Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club 4)

Tall. Wide. Although he wore a leather jacket, I could tell his arms were thick and powerful. The jacket hung open and displayed the tight gray t-shirt that clung to a ridged stomach. He was a beast in human form. Intimidating, and maybe a little enticing.

Then, off came the helmet.

Sweet Jesus.

His soft brown hair was buzzed tight on the sides, and left long on top in an undercut. A hand pushed it back, instinctively correcting the helmet hair, revealing the face beneath it. I’d never used the word gorgeous to describe a man.

Not until now.

The helmet was stowed on the bike, and he strolled to the front door, pushing his way through. It had to be the nerves swirling inside me that caused this reaction. A strong build and a chiseled jaw typically only held a surface appeal to me. My brain would tick the box, noting that the male was attractive, and I’d focus elsewhere. But now I could only stare at his perfect blue eyes and long lashes that contrasted the hard, defined frame of his body. One that had been toned like a warrior.

The man peeled his jacket off as his gaze locked with mine and his movements slowed, as if distracted.

“This is your appointment,” the assistant said. “Regan.”

“Hey.” The voice from this wall of a man was surprisingly gentle. “Nice to meet you. I’m Silas Getty.”

A black, patterned tattoo extended all the way down his left forearm.

Oh my God.

He had enormous arms. All of my training and technique wouldn’t last five seconds against his brute power if Silas wanted to take me out. It should have made me nervous, but that section of my worry was already occupied with the impending needle, and my stomach twisted awkwardly. Why the hell did I want to wrap my hands around those thick biceps? Set my palms against his hardened chest and ridged abs that his t-shirt clung to?

“I’m Regan Wilson.” Good God, it came out uneven. Get it together.

It didn’t happen. Instead I stared at his offered hand like it was holding a gun on me. He wanted a handshake, and I finally forced my body to comply, slipping my hand into his rough one.

“How do you know Joseph?” His grip was confident but not overbearing.

“I work for him. Well, worked.”

“Which club?” Silas’s pale blue eyes tightened their focus.

The blindfold brothel used a private, exclusive wine club as a front for their illicit activity. “His members-only wine club.”

The hand on mine went rigid and drew back at the same time his expression seemed to fall. “I figured. You have that look about you.”

My tone was sharp. “What kind of look?”

What was this emotion on his face? Disappointment? The jacket was passed to the assistant with a thanks from Silas, and the man disappeared to a back room.

Silas put his hands on his hips, emphasizing his hulking form. “All of Joseph’s girls are beautiful. It’s important when you’re selling that kind of . . . wine.”

So, he knew what business Joseph had really been in. I fought to process that Silas thought I was beautiful, but also a prostitute. “I don’t sell my wine.” My words were clipped. “I just broker the deals for the women who choose to.”

One eyebrow curved up. He didn’t believe me. Fine, this would make it easier. I could focus on my annoyance, rather than my body’s odd reaction to him. My heartrate was too fast, and my breathing hurried.

“All right.” His voice was quiet.

For a long moment, neither of us said a word and we stared each other down. All the air had vanished from the large, open gallery space.

“Do you have some designs I can see, so I can pick something out?”

His shoulders snapped back. “No, I only do custom work.”

Had I just offended him? “I don’t need anything fancy. It’s not a big deal to me.”

Nope, I hadn’t truly offended him until that statement. His lips twisted into a scowl. “What do you mean it’s not a big deal? You don’t care about the art that’ll be on your body for the rest of your life?”