TREVOR JONES LOOKED around the lounge of Swerve Las Vegas Hotel and Night Club, and as he sipped his champagne, one thing was clear—Jamie Sellers sure knew how to throw one hell of a party. He caught sight of his friend and Jamie’s new fiancée, Maya, as they made their rounds, greeting people, shaking hands, hugging. Jamie was smiling, relaxed.
In all of the years that Trevor had known Jamie, he had never seen his friend look quite so laid-back. Trevor knew that normally this type of event, the opening of a new Swerve location, would have tied Jamie into a ball of frayed nerves. But Maya’s presence and her love must have calmed him that evening. She had turned Jamie into a new man entirely. Of course, Trevor was happy for his friend. And he was proud of Jamie’s accomplishments, but with his recent success in Las Vegas and the hand of his love, Trevor couldn’t help but think that he and Jamie were about to spend a lot more time apart, and, as a grown man, that filled him with more gloom than he would have expected. Maybe Jamie’s success, professionally and personally, made Trevor realize that he, himself, wasn’t getting any younger. He was in his thirties. Maybe it was time for Trevor to move on with his life, settle down.
Trevor took a deep breath, inserted a finger under the collar of his shirt and pulled the constricting material away from his neck. He rolled his shoulders. The tailored jacket that had fit him perfectly earlier that evening now stretched across his shoulders and didn’t give an inch, as his internal temperature rose high enough to boil water. Trevor couldn’t wait to get back to his room to remove the suffocating layers.
He hated wearing suits.
Trevor’s wardrobe normally consisted of casual wear—jeans and T-shirts. His work behind the bar required him to be comfortable and unrestricted in his movements, especially when it was time to do a little drink mixing and flair bartending to the oohs and ahhs of the crowd. But the second you fasten all of the buttons on a shirt up to the collar and add the silk noose of a necktie, a confining jacket and tight, shiny shoes, it was enough to make a man go crazy.
He took a gulp of champagne and a meaningful look at the hardworking staff behind the bar. He wished he was back there, in his element, instead of a guest at the party. He just wasn’t in the mood to socialize, and Trevor wondered if Jamie would mind if he left the party early and went back to his room.
“You’re pretty quiet tonight over here by yourself.” He heard her voice behind him, interrupting his reverie. He recognized the voice—smoky, breathy—and he knew who he would see when he turned. But he wasn’t prepared for the visage she presented. Abby, Maya’s best friend. She was the feisty, pixie-haired blonde he had met on a couple of previous occasions before offering her a job behind the bar with him at the original Swerve, back home in Montreal.
He’d seen her earlier that night, in Jamie’s office, when they had all privately celebrated the opening and the engagement of their friends before hitting the party. But, like him, she had since changed out of her casual clothing into something more appropriate for the opulent gathering. Tonight her short blond hair was gelled back, and she was wearing a long-sleeved black dress, the neckline high, swathing her collarbone. He would have considered it to be far too conservative for the woman whose fashion choices leaned toward daring or risqué, but he had just seen the back, which was cut to just above her perfect behind, and the slit in the leg that parted high on her thigh when she walked.
She had great legs, in addition to every other feature, and he knew she had a flawless body under all that dress, as he’d gotten more than a few glimpses at a pool party that Jamie had thrown months earlier. When his eyes returned to her face, her smile let him know that she had caught him checking her out. She pursed her lips at him and took a drink from her champagne flute. “I would’ve expected you to have at least two women on your arm by now.”
With a cool smile, Trevor leaned in to her, close enough to smell her perfume, mingling with the smell of the champagne that lingered on her lips. “Oh, you know, I’m scoping the place out, weighing my options. How about you? No men here catching your eye?”
She laughed. The soft, raspy sound made him smile. She took a look around, surveying the room, and nodded appreciatively. “No one yet, but the night is young. There are lots of beautiful people here tonight.”
“There certainly are,” he answered, not able to take his eyes from her. What other people? If Trevor was being completely honest, he would admit that he hadn’t actually noticed any of them, especially with Abby standing in front of him in one of the sexiest dresses he’d ever seen. “And what about your boyfriend?” Trevor asked her, eyebrow raised. “Luther, is it?”
“Luke,” she corrected him with a side-eye glance. “And he’s neither a Luther nor my boyfriend.”
“Oh, really? What happened?” He tried his best to sound like the concerned friend he should be, all the while attempting to conceal his smile. Trevor never liked the guy; he wasn’t good enough for a woman like Abby.
Abby rolled her eyes. “He used the L word.”
“Loan?”
“Love,” she said with a laugh, pushing his shoulder playfully.
“It’s a bit soon for that, isn’t it?” Trevor asked. “You guys weren’t together very long.”
“You are correct. We were together for five weeks.”
“And the L word came out? Like, in conversation, or in the throes of passion?”
Abby giggled. “In a text message. This morning. Not one ounce of passion involved.”
“So, what happened then?”
“I texted him back, saying that maybe we should see other people, and I went back to eating my crepes.”
“That’s cold.”
Abby shrugged. “I’m not looking to be stuck in some relationship. Never have, never will. And he knew that.” She shrugged. Clearly not too broken up about her recent breakup. She turned back to Trevor. “Look at us, just a couple of kids from Montreal, partying with the upper echelon of the Las Vegas elite.” She smiled. But Trevor could tell that the curve of her lips was forced, and in her eyes was a look as weary as the one in his own.
“We sure are,” he agreed, but his sigh was heavy. “It’s a good time.”
Abby’s eyes were sharp as he felt their scrutiny, and it was a few seconds before she said anything. “Then why does it look like you’re about to bolt out of here?”
She had him there. Instead of answering her, Trevor brought his champagne flute to his lips and regrettably found it empty. He wished for more in an effort to cool his internal temperature and to quench his too-dry throat. He looked at Abby’s hand and noticed that she had drained her glass, as well. Turning, he gestured to the bar. “Care for another drink?”
“Sure.”
He looked around, searching for a waiter with a tray of champagne, but he found none nearby. Figuring they could probably get their glasses quickly refilled at the bar, Trevor moved aside so she could go first. He instinctively placed an escorting hand at the small of her back, and his palm tingled at the connection with her smooth skin, exposed by the indecently low cut of the back of her dress and slightly chilled from exposure to the room’s air-conditioning.
When he touched her, she stopped walking and looked up at him, her lips parted in surprise. Despite the considerable height provided to her by her stilettos, she was petite and the top of her head still only came to his chin. Trevor lowered his gaze to her red lips and found it nearly impossible