“Not yet.”
“If he isn’t in one of these two rooms, he’s probably in one of the private suites upstairs.” Sarah gave Mandy’s arm a tap. “Let’s go around to the other side to make sure.”
“There are private suites?” Hefting the tray, Mandy sighed. “This isn’t going to be easy.”
“Like I told you, Mr. Jones isn’t much of an exhibitionist. You’re probably not going to catch him bent over a horse, a sweet boy fucking him in the ass.”
Mandy had seen a picture of Andrew Clark, aka Mr. Jones. Seeing a hot guy fuck him in the ass would be a sight to behold. “Now, that was fodder for one hell of a dream.” Fanning her face with her free hand, Mandy motioned with a tip of the head, indicating a nearby scene. The dom was drop-dead, traffic-stopping, panty-dropping gorgeous, and the sub, a man who was younger than him, maybe in his midtwenties, wasn’t far behind him in the looks department. “What is it with this party? Every single male is beautiful. I’ve never seen so many good-looking men in one place in my life.”
Sarah shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. But it’s one of the things I find most appealing about Zane’s parties.” She nudged Mandy in the side. “Finally.”
“Is it Mr. Jones?” Mandy followed the direction of Sarah’s gaze.
“No, it’s my subs.”
“Did you say ‘subs’? As in, plural?” Mandy located a pair of men in their late-twent
ies, both wearing jeans that fit them like second skins and tank tops that did a lot of good things for their pecs, shoulders, and arms. “Those two?”
“Uh-huh.” Sarah gave Mandy a grin, then turned on the charm as the pair sauntered up to them. “You’re late.” She was still smiling, but there was an evil glimmer in her eyes. Mandy had a feeling those two were going to regret being late. Then again, maybe not. “I have a suite. Let’s head back.”
“Ladies first,” one of the two men said as he gave Mandy the once-over.
Mandy raised her tray. “I’m not playing today. I’m working.”
“Too bad.”
She was almost sharing that sentiment. Almost.
Keenly aware of the man’s lust-filled eyes on her, Mandy gave Sarah a little wave. Sarah and her wonder twins headed in one direction while Mandy headed in another. In the congested main hallway, someone tapped her on the back. She carefully turned to face the back-tapper.
Ohmygod.
The man was too freaking beautiful to be real. His face was the stuff of dreams. His body, of wet dreams.
“Hi.” Mandy swung the tray around, assuming he wanted a glass of champagne.
“No thanks.” His voice was a deep baritone. It made her nerves prickle, in a good way.
“Okay.” Confused now, she gave him one of her brightest smiles. “Can I help you?”
“I guess that depends.” His gaze meandered up and down her body. If she wasn’t so incredibly attracted to this man, she might’ve been irritated by his obvious staring, or embarrassed. As it was, she was getting warmer, particularly between her legs.
Aware of how damp her panties were becoming, she tightened her thighs, pressing them together. She reminded herself she wasn’t at this party to make new friends. She was there to collect proof of her client’s husband’s infidelity. “Depends on what?” she asked, infusing her voice with a more professional tone.
His perfectly arched brows lifted slightly. He extended a hand. “I’m Zane Griffin.”
She knew that name.
He was, essentially, her boss. She’d been hired by an agency to work at this party, at his party. And if she wanted to make sure she was hired to work future parties, she had better make a good impression.
She placed her hand in his. “Amanda Thompson.” His grip was firm. He didn’t let her hand go. Now more nervous than turned on, she slightly shifted the tray balanced on her other hand. “You said I could help you?”
Something she couldn’t quite read flashed in his eyes. “Yes.” He finally released her hand. She placed it under the tray, which was getting a little heavy. He took the champagne from her and set it on a nearby table. “I saw you. In the dungeon.”
Immediately, Mandy recalled what the agency representative had told them when she’d first arrived. There was to be no alcohol served in the dungeon. And there she was, toting champagne into the dungeon. Her face burned. “Ohmygosh, I’m sorry. I totally forgot. My friend, who is a guest, was showing me—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted. “I’m not making myself clear.” He straightened ever so slightly, which made him look that much more intimidating. “It’s true—there should be no alcohol served in the dungeon. But that’s not why I wished to talk to you.”