35. Peter

35

PETER

T he night was unusually dark when Peter drove through the city streets. Clouds obscured the moon and stars, and the air smelled like rain.

Beside him, Marina stared out the window at the passing scenery. "This city is huge, and each neighborhood looks different." She turned to him. "I still think the village is much nicer than anything out here."

"I agree." He put his hand on her knee.

Knowing that she was naked under the dress and that he could fondle her any time he wished, it had been a struggle not to part the skirt and explore how turned on she was. But part of the fun was the anticipation, and he wanted to save the game for when they were seated in a dark corner booth.

As he turned down a narrow, nondescript alley, Peter guided the car into the parking lot and eased into the spot marked with a large number twenty-three on the pavement.

Cutting the engine, he glanced at Marina. "Ready to be wowed?"

"By what?"

"You'll see." He opened the door, stepped out of the car, and walked to the passenger side.

The restaurant's nondescript limousine pulled up behind them just as he opened Marina's door and offered her a hand.

"Good evening." The limo driver opened the back door for them.

They slid in and, a moment later, were again on their way.

"It's like some spy movie," Marina whispered.

"It's all part of the mystique, a cultivated air of exclusivity that makes By Invitation Only the exclusive club it is." He chuckled. "And you don't have to whisper. The driver can't hear us." He pointed at the glass separating the back from the front.

She frowned. "How can you be sure of that? He might have a microphone back here."

"That's an excellent observation, but he doesn't. The owner ensures that his staff obeys the rules."

Understanding glinting in her eyes, Marina nodded.

As the limo stopped in front of a gate, there was nothing there that would indicate the presence of a world-class restaurant on the other side. There were no signs or markers that would betray its existence beyond the ordinary-looking gate. To the untrained eye, it looked like just another residence of some wealthy family that wanted to protect its privacy.

Peter squeezed Marina's hand as the gate slid open and the limo crawled up the long and winding driveway. "This is a new location. It's my first time here."

Her eyes widened with surprise. "Really? I thought you'd been here before."

"Only once, and it was in the previous location. The demand became so high that Gerard had to buy a larger place. Not that it was a problem, given the fortune he makes. When he first came up with the idea, I thought he was nuts because no one would pay that much for a membership that only gave them access to make reservations and still pay for the meal, but he was right. I underestimated how the rich really live and how much they are willing to spend on exclusivity and privacy and belonging to a club that only accepts the elite of the elite."

"I'm surprised your cousin demanded Kian buy a membership."

Peter grinned. "Kian co-owns the place with Gerard, so I don't think he had to pay full price, but I don't know that for sure. Gerard is a gifted chef, but he also has an ego to match, and he's not easy to work with. Kian is probably a very silent partner who only collects profits in proportion to his investment."

As the limo stopped in front of the grand entry, Marina swallowed, and her eyes flooded with trepidation. "I can't go in there, Peter. I don't know how to act around people like that."

He intertwined his fingers with hers. "Neither do I," he said in a playful tone. "I just try to remember that this is a classy joint, so no getting drunk and singing Scottish lurid love ballads. If you can do that, you'll do just fine."

Marina laughed nervously. "I'll do my best, but I make no promises."

As the driver opened the door, Peter stepped out and offered his hand to help Marina out while blocking her from the view of the guy in case her skirt parted.

The driver went ahead of them and opened the door with a flourish almost rivaling Okidu's. "Welcome to By Invitation Only ."

A hostess greeted them with a warm smile as they stepped through the door and into the dimly lit foyer. "Good evening."

She didn't ask for their names and didn't utter the name Peter had made the reservation under. Anonymity was the name of the game or, rather the pretense of it.

The rich and famous wanted to be seen and acknowledged by their peers but left alone to their illicit affairs and clandestine meetings. As long as no names were spoken, there was no definite proof of who they were. There were plenty of lookalikes, and Peter wouldn't have been surprised to discover that the elite used doubles to mislead the paparazzi and perhaps even one another.

"Please, follow me." The hostess led them through the cavernous room, which was divided into intimate seating arrangements.

"I've requested the booth," Peter said.

The woman nodded. "A booth was reserved for you, sir."

A jazz band was playing soft, sultry tunes that seemed to dance on the air like wisps of smoke, but no one was dancing yet.

It was too early for that.

Peter cast a sidelong glance at Marina, watching her reaction to the grandeur and the beauty of the room, the celebrities they were passing by, and the way the candlelight flickered across the faces of the diners and made their jewels sparkle.

Squeezing her hand, he leaned to whisper in her ear, "Welcome to the magical and wondrous world of By Invitation Only ."