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Silence. Then Jen cleared her throat. “Okay,” she said carefully, “so just forget that I—”
“Not that I couldn’t be some jerk’s idea of a centerfold playmate, if I wanted.”
“Uh, Aimee, look, I have to run, so—”
“I could go to this club with you. Dance, drink, let some guy pick me up for a night of mind-blowing sex!”
The telephone line hummed with silence again. Then Jen spoke.
“So, uh, are you saying you want to go with us?”
Aimee took a deep, deep breath. “You’re damned right I am,” she said.
Twenty minutes later, dressed in a red silk dress she’d bought on sale and never had a reason to wear, ditto for a pair of strappy gold sandals, Aimee took a last look in the mirror, gave her image a quick salute, then headed out the door.
CHAPTER TWO
LUCAS’S CLUB was everything Damian had promised.
Like most hot Manhattan nightspots, it was in a neighborhood that had once been grungy and commercial and now was grungy and upscale. Streets that had once been relegated to the nitty-gritty of daily life now came alive after dark. Warehouses had given way to expensive, exclusive clubs.
Lucas’s place was located in a dark brick building with shuttered windows. There was no sign to indicate that what had once been a factory was now Le Club Hot.
No sign. No published telephone number. You either knew the club existed or you didn’t, which went a long way toward sorting out the clientele, Nicolo thought wryly as he opened a heavy, brass-hinged door and stepped, with Damian, into what might have been the small lobby of an upscale hotel.
The behemoth who greeted them was not someone you’d ever find behind a reception desk. They gave him their names, he checked a list, then smiled.
He pressed a button, and the wall ahead of them slid back.
“Wow,” Damian said softly.
Nicolo had to agree. “Wow” summed it up.
The first thing you noticed was the noise. Music, heavy on bass, went straight into your blood.
Then you realized that the room you’d walked into was huge.
The designer had carefully left the exposed overhead pipes and old brick walls but everything else—the lighting, the endless Lucite bar, the elevated dance floor and the music—was dazzlingly modern.
“You could play American football in here,” Damian murmured. “Especially since the place comes equipped with so many cheerleaders.”
He grinned, and Nicolo grinned back at him. It was true. The room was filled with people, more than half of them women. Young. Stunning. Sexy. Faces recognizable from European and American magazine covers and movies.
What an idiot he’d been, letting what happened this afternoon get him worked up. Damian had it right. This was what he needed. Lights. Music.
Women.
This was the way to relax.
“Barbieri! Aristedes!”
Lucas was making his way through the crowd toward them. The men exchanged handshakes and then Lucas rolled his eyes and grabbed them both in a bear hug.
“Ugly as always,” he said, raising his voice over the pulsating beat of the music, “but not to worry. I’ve told a bunch of lies about you both and made you sound so interesting that people are willing to meet you, despite your looks.”
The three of them grinned. Then Lucas pointed toward a suspended, transparent staircase.
“My table’s up there,” he shouted. “On the mezzanine. It’s quieter…and the view is óptimo!”
