The Bet (Winslow Brothers 1)

I’m sure Dr. Winters is probably wondering what would keep me from our standing Wednesday appointments, but my track record is starting to show that whenever Jude wants me to meet him somewhere, I drop everything and do it.

Which is kind of preposterous.

Yeah, well, that’s what you do when you’re falling in love with someone.

I roll my eyes at myself and ignore my pesky subconscious. Instead, I distract my mind by copying the address into Google Maps to figure out where I went wrong.

But when I hit enter and the map updates, I find that I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

Seriously?

I glance around the alleyway and find nothing but a few dumpsters and discarded trash on the sidewalk. And when I look directly in front of me, I just see a big steel door with no windows and a fire escape that resides directly above it.

A shiver of discomfort rolls up my spine and I start to call Jude for an explanation, but just before my finger hits the phone-shaped button under his name, I spot his tall, muscular form turning the corner and heading down the street in my direction.

“Shit, babe,” he comments as he comes to a stop in front of me. “You’re early.” He glances at his watch and grins. “Well, actually, you’re right on time, but for you, that’s early.”

“Uh…mind explaining why you have me standing in the middle of a deserted alley?”

“I will,” he says with his notorious playboy smirk, and he reaches out to grip my hips to pull me closer. “But first, I want to say hello.”

Lips to mine, he takes my mouth in a deep, tantalizing kiss, and he doesn’t release me until I’m breathless and being cold is no longer an issue.

“I missed you, Soph.” My heart jolts against my ribs, and he brushes his lips against my mouth, once, twice, three times. Then, he leans his head back to lock his now playful gaze with mine. “You look stunning, babe. That dress could give a man a heart attack.”

“Thank you.” I blush and giggle in the way that only Jude seems to be able to make me do. “And…I missed you too.”

The words feel all-too-right on my tongue. Because I did miss him. A lot.

“Ready to get wild?” he asks and waggles his brows.

“I am, but…I’m still not understanding how this alley leads to anything but getting robbed.”

Jude chuckles. “Babe, it’s not always what’s on the outside, but what’s on the inside.”

He takes my hand and steps up to the windowless door. Two hard knocks and another four rhythmic, smaller ones sound from his knuckles as they rap against the steel.

Ten seconds later, the hinges screech as the door slides open just enough to reveal a man in a black shirt with a shaved head standing behind it.

“Password,” he demands, and Jude doesn’t waver.

“Eleanor Roosevelt’s G-string.”

I blink. I’m sorry… What did he just say?

To my utter surprise, the door opens farther, and the bald guy gestures for us to walk inside.

Once we step into a darkened entryway, the man shuts the big steel door with a slam that startles me enough that I jump. Jude squeezes my hand for reassurance.

“The rules are simple,” the bald guy states firmly and crosses his arms below his beefy chest. “Anything that happens has to be consensual. And if it’s consensual, then anything goes.”

Consensual? As in sex?

My eyes jolt to Jude’s face, but he only offers a wink and another encouraging squeeze of my hand.

“Have fun.”

Those are the last two words out of bald dude’s mouth right before he opens another door and Jude is whisking me inside and down a long hallway with strip lighting guiding our path.

We walk through another two doors, and then we come face-to-face with the mother lode, and my brain just about wants to explode out of my skull when I take in my surroundings.

Oh. My. God.

I’m rapidly reminded of the underground spot we went to after the Raines Law Room, only this place is way different. More refined and opulent, but intense. And far more obvious in what is supposed to happen beneath the shadows of the dim lights and between the gold-embossed and velvet-curtained walls.

I say this because the first people I lay eyes on are not at all being discreet about the sex they’re having in a private but visible booth that sits to the side of a bar where two women are tongue-kissing each other in front of their glasses of wine.

My ears note the soft, sultry music that adds to the ambiance, but my eyes are still busy trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. My gaze is more of a shocked gape than anything else, and it’s being yanked and tugged around the room like a yo-yo on a string.

People kissing. Touching. Having sex. Some are dressed. Some are half dressed. And some are completely naked. But all appear to be single-minded in their goal of pleasure.