This must be the distraction.
“Maybe…” I had no idea, if I should say anything or not, but I went with it. “Maybe, the entertainment will be fun.”
Jean-Pierre’s face softened, and he nodded at the man and woman to continue. But instead of focusing on the couple, he turned back to me. “Tomorrow night, I want you to play for me. Has Shalimar covered the details with you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll send your outfit to your address on Bourbon Street.”
“You know where I live?”
“I do.” His gaze told me that there was nothing I could do about it.
I turned back to the couple, nervous about staring into that intense gaze.
The woman lay on the table, face up, with a black satin sash over her naked breasts and pelvis. A large, shirtless, gorgeous man stood over her with a crimson red wand in his hand. I leaned in closer and realized that the wand was attached to a machine.
Shalimar, what type of distraction is this?
The woman groaned, “Please. Do it.”
The man touched her with the wand. It buzzed. She jumped as if shocked.
What the hell is this?
Jean-Pierre watched my stunned reaction. “You’ve never seen this before?”
“No. What is it?”
“Electro play,” he said.
Electro what?
I turned my attention back to the woman, unable to focus on anything else. She writhed and moaned on the table.
“Are you okay, baby?” The man leaned down and murmured in her ear.
She trembled and smiled. “Yes, shock me again.”
You don’t have to shock her.
I gritted my teeth, completely turned off by this entertainment.
The man slid the crimson red wand over her pale breasts, making her pink nipples pucker. Slowly, he slipped it further down her stomach and then between her thighs. The wand buzzed. I jumped. And the woman screamed as she orgasmed.
“Holy shit,” I muttered.
Jean-Pierre grabbed my attention. “Why do you think Shalimar sent them into this room?”
Nervous, I didn’t want to say it, but I did. “Maybe…that’s what you like.”
“No.”
The man turned the machine off. It beeped. After pressing another button, he pulled the woman into his arms and petted her as she panted in lust. He kissed her lips. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she whispered back.
Watching them together, so intimate, so loving, made my chest warm.
Jean-Pierre turned back to me. “That was supposed to be a distraction.”
“Was it?”
“Yes. But nothing could distract me from you. Are you sure Shalimar is a good person to handle this?”
“Yes. This is a simple deal.” My voice trembled. “I’m playing for your party.”
“Is that it?”
“Yes.”
“And, if I want more?” A hint of humor curved his wide mouth to something nearing a smile.
“I’m not offering anything more.”
“But, you will, and you should know the price when you do.”
“What if I don’t want my body to have a price?”
“But it does.” The way he looked at me made me feel like those dark, knowing eyes could see every sinful secret in my soul.
The man and woman left.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.
“I…well…a little.”
“Because of my past?”
“Because of your present.”
“And what have you heard, Eden?”
“That your name is ‘The Butcher’.”
“It’s a nickname.”
“So, there’s no truth to it?”
“No. I’m not a butcher. I’m more of a ghost.”
“How?”
“This was a good dinner.” He rose and gestured for one of his men to come to me. “I have some. . .matters to handle this evening. If I’d had more time, then I would’ve made this dinner longer.”
I swallowed. “We’re done?”
“For tonight.” He walked over to me, raised my hand to his mouth, and kissed it. “Tomorrow you will play at my party. Everything will arrive at your apartment.”
He left before I could ask him what would be delivered.
I was shook after that. Unsure of what happened.
He’d electrified me. I was happy for the big payday from the performance, but he’d made it clear that he wanted more than my violin playing.
So, Shalimar was wrong. But what does that matter?
I was in a brothel, and I wasn’t a prostitute.
I didn’t want a money exchange for his body. I wanted his passion. Already, his past had intrigued me. Already, my heart bounced when I heard his album’s music. Already, his words and his touch triggered desire to linger and buzz through my flesh.
I craved him, and I knew that from this day on, each moment would be a tricky game.
He was, le Boucher.
That scared me.
He’d gone from musical virtuoso to an escaped inmate who worked for the French Mafia. This was no man to play with, especially with a nickname like that. He was above my level, and the sort of man that I’d never dealt with.
Aunt Celina knew the business and the games of these sorts of men, and she’d advised me to stay away from them.
I won’t do anything but play for him tomorrow night.
I kept that declaration in my head the whole ride home. I did my best to not think of the curve of his lips, or the way his sensual voice drummed through me.