Definitely the no pile for that one.

The next number was hot pink rubber. Amery couldn’t figure out how the hell to get it on, so it hit the discard pile.

The last item was a pair of leather pants. She worried she’d have to grease her legs to squeeze her thighs into them, but they molded to her contours as if they were made for her. Glancing at her ass in the mirror, she grinned. Her butt looked fantastic.

The shirt selection left a lot to be desired—either see-through or midriff. She eyed her lacy black bra. Although it wasn’t any more revealing than a swimsuit top, she couldn’t waltz into this club wearing leather pants and her bra.

On a whim she opened Ronin’s closet. She flipped through the dozen white dress shirts until she found one in the back that looked smaller than the rest. She slipped it on and Ronin’s scent washed over her. She closed her eyes against the pang of longing. How could she miss him so deeply when at the same time she felt she didn’t know him?

She stepped in front of the full-length mirror. The shirt was too big. Grabbing the ends, she tied a knot at her waist. Her black bra peeking through was a little trashy, but a better choice than a rubber dress with her ass cheeks hanging out.

Amery wandered out of Ronin’s room and Knox looked up from his cell phone. “That’ll work.”

“Good. So we what . . . just go? You’re driving us?”

Knox shook his head. “Ronin is sending a car. It’ll be about fifteen minutes.”

“Oh. Okay.” She headed for the bar and made herself a dirty girl lemonade—vanilla vodka, Chambord, triple sec, sour mix, and Diet Sprite. She looked at Knox when he perched on a barstool. “Can I get you something?”

“No. I don’t drink on club nights. I’d take ice for my water, though.”

Amery dropped cubes in a glass and slid it in front of him. “Maybe you’d better fill me in on sex club etiquette.”

“You’re a guest, so rule one is observation only. In scenes where there are whips or paddles and you hear the submissive saying no, understand that’s part of the game. There are members who like getting pain and others who like giving it. Do not intervene.”

She sipped her drink. “Is Ronin one of the types who like to give pain?”

“Not directly. He has several bondage suspensions that end up being painful enough to be called punishment.”

“Bondage suspensions,” she repeated. “As in hanging a person from the ceiling by a rope?”

“By a series of ropes.”

“You’ll tell me to direct my questions to Ronin, but what is he like in his public persona as rope master Ronin when people are watching his every move? Especially since he has the strict ‘no observation’ rule in the dojo?”

Knox looked uncomfortable. “Ronin is a f**king master with ropes. He’s artistic and sensual, unlike some other so-called rope experts, who’ve turned shibari and kinbaku into weird performance art. He’s in high demand as a teacher. So the nights he schedules a demo at the club, it’s usually packed.”

She wanted to ask if Ronin had sex with his models, or if he had sex with certain people at the club because . . . hello, it was a kinky sex club. Why would he be a member if he didn’t want the free sex benefits? “Are you a master with ropes too?”

“I’m better than average because Ronin has mentored me. I don’t teach but I do practice. My area of expertise in the club is different than his.”

“What is your area of expertise?”

Hard blue eyes hooked hers. “Pain. Some members want it and they come to me to dish it out.”

Yikes.

“Ronin asked me to ask you if you’ll make time for him after the demonstration ends.”

“Make time where? At the club?” In front of everyone?

“Either at the club or here, since you’re leaving your things here.”

“Can we see how it goes first?”

Knox frowned.

“I’m afraid to say yes because . . . what if I can’t handle what I see? Not only Ronin’s part, but the rest of the club stuff?”

He studied her for a few moments. “Think of it this way. These members’ choices are not your choices. What you see them doing is no reflection on you, or the type of sex you’re comfortable with. As you’re walking through, realize it is an exclusive club. You may never get to see anything like it again. And more likely than not, you’ll end up aroused by what you see. That’s the hardest part for most people to handle.” He looked at his phone. “We need to get downstairs.”

Amery upended her drink. “Do I need to bring a purse or money or my certificate of clean health or anything?”

Knox grinned. “Nope. Just an open mind.”

• • •

THE driver parked in an underground garage and accompanied them into the building. He and Knox exchanged pleasantries about the packed house for the night, but it meant nothing to her.

The elevator stopped on an unmarked floor. She squinted at the panel. None of the buttons had numbers. The elevator doors opened to a small reception area. The guy behind the desk looked like a Broncos defensive lineman—an armed lineman.

He nodded at Knox and handed Amery a clipboard. “Privacy form. Read it. Sign it. Believe it. Understand if the privacy rules are violated, we will prosecute to the fullest extent of the law. And yes, we have ways of knowing exactly who violates the contract and when. And yes, our legal team has dealt with such matters expediently and with the harshest penalties the legal system allows. Do I make myself clear, Ms. Hardwick?”