But it was Jen’s job at the casino that put the chilli spice in her life, and went some way to replacing the family she’d lost. She and Lyddie had lost their parents when Jen was just eighteen. A car crash had taken them, and then the local authority had wanted to take Lyddie. Their father and mother had set such a shining example that as soon as Jen was over the worst of the shock, she was determined to keep things running as smoothly as possible for her sister. Those in authority insisted that Jen was too young to take on the responsibility of a teenage sister, but she had fought to keep Lyddie with her, and Jen’s dogged persistence had finally paid off. There was no chance she would have let Lyddie go into care. She’d heard what could happen to thirteen-year-old girls, and as long as she had breath in her body no one was going to take her sister away—only fate could do that, Jen reflected wistfully.
‘Reach for your wallets!’ Jay-Dee’s strident voice shook Jen alert. ‘You know you want to!’ he bellowed. ‘The charity needs our help! We might need help from the charity one day—think of that!’ He glanced towards the wings where Jen was standing. ‘Dig deep, my friends! Our first lot...’ He gestured frantically that it was time for Jen to join him on the stage. ‘What will you give me for this plump rabbit, ready for the pot...?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ Jen exploded with laughter as she checked her long furry ears were fixed in place. ‘How am I supposed to walk on stage after an introduction like that?’
‘With attitude,’ one of Jen’s best friends, casino manager Tess, who was standing with her, advised.
‘Does Jay-Dee have to whip the crowd into such a frenzy? If this retro night wasn’t in aid of such a worthwhile charity you’d never get me up there.’
The charity was particularly dear to Jen’s heart. Its volunteers had helped her when her sister died. One of them had been at her side from the moment she first saw Lyddie lying in a coma in ICU, right up to the heart-wrenching memorial service for her sister.
‘Raising money for this charity is the only reason I’ve allowed myself to be dressed by a sadistic corset engineer and have a powder puff stuck on my bum,’ Jen said as she silently dedicated the next hour or so to the sister who would have loved nothing more than to be here in the midst of the fun to cheer her on.
‘The more excitement you generate, the more they’ll pay,’ practical-minded Tess declared as she tweaked the bow tie she was sporting with her boxy, forties-style suit. ‘You’ll enjoy it once the spotlight hits you.’
‘Can I have your word on that?’ Jen asked wryly.
‘Hop to it, bunny! Hop!’ Tess commanded, miming a whip-crack.
‘I feel like a rabbit trapped in headlights, while the hounds bay blue murder from the side of the road—’
‘You don’t strike me as anything short of a tiger—if a rather small one,’ Tess conceded with amusement. ‘You should be proud of your assets,’ she added, casting an appreciative eye over Jen’s closely bound form.
‘With those lights at least I won’t be able to see any of the medallion men bidding to have dinner with me—if any of them bid, which I doubt.’
‘They’ll bid,’ Tess assured her. ‘Now, get out there and strut your stuff, Ms Wabbit!’
‘What will you give me for this plump rabbit, ready for the pot?’ Jay-Dee said again in a slightly hysterical tone as he glanced repeatedly into the wings.
‘Here goes nothing!’ Jen declared, knowing she couldn’t put off her entrance any longer.
She felt exposed in the spotlight. Her satin suit was cut like a particularly revealing swimming costume. High on the leg, it left very little to the imagination, paired with flesh-toned fishnet tights, and stratospheric heels. Even Jen had to admit that with her long red hair left flowing free beneath her bunny ears the effect was startling—if a little different from her normal, understated-to-a-fault self.
‘Here’s to you, Lyddie,’ she murmured as the stage lights blinded her.
Jay-Dee, who was dressed in garish eighties flares and platform boots, gasped with relief as he rushed to lead Jen centre stage.
‘You look beeeoootiful,’ he gushed as the crowd went wild.
‘I look ridiculous,’ Jen argued, laughing. Getting into the mood of the night, she struck a pose.
HIS FATHER ONLY confided in him when he wanted something, Luca reflected as he parked up outside the exclusive London club. They had never been close. Never would be close. Luca had built his own life, far away from the family compound, where he’d grown up behind razor wire with guards patrolling the grounds, with their automatic weapons ostentatiously cocked.
Tipping the valet to park his car, he pulled on his jacket, brushed back his hair, and shot his cuffs. Black diamond links glittered at his wrists. This was his London look, the passport that gained him entry to even the most exclusive Members Only club. As he approached the entrance, the door swung wide to welcome him. His first impression of the upmarket gambling den was that it was as dreary as his father’s study. Subtle lighting set the mood, and, though he doubted the glass was bulletproof, the deep shadow still reminded him of a fortress home he preferred to forget.
‘Are you here for the auction, sir?’ the smiling hostess asked, putting on her best smile.
‘Apologies,’ he said, glancing down. ‘My mind was elsewhere. An auction?’ he queried.
‘For charity, sir—to support those with head injuries, and those who care for them, or who are bereaved.’ She risked a broader smile as she gained in confidence. ‘Don’t think it’s a depressing night—it’s anything but. It’s a riot in there—I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.’
He doubted that. He handed her a high-value note. ‘For your trouble,’ he said.
‘Have a good evening, sir—’
He doubted that too.
It took him a moment to adjust his gaze. If the entrance to the club was poorly lit, the interior was positively Stygian. None of the gambling tables was in operation and everyone’s attention was fixed on the brilliantly lit stage, where a skimpily dressed girl, clad in a satin swimsuit with cock-eyed rabbit ears balanced precariously on top of her head, was gyrating to the pounding music, while punters called out bids to an excessively excitable MC.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked a waiter hurrying past with a tray of drinks.
The man followed his glance to the stage. ‘Dinner for two with Ms Bunny up there is on offer.’
‘Thank you.’ He slipped him a twenty, and then leaned back against a pillar to watch.
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