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He was right. The table overlooked the dance floor and the sound level dropped from deafening to ear-shattering.
And the view was, indeed, excellent.
“What scenery,” Damian said.
He meant, of course, the women. Nicolo nodded in agreement. He’d already acknowledged that the scenery was spectacular. All those lithe, gyrating bodies. The lovely faces…
Was there a woman on the dance floor with eyes the color of violets? With hair the honey-gold of a tigress?
“Nicolo? Which do you prefer?”
Nicolo blinked. Lucas and Damian were looking at him, along with a girl in gold hot pants and a skimpy black tank top.
“To drink,” Lucas said, with a little laugh. “Whiskey? Champagne? The club special? It’s a Mojito. You know, rum, lime juice—”
“Whiskey,” Nicolo said, and told himself to stop being a fool and start having a good time.
But that was a problem.
It turned out you couldn’t have a good time just by telling yourself to have one. You had to relax before you had fun, and now that the woman with the violet eyes had pushed her way into his head, he knew damned well “fun” wasn’t going to happen.
No matter how much he tried.
He ate. He drank. He listened while Lucas and Damian caught up on old times. The three of them hadn’t seen each other in months; there was a lot to talk about and he forced himself to join in the conversation.
After a w
hile, his thoughts drifted. To the woman. To how he’d dealt with her. The more he thought, the angrier he became.
At her.
At himself.
What kind of man let a woman make a fool of him?
“Nicolo?”
Another blink, this time at Damian, who was watching him through slightly narrowed eyes.
“You okay?”
“Yes. Sure. I told you, it’s—it’s this meeting Monday, and—”
Lucas snorted. “My friend, you’re as transparent as glass. What’s on your mind is a woman.”
No. It wasn’t true. Well, yes. There was a woman on his mind but not in the way Lucas meant.
There were no women in his life to think about.
He’d ended an affair a month ago, and grazie a Dio that he had. The lady in question had been like so many others, beautiful and accommodating at first, then simply beautiful and boring.
But then, that was in the nature of things—or was it? Somehow, he couldn’t envision the blonde with the violet eyes ever being accommodating or boring.
She would always be a challenge.
Any other woman, given the situation, would have accepted the apology he’d offered. Hell, any other woman would have done more than that.
He was always lucky with women. They liked him and he liked them. So, any other woman would have smiled and said it was nice of him to say it was his fault but, really, it was hers.
