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He understood at once why there was such interest in this particular lot. Ms Bunny had something unique about her—almost enough to make him smile. It wasn’t that she was so good at what she was doing, but that she was so utterly hopeless, and that she couldn’t have cared less. She had good humour in plenty, but no sense of rhythm, and even less idea of how to walk elegantly in her high-heel shoes. She was throwing herself about in a way that made him want to take off his jacket to shield her from the baying crowd—but at least they were on her side, he noticed, glancing around. His attention returned to the stage.
She felt his interest and their stares connected briefly. A raised brow told him that a rescue attempt would not be appreciated.
There was fire beneath that costume, and it was enough to hold him to the end of her act. She was attractive, but not showy or flashy, however hard she was trying to appear so. The punters were wolf-whistling and stamping their feet for more by now, which she gladly gave them. Spotting the maître d’, he remembered the reason for his mission and reluctantly pulled away from the pillar so he could ask if a Ms Jennifer Sanderson worked at the club.
‘Jen’s a waitress,’ the maître d’ confirmed. ‘But not tonight,’ he added, glancing at the stage. He leaned in close to make himself heard above the noise. ‘For one night only, Jen’s taking part in the charity auction. It’s a cause very close to her heart,’ he added, piquing Luca’s interest. ‘That’s her up on the stage now,’ he enthused. ‘Sensational, isn’t she? I’ve only seen Jen in her server’s uniform before, or in jeans. It’s surprising what a difference a pair of ears can make.’
It wasn’t her ears Luca was looking at.
And his plan had just folded. Dealing with a mouse was one thing, but from the way she was handling the audience at the club he doubted Ms Jennifer Sanderson was even close to the pushover his father had imagined. She’d got all the hard-bitten punters in the casino eating out of the palm of her hand. The more she gambolled around the stage, sending herself up, the more the audience loved her. In another life she could have been an entertainer. The maître d’ was spot on. She was sensational, but Jennifer Sanderson was as much a mouse as Luca.
* * *
Jen couldn’t believe how high the bidding was going. ‘Keep it up,’ Tess advised in the loudest stage whisper ever from the wings.
Turning her back to the audience, Jen stuck out her rump and wiggled her powder-puff tail so enthusiastically it encouraged a fresh round of bidding from the crowd.
‘I thought you were supposed to be a feminist,’ Jen chastised Tess when she finally sashayed off stage to thunderous applause.
‘I’m happy to leave my principles at the door when ten thousand is in the bag for the charity,’ Tess exclaimed.
‘Ten thousand!’ Jen hugged her friend excitedly. ‘I was so busy wiggling I wasn’t listening to the bidding. Who on earth paid that much to have dinner with me?’
‘Someone who doesn’t mess around?’ Tess suggested, pressing her lips together as she shrugged. ‘Time to get your Miss Prim on, and start serving those hungry diners,’ she added. ‘They’ll need something to settle them down after the excitement you’ve given them.’
Jen hurried off with a wide grin on her face. She couldn’t wait to release her straining body from the too-tight costume. One thing that could be said for the club was that no two days were the same. She loved her job. If she didn’t work here, she wouldn’t hear the stories she did. Some of the customers were lonely, and only gambled to while away their lonely nights, they told her. Jen thought that, for at least some of the members, gambling was an illness, but she’d always been a good listener and credited the customers at the club with saving her when Lyddie had been fatally injured in a cycling accident. Talking to people, and having a routine to cling onto, had helped Jen to climb back from a dark hole of grief. The volunteers from the charity had told her that shutting herself away was the worst thing she could do. She had to get out and start living again for her sister’s sake. Life was precious and she shouldn’t waste a moment of it. They were right, hence her outrageous outfit tonight. She would do anything she could to support them after what they’d done for her.
Having exchanged the sexy satin suit for the sombre black and white uniform she wore as a server, Jen squeezed her way through the customers clustered around the bar.
‘Excuse me—’ She inhaled sharply as a man barred her way.
Jen’s body reacted violently with approval. Too tanned and fit to be a regular at the club, he was tall, dark and swarthy, with thick, wavy black hair, and an unwavering stare. Lean and muscular, he was ferociously commanding. Maybe he was someone important. He certainly had shedloads of presence, but there was something about him that made her shiver inwardly.
He was brutally masculine. That had to be it, Jen reasoned. And she thought she knew him from somewhere. He’d been leaning against a pillar watching her dance tonight, and they’d exchanged a couple of glances—his interested, hers a warning to keep off the grass. But now she could see him close up, she wondered if she’d seen him before at the club.
‘I’d appreciate having a word with you in private,’ he said.
‘Me?’ She had been glancing round for Tess, thinking an important visitor would ask for the manager.
‘Yes, you. Alone.’
He might be the most attractive man she’d ever seen, but a private interview wasn’t going to happen. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to work.’
He didn’t take well to her flat-out refusal. As one sweeping ebony brow rose in disapproval she was already looking for a member of the security staff.
‘You won’t need them,’ he said, as if he could read her mind. ‘I don’t mean you any harm.’
‘I should hope not,’ she said, forcing a laugh into her voice. ‘Sorry, but I really do have to go now.’ She stared past him towards the restaurant, but he remained like a roadblock in her way.
‘I’ve paid a lot of money to have dinner with you.’
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said, remembering the ten thousand. And now she remembered why he was familiar to her.
She raised a brow as his bold stare swept over her, heating every part of her on the way. ‘You’re Italian, aren’t you?’ she said.
His eyes warmed briefly. ‘Sicilian, to be exact.’
That was right. She’d got it now. ‘Very glamorous,’ she said distractedly as she thought what this might mean.
‘Hardly,’ he said.
But arrogant, she thought. Meanwhile, her body was going crazy. He exuded pheromones like room haze. Celibacy had become a habit Jen had seen no reason to break. She was certainly paying for those years of denial now.
He frowned as he angled his stubble-shaded chin to stare down at her. ‘What makes you think Sicilians are glamorous?’
&n
bsp; ‘Oh, you know...’ She waved her hand airily. ‘Sicily seems such a glamorous destination—the fabulous scenery on the island, the emerald-green sea, the sandy beaches, the Godfather—’
‘That’s a fantasy,’ he cut in.
‘I do know that. Look, is there anything else I can do for you before I go to work?’
‘Yes. Confirm our dinner date,’ he said.
‘Well, I’m afraid it can’t be tonight. I’m really sorry, but I’m sure we can work something out.’ She hoped he’d take the hint and move on—arrange something with Tess, or with Jay-Dee. He didn’t move. He remained squarely in her way. ‘You could speak to the casino manager, Tess, about your prize. She’s right over there by the door.’ She turned and pointed.
‘I’d rather talk to you,’ he said in a way that made all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand erect.
There was no give in him at all, and he had paid a lot of money that would go to Jen’s favourite charity. She mustn’t do anything to jeopardise that.
‘Just a few moments of your time,’ he said with a faint smile that couldn’t rub out her first impression that he looked like a pirate on a raid, though he’d shaved recently and she wasn’t sure if pirates had access to razors. Nor did they wear custom-made suits, she thought, though with those shoulders she doubted he could buy anything off the peg.
‘Something amusing you?’
‘I’m just a little tense,’ she admitted, drunk on the faintest hint of his exclusive cologne. ‘I’m going to be late for work.’
‘Surely, they’ll forgive you this once? You have been otherwise occupied.’
‘And now the auction’s over, and we’re short-handed tonight.’
‘Pity.’
His lips pressed down in the most attractive way, and his stare was warm on her face. But...from the collar of his handmade shirt, to the tip of his highly polished shoes he radiated money, power, and success. So why was an affluent, good-looking Sicilian prepared to fork out ten thousand for a date with a waitress? Surely he could take his pick from a long line of society beauties? Or did he just have a big, charitable heart, and had happened to call in at the club by chance?
