"It's Paris, Sophie. People look for something different here."
"I like it."
Lucien lifted an eyebrow at her. "Says the girl who didn't even want to come in here ten minutes ago."
Sophie couldn't argue. "Having that boutique attached is a really clever idea. It must attract more women, don't you think?"
Lucien nodded. "This place is run by women, for women. Men are not the top priority."
Now that Lucien had said it, Sophie understood why she felt more at ease here. It exuded femininity, and had a sensual ambience rather than a sexual one.
"It's much more relaxed than I expected," Sophie acknowledged.
The champagne was chilled and delicious, and Lucien's fingers warmed hers when he took her hand and tugged her forwards.
"Then let's go and relax, shall we?"
Lucien headed for a tucked away love seat and pulled Sophie down into it next to him, nodding brief thanks to the black-clad waiter who delivered their ice bucket to the table a second or two later.
Sophie glanced around at their closest neighbours as Lucien topped up their glasses. A curvy brunette in stockings and suspenders had curled herself into her companion’s lap, her arms around his neck as she whispered in his ear. Sophie noticed how the man casually stroked her full, bra-clad breasts as he listened to her, his other hand massaging her thigh. The woman looked utterly relaxed, as if she were fully clothed rather than dressed in stunning black and ruby red underwear that wouldn't have looked out of place at The Crazy Horse. A further glance around showed that the other couples scattered around the room were equally at ease. Some kissed. Some touched a little. Some touched a lot. There seemed to be no rules, no constraints and no pressure. Unadulterated, unhurried pleasure in whatever form anyone chose.
A smoky-voiced redhead who'd have given Jessica Rabbit a run for her money was perched on the closed lid of a grand piano, her vocals providing a sultry accompaniment to the dinner suited pianist. Here and there on the dance floor, couples twined around each other as they danced sinuously.
Lucien's arm curved along the back of the seat, his fingers a warm, gentle pressure on Sophie's neck.
It had been a long, long time since Sophie had last danced with a man.
"Shall we?" she said, tilting her head towards the sprung wooden floor.
Lucien looked mildly startled. "Are you asking me to dance?"
Sophie's mouth curved into a smile at his reaction. "Yes."
He frowned, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table, then stood and held out his hand formally.
"May I have this dance, Ms. Black?"
Chapter Sixteen
Lucien drew Sophie into his arms. He wasn't by nature a man for slow dancing. Although he’d never thought consciously about it, the passivity and languor didn’t appeal to him. He was a man of action. Where should he put his hands? He knew where he wanted to put them, and given their surroundings, he knew that it wouldn't be frowned on, but he had the distinct impression that Sophie herself might frown upon it. So she wanted to slow-dance? All right. He held her, one arm around her lace-clad waist, the other crooked between their torsos, laced with Sophie's slender fingers over his heart.
She looked up at him with the embers of her smile still on her lips, and traces of trouble in her smoky, made up eyes. She was one of the least provocatively dressed women in the club, yet in his eyes the sexiest by a mile. Her mussed-up blonde hair tumbled around her face and her dark eye make up gave her the air of a sixties waif. He'd suggested the dress thinking that its coverage would offer her a little security in this unfamiliar environment, but he hadn't bargained on how it would look wrapped around her body. She was a wanton sex kitten in it, her lush, creamy curves barely contained by the black lace. Every slow undulation of her body against his had him closer to losing control.
"I haven't danced like this with anyone in a long time," she murmured when he rested his forehead against hers.
"Not even your prick of a husband?" Lucien matched her murmur for volume, but there was no disguising the contempt in his voice. He appreciated the fact that Sophie didn't choose to correct his description.
"Only on our wedding day."
He held her a fraction tighter. He hadn't danced with a woman in over ten years either, but then he hadn't duped anyone with false promises of romance. And in truth... it felt pretty good when Sophie closed her eyes and laid her cheek against his chest. Her arm circled his shoulder, her fingertips tangling in the hair at his nape.
The clean, apple scent of her shampoo drifted around him as he let his mouth skim the top of her head, and her mouth brushed his throat as she sighed.
It was the sigh that did it. She sounded like sex, and she felt like sex, and they were in a sex club.
He'd resolved not to push her, but it sounded like the sigh of someone who wanted to be pushed, maybe just a little. So he let his hand skim down over her lace-clad bottom, intensely aware that she was naked beneath the dress.
She sighed again, and her fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt.
He laid his hand flat in the space below her throat, above her breasts, keeping his caress just in the realm of decency.
He wanted her to lay her hands on his aching cock.
Sophie's warm fingers stroked down his back, moulding him against her until there was no air between them, and Lucien let his hand move down between their bodies to her breasts. Beyond the realm of decency.
Her nipple ripened beneath his thumb, and her fingers slipped back into his hair as she opened her eyes and tipped her head up.
She was turned on. She told him so with her darkened, heavy gaze, and with the infinitesimal arch of her body as he stroked her breasts.
"I think I love this place," she whispered dreamily.
"And I love what this place does to you," he countered against her lips.
"You used the L word again."
"I did. I also love that you're naked underneath this dress." He rocked his hips into her, his erection hard against her abdomen.
The tip of Sophie's tongue snaked over his lips, and he accepted her invitation willingly. The slow, late night music washed around them, a steady beat to move to, to kiss to. Her mouth was warm and open for him, and her arms tightened around him as he massaged her bottom. Christ, she felt amazing. He wanted to ruck her skirt up and fill his hands with her bare skin.
She breathed his name when he squeezed her nipple and didn't stop him when he eased the cup of her dress down just enough to give him access to stroke it without exposing her to the other dancers. She bit down on his lip and groaned.