes, that would be good, thank you.” Master Jack opened the menu and scanned the items. As he was doing so, another waiter arrived, a napkin-covered basket and a dish of butter in hand, along with two crystal glasses of ice water. Steam rose from the basket, the delicious yeasty scent of freshly-baked bread making Cleo’s mouth water.

“Do you like red wine?” Master Jack asked Cleo.

“Yes, Sir,” she replied. Color washed suddenly into her cheeks. She wasn’t used to being out in non-BDSM settings. What would the waiter think of her calling her dinner partner Sir? But the waiter, if he’d even heard, didn’t bat an eye.

Unperturbed, Master Jack handed the menu back. “We’ll have a bottle of the Saint-Émilion Grand Cru to start.”

“Excellent choice, sir.”

As the waiter melted away, Cleo asked, “Permission to speak, Sir?”

“Yes.”

Cleo looked around the elegant space. “What is this place? I didn’t see a sign out front. How did you even know about it?”

“I used to come here all the time when I worked in the city,” Master Jack replied. “It’s a private establishment, by invitation only. I know the owner, so I was able to get us in on short notice.”

“Impressive,” Cleo said sincerely. While she was aware Master Jack was in investment banking, she was used to thinking of him only in terms of his status at the Masters Club. Of course, he had an entire life outside of that, one that apparently included sleek luxury cars and memberships at exclusive restaurant clubs. Not that she should have been surprised. All the dominant members of the Masters Club were well-heeled.