“Sorry. I have to take this.” Stepping between the barstools, he stopped before he got swept away by the crowd. “I hate to leave just when we were getting acquainted.”
“Do your thing.” Layla nodded at his phone. “I get it. Besides, I’m taken.”
“I wish you weren’t.”
And his gaze was so deep that Layla found her breath had stopped. The club around them seemed to fade as they looked into each other’s eyes. The thundering bass muted, the grinding crowd slipped out of Layla’s vision. As if it was just her and him staring at each other in an empty room, his hazel eyes held hers; the green in them achingly deep. Layla wanted to say something but couldn’t. The room seemed to stretch into endless chandeliers and shadows as his lovely lips smiled.
“I’ll see you again soon, hopefully. In better circumstances than these. Maybe somewhere we can really talk. Goodnight.”
And with those strangely formal words, Tom Collins gave a haunting smile and slipped away. He was soon lost in the press of the crowd and Layla blinked, the room returning in a rush like she’d been snapped back into reality. She found herself craning her neck trying to see where he’d gone – but he was well and truly evaporated. Layla frowned as she glanced down at her drink, feeling odd like he’d been an apparition – like their chance meeting hadn’t been entirely real.
She was still mulling it over when a big black guy in an impeccable charcoal-grey suit and crimson silk tie sidled up to the bar next to her, ordering a bourbon on the rocks. Layla glanced over and the big guy smiled genially, waiting for his drink and nodding along to the bass beat. The guy hadbouncerwritten all over him, though he wasn’t wearing the black t-shirt of the club’s finest. He had a large diamond in a platinum setting pierced into his left ear, and as he received his drink, Layla saw an enormous men’s ruby ring set in gold, styled with a roaring dragon curled around the ruby. He saw her looking at his ring and grinned, showing impeccably white teeth.
“Like it? It’s a family heirloom.” His voice was good; a big, round baritone with laughter in it and a slightly Southern accent as he nodded his thanks to the bartender and sipped his drink.
“It’s nice!” Layla yelled back, wondering what the hell was up with so much male attention tonight. Most of the girls here were more than five years younger than her, and though she was dressed in a slinky green dress with her black curls pulled over one shoulder, it wasn’t the mostcome-at-melook in the hall. “I thought maybe it was a Superbowl ring or something!”
He laughed, a great booming laugh that turned heads – everyone nearby smiling as if the guy’s good humor was infectious. Layla grinned, feeling better now that this guy stood next to her. He was big and impressive-looking, though she got the feeling he was a nice person. Layla had a radar for bullshit, and he seemed honest as he settled on his elbows at the bar and chuckled. “I ain’t no football player. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“You look like you work out like one.” He was excellently fit; Layla could see massive muscles bulging under his obviously expensive suit.
“I do! But I’m just a driver.” He winked at her, sipping his drink.
“For who? Taylor Swift?”
“Close, actually!” He laughed again and Layla found herself smiling. She liked this guy; he seemed like a genial what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of person. Confirming her thoughts, he stuck out a massive hand, grinning. “John LeVeque. Elite personal security.”
“Elitepersonal security? My, my.” Layla grinned, shaking his hand and finding it warm and strong. Luke had returned from wherever he’d been, pushing his way through the crowd towards them. Layla had a sinking feeling she’d be hearing about conversing with John shortly. “Can you protect me from a jealous boyfriend?”
“Well if he does anything to hurt you, he just might hear from these big football player’s muscles.” John had tracked her sightline and was now watching Luke approach also, something disapproving in his gaze. Luke drew near and Layla practically felt him bristle like a mongoose facing off with a cobra. Luke’s eyes got wide and then vicious with fury as he stepped protectively in front of Layla. Layla was about to protest, when Luke snarled out the coldest words she’d ever heard drop from his mouth.
“You’ve got some balls, asshole! Coming to our house, now stalking Layla down tonight?! I already told you, she doesn’t want anything to do with your hotel or prostitution ring or whatever your skeezy employer has going on. So piss off. Permanently.”
“Mr. Rhakvir isn’t skeezy. And it’s not prostitution.” The big man had straightened to his full height, locking eyes with Luke and staring him down like he was about to get bounced. “And he’d very much like Ms. Price to reconsider his offer.”
Layla went cold to the tips of her fingers. She blinked as she realized John was the same man who’d come to the house after she’d submitted her application to the Red Letter Hotel. Fear coiled through her, contrasting sharply with the strange feeling of trust she’d felt earlier. Luke had backed Layla off her barstool, creating space between her and John. Tension roared between the two men, and Layla saw the bartender signal quickly to the club’s bouncers. She saw John’s gaze flick to the approaching muscle, but Luke didn’t break his furious eye contact.
If it came to blows, Layla was certain who was going to lose. Luke was a scrapper but he wasn’t John’s size, not by a lot. But it was John LeVeque who held up a pacifying hand to the bouncers as they arrived in their tight black t-shirts. They hovered, ready to step in, but gave the duo space.
“I don’t want any trouble.” John spoke solidly, holding Luke’s gaze. “But Mr. Rhakvir would at least like Ms. Price to think about his offer again. It still stands. That’s all I’ve been asked to say. Hope you folks have a decent night.”
With that, John threw down a twenty on the bar and moved away, shouldering his bulk past the bouncers and toward the doors. Luke watched him go, still snarling and rigid. But the bouncers seemed mollified that the surly Irish guy wasn’t going to cause trouble now and moved back to the doors, leaving Layla and Luke in the throng.
“Fuck.” Luke closed his eyes, then shivered like he was trying to shake off the tension of near-battle he’d been embroiled in. When he opened his eyes, he seemed tired. “Let’s get out of here, Layla. Please?”
“Sure.” Layla didn’t feel like dancing anymore. She waved to Arron, and through his grinding he saw her leaving with Luke and waved back before diving back into his beau. Shouldering through the crowd, Luke led Layla by the hand until they were out into the night. It was the end of August and though the day had been hot, the night was unusually chill. Layla wrapped her hands around her bare arms as they set out down the street.
Glancing over, Luke’s tense posture eased. His face went from fury to worry as he reached out, snugging her under his arm and brisking his hand over her shoulder to warm her as they walked. Layla’s fury with him had washed away with the shock of John LeVeque. John stuck in her mind now, images of him tumbling over and over in her shocked thoughts; his smile, the flash of those white teeth, that ruby dragon-ring. How easily she’d felt she could trust him – and then found out he worked for her mystery guy.
Mr. Rhakvir.
“Are you ok?” Luke murmured, snugging her closer.
“I just want to get home.”
They didn’t speak again as they walked the nine blocks north and east to the house. Layla was mute, lost in thought until they tromped up the stout, brightly-lit front porch. Luke unlocked the door and they were soon inside, the Irish door-harp chiming a merry welcome that Layla didn’t feel. They moved upstairs in silence, and when Layla turned toward her room and Luke made to follow, she hesitated.
“What? You don’t want me to come in tonight?” Luke looked hurt; his dark brows knit.
