Seduced

By Kate Allure

Club Rule #4 — Masks are mandatory but clothing is optional.

Dame Victoria Whittingstall, appointed by The Queen to serve in the Royal Courts, thought she'd achieved all her dreams.

But there’s always been something missing when it came to sex. On the heels of a break up with Boring Baron, her long time boyfriend, her best friend treats her to a one night pass to London’s most exclusive sex club.

Posh.
Dark.
Sensual.
And completely alive... Club Exotica is straight out of her most forbidden, secret fantasies.

When a handsome stranger finally gives Tori the mind-blowing sex she's yearned for, she knows one taste will never be enough.

It almost makes her forget about the sexy young barrister that flirts with her at court.

But in Club Exotica, betrayal is around every dark corner and lasting love is elusive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Oct 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9781682814871

Kate Allure

Kate Allure writes erotic romances that celebrate sensuality, sexual exploration and, of course, true love. Writing for Entangled Publishing and Sourcebooks, her books feature real women meeting handsome professional, working men as they go about their everyday lives—and the fun they have behind closed doors! Her work is “Escapism of the richest, most decadent variety, 4 stars" (RT Book Reviews), and "sizzling and sensual. Intense chemistry, great characterization, and a kinky page-singeing ending will have readers clamoring for more," (Publishers Weekly). Kate’s non-fiction writing included working for American Ballet Theatre and New York City Ballet, and recently creating the Romance Readers Guide to Historic London under the name Sonja Rouillard. Beyond writing, Kate’s passions include traveling and exploring all things sensual with her loving husband.

Book preview

For the man who makes my life worth living

Prologue

London

Life had turned surreal. Sitting in the luxury of Diana’s chauffeur-driven limo, Tori watched the night lights of London speeding by but saw only a blur. On her way to a posh sex club, the guest of one of London’s reigning society queens, her racing thoughts swirled and blurred with equal speed.

She clutched her long trench coat tightly around her body to conceal the too-short black dress Diana had insisted would be considered conservative at Club Exotica. Her dear friend’s micro-mini served as proof that Tori’s attire was demure in comparison.

If word ever got out, it could destroy her career. But Diana had been right—the place was a ghost. No record of it existed on the internet or anywhere that Tori could find. And she had access to very good resources.

She huffed, a quiet little snort of dismay. What the hell was she doing?

She was out of her mind to even think about setting one foot inside a place like that. She was a respected judge in Her Majesty’s Royal Courts of Justice. And she was on her way to London’s most exclusive, secret, no-holds-barred sex club!

Chapter One

Two weeks earlier

Victoria Whittingstall leveled her gaze on the handsome barrister and silently dared him to say another word. She was, after all, the presiding judge. Their eyes locked.

My Lady, if it pleases the court, may I approach the bench? The cocky young barrister’s tone held a hint of challenge.

It does not please the court. You may state your business in situ, and I’d advise you to be quick about it. She looked around the courtroom as the audience grew still, unabashedly absorbed in the curious interaction between the two of them.

Well… He drew out the word, his low tone making it sound almost sensual. Perhaps, My Lady would like to review my full brief in chambers at your leisure?

Tori straightened. Had she imagined it, or had the too-sexy-for-his-black-robes barrister just slanted a fast glance down his body toward his crotch?

Where she now found herself staring.

Seething with an odd mix of annoyance and arousal, her own body came alive. Her toes tingled, and her nipples tightened. And parts in between throbbed deliciously. The flattering attention of this gorgeous guy made her feel much younger and sexier than she had in years. Her mouth curled in the tiniest of smiles.

He threw in yet another If it pleases the court, My Lady.

Her gaze flicked back up to his face.

His expression was amused. The hotshot young barrister, Ian King, was a master of innuendo. Among other things. He knew exactly what he was doing.

It pleases the court to have you drop it. Now.

She’d just issued an ultimatum, of sorts. It captivated the spectators, everyone glancing back and forth between them, waiting to see what he would say or do next.

It irked her that there were more people here today, the courtroom nearly filled to capacity. Was all of legal London here to watch them spar?

Court watchers, press, even clerks had been following the byplay for weeks, finding the oddly sexual, burgeoning feud between the staid older judge and a sexy, up-and-coming barrister the most fascinating turn in years.

Now, she and King were locked in a dueling stare that had everyone holding their breath.

Finally breaking away, he responded in a low voice, As you wish.

At the sound of the audience’s collective sigh, relief washed through her. They had realized the fun was over.

She resumed her routine questioning in the mundane administrative hearing.

The youngest judge ever to rise to the High Court, Tori needed to maintain decorum in her courtroom and in her person. Appointed, as is custom, by the queen herself, she had recently become one of only twenty women out of more than one hundred high court judges in all of England. With that honor had come the title of dame commander of the Order of the British Empire, as well as prestige, social standing, and a salary that had allowed her to finally purchase her own flat—a very nice one at that.

Her breath caught when the young barrister strode forward to submit a document.

How old was young Mr. King, anyway?

Mid thirties, she guessed, but— Wow! Tall, blond, and blue eyed. Cool blue, like arctic ice.

Her gaze lowered again, and she wished for a quick glimpse of his physique under the long court robes. Having seen him about, in and out of court, she knew he had a tight body and chiseled muscles, and he moved liked an athlete. No. More like a panther, a predatory cat whose lithe grace was beautiful to look at, but deadly, too. These last few weeks in court with him, she’d been wondering what it might be like to have sex with such a man.

He deserved his professional arrogance, she conceded. Reluctantly. An enormously gifted barrister, he’d worked his way up quickly. But he’d become too cocky by far—always pushing her buttons for no apparent reason. She’d enjoy bringing him down a peg or two. And yet…

Semel in anno licet insanire, she mumbled quietly in her old county-school Latin. Once in a year, one is allowed to go crazy. If there was ever a time in her life when she could forgive herself some naughty fun, it should be on her birthday. She turned forty-three today.

Armed with her flimsy justification, she raised her hand and addressed the court at large. It seems we are at an impasse regarding the disclosure issue before us. The court is considering a recess to allow counsel to review and further augment the documentation.

Immediately, clerks began shoving papers into folders.

Narrowing her gaze on her young nemesis, she added, Regarding your earlier proposition, Mr. King. If I thought there was anything worthy of my full attention in your aforementioned brief—she flicked the quickest glance downward—anything at all, I would consider reviewing it, but I think whatever you might have would be…scanty, at best.

Surprised spectators paused mid–paper shove, their eyes swiveling back to her. Silence prevailed.

King appeared surprised, too. His lips parted, and his head tilted as he studied her. The quiet, oh-so-proper Judge Whittingstall had suddenly, unexpectedly, thrown down a verbal gauntlet, and he looked uncertain whether or not to pick it up.

After a moment, he strutted forward—literally strutted, as if beautiful peacock feathers were arrayed in full glory behind him. Reaching the bench, he stood squarely and proudly below her.

Adopting a serious expression on his Jude Law–esque face, he countered, With the utmost respect to your learned self, I beg to differ. I think My Lady would find a full load of information to examine, so hefty it would require two hands and considerable time to explore.

As his words sank in, the spectators covered their snickers with coughs and more paper shuffling, but all eyes swung in her direction.

A momentary panic gripped her, but she forced it away, subduing her reflexive propriety before it took over. Having thrown caution to the wind, she wouldn’t back down now.

She gave her tone a full measure of gravitas. Mr. King, the court finds that it cannot accept, sight unseen, such grand claims to an abundance of…information. However, should such an enormity exist, this court would be fully capable of taking it all in and making comprehensive use of it, I assure you.

She reined in the smirk threatening to emerge, forcing a bland expression instead.

He grinned cheekily back. Well then, My Lady, might I respectfully repeat my request to meet you in camera so I might personally present my case? I would relish the opportunity to demonstrate my skill in providing abundant service to the court.

He stared impudently at her, and her eyes flashed back with heat. The tension between them was almost palpable, a live wire of electricity sizzling from where he stood below, up to her, seated high above him.

Her body grew hot, her sex throbbing.

She suddenly wished the baron wasn’t out of town.

She urgently needed a good bonk…even a perfunctory one like the kind preferred by her longtime companion, Rupert, The Right Honorable Lord Bridlington.

She sighed. Like a splash of cold water to her face, her tepid love life reminded her of the futility of continuing this arousing but ultimately useless repartee with a too-young barrister in open court. It could go nowhere, because it would damage her reputation, perhaps even ruin her career, if it ever came out that she was having an affair with a barrister from her court. Not to mention the embarrassment of looking like some cougar chasing a younger man.

Directing her gaze back to her adversary, she cleared her throat and pronounced in her most dignified tone, Mr. King, this discussion can go nowhere. I suggest you focus on the case.

She raised her hand to silence him when he opened his mouth to rebut.

Court is adjourned! We’ll reconvene tomorrow to review additional documentation.

Chapter Two

After court, Tori walked the short distance down busy Chancery Lane to meet her two closest friends at a local pub. Even though it was summer, a chilly London fog shrouded her in solitude.

Why did the man keep flirting with her?

Her thoughts kept swirling around Ian King, no matter how much she tried to banish him. It seemed inconceivable that the gorgeous, young thirty-something really wanted anything to do with boring old her. He must take some perverse pleasure in pushing the buttons of the oh-so-conventional Ms. Justice Whittingstall, who never, ever let her hair down—both literally and figuratively.

She reached back to the nape of her neck to ensure her hair remained secure in her usual neat bun.

Glancing down, she checked how her attire had fared after the long day in court. She grimaced, but not because she looked messy—her dark Paddy Campbell suit was the finest quality, her thick black stockings free of snags, and her low pumps unscuffed. She wore the standard uniform of legal women in England.

But after all these years, she’d begun to resent some of the trappings of her profession, the symbols of success she’d worked so very hard to obtain. In court, her judge’s silk robe with red, high-court tabs made her formidable, but tonight she wanted to be both powerful…and pretty.

Her lips turned down. Even without the black shroud, she couldn’t imagine Ian King would find her conservative attire enticing—the pencil skirt was too long and the jacket too boxy, effectively concealing her curvy body.

In fact, nothing she did would interest a guy like him. She wore her cautious demeanor like armor, shielding her from too much masculine attention. It had been necessary as a young female barrister just starting out, her too-voluptuous figure a distraction in a world ruled by influential men, but after so many years it had become habit. No longer a mask, it had become all she was.

She flicked nonexistent lint off her shoulder and straightened her already-straight skirt. Anyway, Rupert loved how she looked—stylishly respectable and appropriate. She forced a smile and gave a confirming nod. It was her long-term companion’s opinion that mattered, not some young nobody who meant nothing to her.

She pulled open the glass door to the four-hundred-year-old Seven Stars Pub and glanced around to see who else was there tonight. Most of legal London frequented the tiny tavern, due to its close proximity to the Royal Courts and to the delicious creations of its most recent owner. Walking through the dark-wood-paneled interior, she nodded to a couple colleagues but didn’t stop. Her friends waited for her in the back corner.

Katherine Pemberton and Lady Diana Stanhope saw her and waved her over to their table, one of only twelve in the cozy, crowded pub. Nearing them, she forcibly banished the gloomy thoughts about her appearance and the titillating ones about the young barrister, determined to enjoy the evening.

Happy birthday! exclaimed Kate, smiling warmly and giving her a quick hug.

Yes, congrats, Tori, added Diana using the nickname only her closest friends were allowed. Hope you don’t mind, but we went ahead and ordered champagne to celebrate. She gestured to an ice bucket. We can round out the evening with a pint of your favorite Adnams later.

I’m so happy to see you both, Tori responded. She sat down and accepted a glass of bubbly. It’s been too long.

Almost immediately, Thomas Paine, the pub’s plump resident cat, who wore a white legal collar, rubbed against her leg, an honor bestowed only to regulars. Reaching down, she gave the feline a scratch on the head. And spied two small gift-wrapped boxes on the table.

A pleased smile on her face, she asked, For me?

Who else, dahling? said Diana. We wanted to get you something special, so we went in on it together.

Is Rupert joining us? Kate asked while Tori started to unwrap a gift.

Diana jumped in before she could answer. No, I thought you knew. The old fuddy-duddy’s always busy on Tuesday and Thursday nights. So it’s up to us to provide all the birthday cheer.

Tori sighed. Her friend’s disdain for Rupert had become a source of some disagreement between them. Yes, he has standing squash games each week, but I think he would have skipped it for my birthday. However, in point of fact, he’s at Bridlington taking care of estate business this week, repairs to the wing that houses the hotel.

Diana wrinkled her nose. Rupert’s too old for you. I just don’t understand what you see in him.

He’s only fifty-six, Tori retorted. And we enjoy a friendly companionship. I’m not looking for an earth-shaking romance. I’m forty-three today, for heaven’s sake!

Exactly. You’re forty-three, not eighty-three. Get out there and have some fun and some awesome sex before it’s too late.

An image of an irreverent, grinning barrister flashed through Tori’s mind. However, she said, Rubbish. We do have fun. But he’s a baron, so obviously we have to keep up the proprieties. You know.

Diana snorted, an aristocratic sound from a real-life member of the peerage. A titled lady by birth, she’d never cared a whit that she came from a higher social and financial stratum. Even when they’d all shared a place at Oxford, Tori on private scholarships and her flatmates underwritten by their wealthy families, it had never seemed to matter—they were then and remained today the best of friends.

He just seems to think rather highly of himself. It’s as if he thinks he’s doing you a favor by being with you.

Tori winced. First off, he’s not like that. Rupert’s doing great work in the House of Lords to support low-income housing. He’s considerate, and he respects me. Our relationship is stable, which means a lot to me at this point in my life.

Stable! Diana grimaced. You deserve some excitement. All I’m saying is, you should date someone who makes you swoon. Someone who makes you burn in the bedroom. Not fizzle.

Again, sexy Ian King popped into Tori’s mind, but this time in a large bed, and she lay there with him, naked, tangled, and panting.

She gasped and tried to cover it by speaking too loudly. I know you enjoy having lots of lovers and wild sex, Diana, but that’s not me. But was she trying to convince her friends or herself? Now, if you please, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

She pulled off the lids of her neglected presents. These are smashing! She gazed down at a pair of stunning ruby earrings and a matching bracelet. You spent way too much! But thank you.

Nonsense, said Diana.

Tori smiled at her two longtime mates. Their friendship had sustained each of them through many years of hard work, sometimes heartbreak, and two divorces among them.

Do you like how they look? she asked, holding up the rubies to her ears.

Maybe next time she met Rupert at the door, she’d be wearing them…and nothing else. That should stir things up!

Chapter Three

Across the pub, Ian King gazed at The Honorable Ms. Justice Whittingstall.

After taking another swig of his ale, he glanced down at the single long-stemmed lavender rose laying on the ancient, dark-wood bar. Fifteen minutes earlier on his way home, he’d spied her entering the pub and had impulsively followed her inside after buying the rose from a corner shop.

She laughed, the throaty sound traveling across the pub to tease him with its lusty sensuality. The lady was formidable and strong—which he liked—but when laughter softened her expression, she became soft and feminine—which he liked even better.

He’d secretly desired her for months and had recently launched a sometimes not-so-subtle flirtation with her, his tried and true method for winning beauties to his bed.

It had got him nowhere. Her humbling public reprimand was still fresh in his mind. But why had she resumed their sexy banter? Perhaps she wasn’t completely immune to him, after all.

The judge had made an impression on him from his first appearance in her court two years ago. That she was older than him had been apparent, but somehow it only added an element of experience to her allure. The efficient manner in which she ran things—so authoritative and firm, she could have been a Domme—and her dry sense of humor made him look forward to the days when he was on her docket.

But what really drew him to her was her incredible legal mind. Brilliant and sharp. It was always a thrill to spar with her over legal minutia. That she sometimes bested him didn’t matter, because he’d learned so much from her.

She was a frontal cortex thinker, and he longed to go up against her in a game of chess.

Then he’d seen her jogging by the Thames a few months back, and the impact of her lusciously curvy bod in skintight Lycra had made him want to play other games with her. Naughty games.

If he’d known it was her, he’d have made a move right then, but away from the Royal Courts and out of her hideous boxy suits, he hadn’t realized why she looked so familiar. By the time he’d recognized her, it was too late. After that, visions of her bouncing tits and that great ass as she’d run by him had haunted his dreams.

Tonight as he watched, she reached one hand behind her neck to pat her strict, always tidy bun. Why did she wear her hair like that? Was it habit, left over from years of concealing it under the ugly horsehair wigs that were still worn in some English courts, but thankfully not theirs anymore. What would her hair look like down and flowing around her shoulders?

An image of it loose and spread out on a pillow while she gazed up at him with eyes full of passion, her sultry voice begging him, hit him like a sensual tsunami. He groaned aloud.

He’d found himself thinking about her way too often over recent months. His fascination had grown into an absurd obsession, and he never obsessed about women—rather, more the other way around. Girls had chased him since he was a teen.

Advancing in his career was all that had ever mattered to him. All that still mattered. He hadn’t worked every waking minute studying and practicing law since passing his A-levels to fall in love and settle down, even if that’s what his member-of-the-peerage father expected. The fact that he served in her court was yet another reason he should cease and desist this madness.

Ian wanted to reach a rung on the legal ladder where he could really help people, and he wanted to do it on his own, without any assistance from his illustrious family. As a result, he had no time for wooing a clingy girlfriend—especially not a judge—and wasn’t ready for a proper marriage. He didn’t need romantic love in his life. At all.

But his body needed physical love, and that was a hard puzzle for a man who only wanted to win in court and not at courting love.

Standing here watching Victoria and unsuccessfully trying to hear her conversation, he admitted she’d disrupted his orderly rules and beliefs. She’d intrigued him, plagued him, and distracted him to the point that he’d abandoned his no wooing rule and bought the rose now lying before him.

He needed to raise the bar, since his usual flirty methods hadn’t worked worth a bloody damn. Tonight, he’d take a first step and ask her out on a real date. The fact that she’d consistently rejected his flirtations—today’s encounter being the single deviation—didn’t even weigh in his deliberations. He hadn’t achieved this much in life this quickly by playing it safe. And he never conceded a battle before giving it everything he had—not in the courtroom nor in the bedroom.

He tipped his mug back and finished his Adnams. Grabbing the rose, he moved to join the three women, since it didn’t seem he would catch his quarry alone.

But then Victoria rose and headed in his direction.

He turned away, hiding among the crowd until she drew near.

Most likely, he didn’t have a chance with her—she was so far out of his league—but he would give it one last A-levels try.

He waited, ready to step into her path.

Chapter Four

Tori sidled through the busy pub on her way to the loo, the distracting barrister once again sliding into her thoughts.

A masculine voice interrupted her wayward musings. Hiya!

She looked toward the bar.

Surprised right down to her toes, she skidded to a stop, belly butterflies doing loop de loops in her gut.

Oh! It’s you! The rogue himself, Ian King, stood before her. Without thought, her hands brushed her conservative suit free of nonexistent wrinkles. Hi, she added, her voice a breathy exhalation.

Happy birthday. He stepped closer and offered her a solitary rose.

She took the proffered flower and felt herself blush. Her erotic daydreams and night fantasies—the ones she kept denying she had—coalesced in front of her like magic into one sexy, seductive, shameless package.

Needing to put distance between them, she stepped backward and looked down at the rose. Raising the lavender-colored bud to her nose, she inhaled the delicate scent. Um, thank you. It’s beautiful. Her eyes snapped back to him. How did you know it was my birthday?

I made it my business. And I think you know why. King stepped nearer to her, so close they almost touched.

The growing crowd of after-work revelers had surged in around her, trapping her in place and pushing her toward him.

He inhaled the air near her hair. Is that lavender?

Dazed, she nodded. The air had suddenly gone thin. She needed to get away from him, but she didn’t move. She stared like a trapped deer into his ice-blue predator’s eyes… And the oddest melting sensation made her knees weak. Barely inches separated them, the pull to lean closer as strong as if he were reeling her in by invisible twine.

She swayed closer, and for a second his hard chest brushed against her breasts.

Jerking back, she sucked in a breath, but there didn’t seem to be enough air in the pub. Her chest felt tight, her lungs empty, and she panted.

Seeking escape, she made to go around him to the loo. Well. Thank you. For the pretty rose. Lavender is my favorite color. Love the color. My favorite perfume, too, she babbled uncharacteristically.

It suits you.

His determined manner and intense gaze turned the twine into steel cable that kept her locked in place.

Without preamble, he gently touched her hand. His voice dropped lower, huskier. Go out with me.

His quiet request felt like a command rather than an invitation, and it did strange tingly things to her insides. Struck dumb, she stood there docilely, yielding to his strange allure.

Everything happened in slow motion. The way he leaned ever closer. His insistent caress on her hand. Everything except for the electric sensation zinging with lightning speed from his hand to hers, up her arm, and outward through her body. Rather than shocking her, the sizzling electricity sealed her hand to his, as if the forces of nature desired their physical