“Sexed up, not loved up,” Kara corrected.
“One has a habit of leading to the other,” Sophie said.
“Not for this gal,” Kara said, sliding off her stool. “I’m happy for sex to just lead to more sex right now.”
“I know… but he seems like a nice guy, that’s all.”
Kara picked up the keys to the Mustang. “As did Richard this time last year. And we all know how that one turned out, don’t we?”
She prepared herself for the usual stabbing sensation that she always felt when she said his name. Whether it was pain from her own heart or the desire to stab his she wasn’t entirely certain, but either way, it didn’t come.
Fuck, she’d finally done it. She’d moved on. Washed that man right out of her hair. Richard had made the coward’s choice on their wedding day, having been issued an ultimatum by his surreptitious girlfriend. Standing at the altar in the ivory dress of her dreams and waiting for a man who didn’t show had been the most humiliating experience of her life, and it had taken a lot of tears and bottles of vodka to set her on the road to recovery.
And now, finally, it would appear that she had arrived. She stood stock still, her hand over her heart and her eyebrows raised towards her best friend.
“Well, what do you know? I was right all along. The best way to get over a man is to get under another one.” She sashayed out of the kitchen, elated.
At the club later that afternoon, Dylan rocked back in his swivel chair and stretched his arms above his head. Lucien sat alongside him and rolled his shoulders as he closed computer files down, work done at last for the day. Opening night was drawing closer and they’d spent the afternoon going over fine details to make sure that everything was in place to guarantee a seamless launch. The press were hungry to see how the club fared on the famed White Isle. While Lucien refused to hide their raison d’etre beneath a veil of prudishness, he equally didn’t allow his clubs to be categorised as seedy. They were hedonist palaces of intense pleasure for the open minded, and he was fiercely proud of the empire he’d created. The impression that the first night would create on guests and the media mattered to him very much.
He opened the desk door and placed a bottle of whisky and two glasses on the top. “Drink?”
“Sure,” Dylan said, watching Lucien pour out two heavy-handed measures. He’d come to admire the other man’s business acumen over the couple of weeks they’d worked together, and sensed that he was someone who played it straight down the line. Dylan was gratified that their business relationship was definitely moving into the territory of friendship too. He really liked this guy.
Lucien took a conversational tone.
“I asked Sophie to marry me yesterday.”
Dylan grinned and accepted the glass Lucien held out along with the confidence he’d shared.
“No way, man! Congratulations!” The whisky hit his throat with a welcome burn. “Although… I’d kind of assumed that you guys were married anyway.”
Lucien knocked back a good slug of whisky. “It’s never been high on our list.”
Dylan nodded slowly, his mind back in the States. “I know what you mean.” He regretted his choice of words as soon as they were out, and Lucien was too clever by far to miss the fact that his response was laden with meaning.
“You do?”
Measured words were needed. “I’ve been close once or twice,” he said non-committally, draining his glass then scrubbing his hand over the roughness of his cheek with a half smile. “Women, huh?” He was well aware that his sweeping generalisation sounded lame.
Lucien lifted one shoulder as he replenished their glasses.
“Dylan, I’ll be straight with you. I offered you this job on instinct, and you haven’t given me cause to regret it. You obviously know your way around this business.”
Relieved that the conversation had changed course, Dylan relaxed.
“I’m excited about it. This whole island sits well with me, the job too. It feels good.”
“Should I have asked you for references? Would you, if you were me?”
Okay, not so relaxed. He shrugged, his expression turning philosophical.
“I appreciate that you didn’t. In all honesty, I wouldn’t have found it easy to provide them.”
Lucien eyed him steadily, waiting for more. They were similar in age, equals in body and in strength of mind. Dylan came from a family where brotherhood had turned out to stand for very little, yet he felt a quiet unity and trust in Lucien Knight.
He didn’t want to lie to this man. He just wanted a clean slate and a simple life.
“Things didn’t go well for me back home.” He sighed heavily and took a deep slug of whisky. “I left with nothing but the shirt on my back, and none of that shit will follow me here.” He shook his head, the memories all ugly. “Trust me, I’d’ve been happy to never set foot on American soil again if it wasn’t for my mom.”
A look of understanding passed between the two men. Dylan didn’t know it, but he’d managed to say the one thing that reassured Lucien most.
“So, this thing you’ve got going on with Kara…” Lucien said, changing the conversational course once more and leaving his sentence there for Dylan to make of it whatever he wanted.
A slow smile crept across Dylan’s face at the mention of her name.
“She’s a breath of fresh air.”
“She’s not as tough as she makes out.”
For all her smart one-liners and her bold moves, Dylan had seen the fragility behind Kara’s eyes. “I get that.”
It was the thing that scared him most about her.
“Kara’s history is hers to share, but you should know she's the closest thing I have to a sister.”
Lucien’s message could not have been clearer, and Dylan admired him all the more for his loyalty.
“I’ll never hurt her on purpose.”
“It’s easily done.”
Dylan swirled the whisky in his glass. “I get that too.”
His heart felt oddly heavy in his chest long after the conversation had ended. He’d forgotten that feeling in the last few weeks, but now it was back with him. Could he really have this life? Was he entitled to it, after all that had gone before? He badly needed to believe that the answer was yes.
Chapter Fifteen
“Throwing yourself a party, Sailor?” Kara sat down at the bar a couple of evenings later, the bangles around her wrist clattering against the mirrored surface. Dylan was working late again, the mellow sound of Bob Marley low in the background as he studied an array of rainbow coloured liqueurs and bottles of spirits lined up across the bar. Sophie and Lucien had left together an hour or two before, leaving Kara and Dylan behind to lock up.
“Every club needs its signature cocktail.”
“It does?” Kara turned the closest bottle towards her, reading the label on the deep amber liquid. “Hierbas?”
Dylan nodded.
“Top of the list. It’s locally made.” He took the bottle from her and opened it. “The taste of Ibiza.” He held it out for her to smell. She inhaled, catching notes of fresh lavender and herbs.
“It smells like summer,” she said as Dylan reached for a shot glass and poured out a little for her to try. The flavours burst in her mouth: sweet aniseed, fragrant herbs, and smooth, warm alcohol. “Wow,” she laughed. “That’s… potent.”
“Yes it is,” Dylan murmured, setting the bottle to one side and opening a bottle of Cava from the fridge.
“This is turning into my kind of Friday night,” Kara said, as Dylan reached down a champagne flute from the overhead rack and poured her a glass. She watched him as he studied the bottles on the bar, selecting the odd one and either shortlisting it next to the Hierbas or else putting it back in its place behind him on the shelf.
“You’ve done this before, huh?”
He shrugged. “Some.”
“Can you toss the shaker behind your back? Please say yes,” Kara giggled, halfway towards a Tom Cruise fantasy already.