THE WILDE TOUCH: Book Two of The Touch Series Read online

  “If it’s any consolation, I’ll hold the investigative slot until the end of February.”

  “I appreciate that, Rick.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “On a positive note, the network doesn’t want to lose you altogether. If you can’t make it back by then, they’ve arranged a meeting with a DC affiliate. The upside is that you’ll continue working. Unfortunately, it won’t be a lateral move.”

  “Who’s the General Manager?”

  “Max Buchard.”

  Alexandra’s stomach roiled. That bastard never forgot anything, including his deep-seated grudge against her.

  “Budgets are tight, but this sounds like a decent stop-gap,” he continued. “I heard Max balked at the idea, but with ratings in the crapper, he’s got no choice. Someone from their station will contact you.”

  “Thanks for everything.”

  “How’s your mom doing?”

  “She’s a fighter.”

  “I hope she makes a speedy recovery.”

  She ended the call and crumpled onto the musty-smelling sofa. Her throat tightened, tears swimming in her eyes. No crying.

  She steeled her spine and sent texts to a few close friends. When her phone didn’t bing with a reply, she flipped on the television, channel surfed, then clicked it off. Deafening silence surrounded her. I can’t take one more night alone. With phone in hand, she tapped the Provocateur app and logged in. After scrolling through her private messages, she tapped the one marked Incognito.

  Dear Ms. Electra,

  Thank you for contacting us. We welcome members of Provocateur.

  I can reprogram your Silver Towers passkey remotely, so you can gain access to our club at your convenience. We open at five. Your first connection is on the house. For a fee, we’ll transfer your membership from Provocateur so you can enjoy the privileges of your elite member status at Incognito.

  Once you enter the parking garage, follow the signs for “Private Club” and park near the elevator marked “Private”.

  Meilleures salutations,

  Francois

  Assistant to the General Manager

  Incognito, A Silver Towers Company

  Alexandra had one vice. One dirty, deliciously naughty habit and her best-kept secret. For the past year, she’d been a member of Provocateur, an exclusive sex club in LA, where she lived out her wildest fantasies with masked strangers. Lucky for her, Provocateur had a sister club just outside DC.

  The thought of hooking up with a senator or ambassador made her smile. Hell, she’d even screw a regular guy. She wanted to feel his hard flesh sink inside her and melt her thoughts into oblivion. Her insides clenched in anticipation.

  She trotted up the stairs and into her shoebox-sized bedroom with rickety furniture that looked like it had been purchased at a flea market. The drab furnishings were a sharp contrast to her sunny and spacious bedroom in California. After flinging open her closet door, she toed off her flats, peeled off her sweater and skinny jeans, and slipped into a black halter dress with matching stilettos. She shaded her lids in a smoky gray, ran a thick layer of eyeliner over that, then layered on mascara. A dab of lip gloss before hiding her long brown hair beneath a shoulder-length platinum blonde wig. She finger-fluffed her bangs and smiled at her reflection.

  “Hello, Electra.” Her fake southern accent rolled off her tongue. “Play time.”

  Her body warmed at the thought.

  She selected a gold masquerade mask from her bureau drawer, threw on her coat, and left under the cover of darkness.

  Fifteen minutes later, she arrived in Crystal City, home to several hotels, dozens of restaurants, and a slew of high-rise condos. But the majority of the towering cement structures housed office space, which went silent after five o’clock when employees filed home like dutiful ants.

  Alexandra’s mouth went dry. Though excited to check out the club, apprehension tugged at her gut. Would the clientele be to her liking? What amenities did Incognito offer? Would she be able to play anonymously? It wasn’t just her reputation she needed to protect. She was a Mitus and in this part of the country, that name was worth its weight in gold.

  As instructed, she entered the deserted underground garage and parked near the lone elevator labeled “Private”. Seven o’clock. If Incognito were anything like Provocateur, the club wouldn’t come alive until after ten. Maybe Washington elite are early fuckers. With an amused smile, she tied on her mask and exited the Prius Colton had leased for her. Shivering from the biting December cold, she pulled the charcoal-colored Silver Towers keycard from her wallet and hurried toward the elevator.

  She held the plastic card against the sensor on the wall. The light should have turned green and the elevator should have opened, but the indicator remained red. She tried again, but nothing happened. Dammit.

  Her breath clouded and evaporated into the cold air as she dug out her phone. Francois hadn’t provided a phone number, so all she could do was message him, then freeze to death while she waited for a reply.

  “Screw this.” She spun around and bumped into an attractive older man, a black leather mask framing his eyes.

  His hollow laugh startled her. “With pleasure,” he replied.

  “Why, pardon me.” Her faux southern drawl oozed from her lips. “My momma always said I should look before I leap. She sure was right.”

  “Change of heart?”

  She flashed the Silver Towers card. “Francois must have forgotten to activate.”

  “Allow me.” He pressed his card to the sensor. The light turned green, the elevator doors opened and, with a grand sweep of his hand, the man gestured for her to step inside. “Age before beauty.”

  She stepped in, her polite chuckle filling the awkward silence. He held his card against the inside sensor, the light turned green, the doors closed, and they ascended to the twelfth floor.

  “The name’s Dracule.” With a grin, he extended his hand. “What can I say? I have a thing for biting.”

  Alexandra didn’t screw older men, but this one had such a charming personality. Handsome, too, with graying hair and a matching goatee. “I’m Electra.” She shook his hand. “Thanks for the lift.”

  “A southern belle with a spicy name. How delightful! And with a name like that, you must really love your daddy.”

  Alexandra’s chest ached at the mention of her doting father.

  The doors slid open and they entered a swanky reception area. In addition to the elegant ambiance, the toasty temperature warmed her icy fingers and chilled cheeks. Unlike the West Coast club where an enthusiastic hostess greeted members, here they waited alone.

  Dracule wedged himself between two black pillows on the horseshoe-shaped red sofa. “I’m here for rejuvenation.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  Throwing back his head, he laughed. “True, true.” Then, something dark flashed in his eyes and he stiffened. “Aren’t you the club’s new hostess?”

  “No, I’m considering membership.”

  “My mistake. Someone will be out shortly.” His terse tone and abrupt change in body language didn’t jibe with the relaxed charm he’d displayed when he thought she was an employee.

  She leaned against the reception counter where three tablets were affixed to the marble surface, their screens dark. Two oil paintings of nudes—one man and one woman—hung on the walls above the couch, each basking in the soft glow from the overhead art lights. Holiday decorations included a row of mistletoe dangling from the arched doorframe that opened into the hallway, and an elaborate swag that draped the reception counter. The simplicity worked. She wasn’t there to be infused with the holiday spirit.

  Across the hall in the bar-restaurant, two unmasked staffers in severe black stood behind a spit-shine bar, drying glasses and chatting. Black linen-covered tables and cozy horseshoe booths filled the room while more framed paintings of naked men and women in artful poses adorned the walls. The club appeared tasteful without being overdone.

  Firs
t impressions were favorable. Alexandra liked being greeted by no one. Blending into the background while she slipped in and out was more her style. Here, she was nobody in particular, or anyone she desired. Fantasy role-playing came at a high price, but was worth every penny.

  A small, balding man waltzed around the corner wearing a pinstripe suit, but no mask. He smiled at Dracule, then flicked his gaze to Alexandra. “Bonsoir, mademoiselle.”

  She hoped her southern accent sounded more genuine than his French one, but she gave him props for trying.

  Dracule rose. “This is Miss Electra. I mistook her for the club’s new hostess.”

  “Monsieur Dracule, these tablets were installed this week. They replace the host staff for check-in and suite reservation. We sent out several messages to club members.”

  “Good to know,” said Dracule.

  The employee addressed Alexandra. “How may we assist?”

  “I’m from Provocateur,” she replied. “Are you Francois?”

  The man’s cheeks flamed bright red. “Oui, Oui. A thousand apologies, Ms. Electra. I’ll be right with you. Have a glass of wine on the house.” He pivoted toward the bar across the deserted hallway and snapped his fingers at the wait staff. Both shot to attention.

  Dracule extended his hand. “I hope our paths cross again, lovely lady.” When she placed hers in his, he pecked it, and left with Francois.

  As she slinked out of reception, she glanced down the sconce-filled hallway. Both men entered a suite and shut the door. That’s odd. While Provocateur’s hostess did escort members to their suite, she never entered the room. Different club. Different rules.

  The bartender poured her a glass of Pinot Grigio. Other than a few cozy couples, the bar and restaurant were quiet.

  Five minutes later, the small man bounded in and slapped on a smile. “Mademoiselle, welcome to Incognito. Mes excuses for my mistake. S'il vous plait, let’s start over, shall we?”

  Alexandra offered her practiced-to-perfection movie star smile. “Bonjour. J’accepte vos excuses. Apology accepted.” She extended her hand.

  Instead of a handshake, he sandwiched her hand inside both of his and tilted his chin. “Je vous remercie. Thank you. Tall and beautiful. You’ll fit in well with our elegant clientele.” Releasing his hold, he straightened up and grew an inch.

  She handed him her Silver Towers keycard.

  “Merci. You have an elite membership, oui?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I’ll program at the tablet.” He bounded across the hall, reprogrammed her keycard and hurried back to her. “May I give you a quick tour?”

  “Thank you, yes.” She wondered if he believed her accent. His was terrible.

  “This is the lounge,” he said. “We offer a delightful dinner menu and stock top-shelf liquor. Across the hall is the greeting room.” He’s master of the obvious.

  As they walked down the quiet hall, he explained the club’s layout. “We occupy the entire twelfth floor. Sometimes, we turn up the music in the lounge, but Mr. Payne, the club’s GM, has soundproofed the walls. I can assure you, you won’t hear it when you’re in a VIP suite.”

  She nodded.

  “Our eighteen private rooms are available to elite members only.” He paused in front of a suite marked “Whips and Chains”, swiped his card over the sensor and opened the door. “This playroom comes equipped with the usual BDSM toys.” She peeked inside.

  The leather pommel horse stood in the center of the room, the straps dangling off its sides. In the corner, a black, leather chair was suspended from thick metal chains. The bed, sheeted in black, came equipped with ankle and wrist straps. An array of floggers, whips, and nipple clamps hung on wall hooks.

  At Provocateur, Alexandra liked exploring the balance between pleasure and pain. If she found the right kink partner at Incognito, she’d continue along that path. She needed the pain to keep things real. Pleasure alone was reserved for an intimate relationship…something she hadn’t had in years.

  The tour continued. “‘The Teacher’ is popular with adults who like reliving their youth.” In addition to a queen bed, this room mimicked a small classroom with a row of desks and a small chalkboard on the wall.

  After bypassing “Sleeping with a Senator” because the suite was in use, he opened a door labeled, “The Virgin”. Everything, including the furniture, was white. She ran her fingers over her chest to soothe the ache. Role-playing would ruin the tender memory. I’ll never use that room.

  Francois led her around the corner and opened a suite labeled, “The More the Merrier”. The spacious area housed several king beds and ergonomic sex chairs. “Based on feedback from our clientele, we made changes,” he explained.

  The LA club didn’t offer an orgy room. Though she wasn’t into group sex, a sly smile lifted her lips. Incognito was wilder than she’d expected.

  “Some members prefer a group setting,” said Francois. “As an elite-status member, you can join in the fun or observe from the theater section.” He pointed to a roped off area.

  Alexandra had no interest in watching. She was a hands-on type of gal, but the sexy design of the sleek leather loungers caught her eye. “What are those?”

  “Tantra chairs,” he replied. “They’re a big hit.”

  When they returned to the greeting room, he tapped on a tablet. “As I mentioned, these just replaced the staff. Our sister club in LA still employs hostesses. With a dismissive wave, he said, “Too labor intensive. By checking in here, your connection is notified where he, or she, or they can find you. Feel free to wait here in the greeting room, across the hallway in the lounge, or head to your suite. You can also request a connection through the app anytime, but if you’re here and would like to check room availability, use a tablet.” Puffing out his chest, he added, “My idea.”

  “These are great.” On first impressions, this club met her erotic needs all while letting her keep a low profile.

  “Merci. We’re open seven days a week from five in the evening until three in the morning. Closed on Christmas Day.”

  “How is the transfer fee handled?”

  “Message me and I’ll set up a meeting with our General Manager, Jase Payne.”

  “Let’s set that now. I like your club.”

  His broad grin was contagious. “Formidable! Wonderful! Can you come back tomorrow evening at nine?”

  “Yes. Are club amenities listed online?”

  Francois tapped the tablet and the “Extras” screen popped up. “What, in particular, can I assist with, ma chère?”

  “Rejuvenation.”

  A shadow fell over his eyes. “Excuse me?”

  “Dracule mentioned it.”

  After a pregnant pause, he leaned close, as if he were going to share a fantastic secret. “Monsieur Dracule likes a quick nap before his connections. Here at Incognito, we accommodate even the most extreme needs.”

  The coldness in his eyes belied his words. He’s lying.

  With a tight smile, he tapped the tablet. “If you’re interested in connecting with someone soon, I suggest you start your search in our ‘New Members’ section.”

  She studied his face for an extra beat before turning her attention to the club’s website. “Merci.”

  “Until tomorrow. Bienvenue a Incognito.” After a slight bow, he vanished around the corner.

  Based on his recommendation, Alexandra clicked on “New Members”, filtered the list by “Male” and scrolled through the photos of masked men. But she was too preoccupied with Francois’s answer about rejuvenation to pay much attention to the photographs. The journalist in her wanted to dig deeper to find out what he was hiding. Whether a curse or a blessing, being suspicious was second nature.

  She continued scrolling. Too happy. Too thin. Too old. Too goofy.

  Bam!

  Her heart skipped a beat. A gorgeous man stopped her cold. Even though he’d concealed three-quarters of his face behind a black devil mask, those steel blue eyes paired w
ith an undeniable confidence, sent a whoosh of energy straight to her core. Wow, he’s hot.

  Insta-lust worked every damn time. She tapped his profile.

  Name: Hunter

  Stats: 6’2”, brown hair, blue eyes, 225 lbs.

  Age Range: 30-35

  Member Level: Elite

  Fetishes: Women

  Restrictions: No oral, always masked. No small talk.

  He’s perfect. The erotic club would be her new late night escape. She requested a connection for the following evening and hit send. I’m going to like it here.

  On her way home, she couldn’t shake Dracule’s comment about rejuvenation. He’d piqued her curiosity, but Francois’s shifty reaction had provoked her interest. Her favorite professor at USC had harped on one fact: Everyone guards a secret. As a journalist, your job is to find out what that is and flush out the truth.

  3

  Crockett’s Spy Flies

  Crockett Wilde’s long, nimble finger controlled the hovering insect with a light touch on the tablet. His audience remained silent, save for the heavyset man’s occasional wheezing. Because Crockett didn’t permit cameras inside his lab, his guests’ cell phones had been secured in his office safe while they sat cozy as kittens around a conference table. Wilde Innovations’s Think Tank housed a white conference table, six white chairs and a wiped-down white board attached to a white wall. No windows. The sole entry point was the white door, which opened into the spacious lab. The simplicity of his white room allowed clarity when thinking, though he also found the space a source of comfort when he couldn’t quiet the demons that plagued him.

  As Crockett landed the tiny creature on the top of the conference room doorknob, his visitors spun in their chairs, fascinated by its every move. These four individuals from the FBI were the gatekeepers he needed to impress. Not only could their decision bring him one step closer to another significant win for his company, their procuring his devices might help locate his sister and bring her home. That, above all else, motivated Crockett Wilde.