Cruel Cravings: An Enemies to Lovers Standalone by Jordan Grant

Author:Jordan Grant [Grant, Jordan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-26T06:00:00+00:00

11

I have heard of the bathhouses near the river downtown, but I have no idea what to expect. I rattle off names of bathhouses as we drive, the ones I recognize from billboards or advertisements on television.

Alexander chuckles as he drives down Lake Shore Drive, the Chicago River out the window to my right. The water is dark against the white of winter, choppy and breaking into white water as it beats into the concrete retaining wall. A barge blows its horn as it passes a paddle ferry.

“We aren’t going anywhere you have heard of,” Alexander says. “This place is private. It caters to different… tastes.”

He pulls off the road and stops behind a wrought-iron gate. He rolls down the window, and the guard stoops to look inside the car.

“Name?” the guard asks, his request short and gruff.

“Wynne,” Alexander says, and the guard nods before opening the gate.

Alexander parks the car in front of a nondescript black building. Windows line the walls every few feet, but the curtains are closed shut, and I can’t even see a sliver of what’s inside.

He fingers the business card Nelson gave me: Miles Morris embossed in black ink. He tosses it in the cup holder.

“Miles will be here within the hour with the lover he doesn’t want his wife to find out about,” he says. “We better get inside.”

“Will he recognize you?” I ask.

“Oh,” he smirks, “I am counting on it.”

I open my door as he does the same. He holds the front door to the bathhouse for me. I walk inside, humid air greeting me and sticking to my skin. Stone walls surround me as I pad over a black floor. Ensconced lights line the hallway, and the place smells sweet yet bitter the more you inhale, like a good red wine.

A concierge greets us, dressed in a bespoke black suit, though her jacket hangs on her chair.

“Mr. Wynne,” she purrs as she ignores me completely and focuses her brown eyes on Alexander. “A pleasure as always.”

Jealousy rears its ugly head, though I know it’s crazy to be jealous. Yet I can’t help but wonder how many women he has taken here before me. The concierge gives Alexander bedroom eyes, but he keeps his gaze cool and distant. I am stupidly proud of him.

“Prepare yourself,” he whispers to me as we walk down the hallway, following the woman. “Do not react.”

I think it can’t be anything too crazy. What? Gold-plated walls don’t impress me. A million-dollar chandelier overhead? I wouldn’t care. Hell, I wouldn’t even be able to tell. But it’s not the atmosphere or the wall art that he warns me about.

The concierge holds open the black velvet curtain, and we walk into a room full of baths. Hot steam rises from the pools of clear water. The walls are made of white limestone and the floors of polished stones in the earthy colors of dirt and sand and rock.

At first, I don’t see anyone other than us as we walk inside. The concierge closes the curtain, and I hear her pad back toward the front door.

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