ALEX FISCHER LEANED back and spread his arms along the back of the couch and scanned the nightclub around him. There were hundreds of gorgeous women in high heels and short dresses, flawless makeup and hair, and his hopes for the evening were high. Peeling his gaze away from the crowded dance floor, he looked at his friend Gabe, who sat across from him in the VIP area of Swerve nightclub, and poured them each a couple of fingers of bourbon.
“Thanks,” Alex said, taking his, leaning in so Gabe could hear him over the music. “This couch used to be a lot more crowded,” he said, referring to their buddies Brett and Rafael, who used to join them at their nightclub, carousing, drinking, club-hopping, hooking up with women. Since they had met their women and fallen in love, they hadn’t joined them in the activities of the young, rich, good-looking single man.
“Yeah,” Gabe said, and snickered. “Now that Brett and Raf are sufficiently neutered, it seems like it’s just you and me. And Alana, when we can pull her away from Di Terrestres.”
Alex brought his glass to his lips and sipped the fine spirit as Gabe reached into his breast pocket and withdrew his phone.
“Oh hell,” Gabe muttered, reading the screen of his phone.
“Anything wrong?”
“Oh nothing. Just one of my clients having a crisis at—” he checked his watch “—nine fifteen on a Friday night.”
“You’re on the clock?”
“Aren’t we always?”
Alex frowned. “I thought we were hanging out.”
“So did I,” Gabe told him, taking one more wistful look around the club. “But I have to take care of this tonight. I’ll text you tomorrow.” When Alex stood, Gabe held his hand out. “Why don’t you stick around? Enjoy the booth, finish the bourbon, find someone to share it with you. No sense in it going to waste.” He gestured to the dance floor with a nod of his chin. “Get into a little trouble,” he said with a wink.
“Maybe I will,” Alex agreed, sitting back on the leather banquette. He could take Gabe’s advice and get into some trouble, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to do it on his own. He scrolled through the mental list of his closest friends, the rest of The Brotherhood. The five of them had formed the group out of college. With similar goals of running the Las Vegas business and nightlife scene, they’d realized that they were stronger as a unit and had joined forces, using their own specialties to bring them all to the top. It was Alana, the only female member of the group, who’d come up with the name, as a nod to the legends of secret societies of the powerful and wealthy throughout the country. While neither Alex nor his friends donned robes and performed rituals, The Brotherhood worked together to run their tied businesses and make decisions as a group.
Once driven by power and success, it seemed like each member of The Brotherhood was finding true love, settling down, getting married, blah, blah, blah... So Brett and Rafael were both at home with their women; Alana working at their club, Di Terrestres, even though they’d hired managers; and Gabe had just bowed out of partying in favor of work.
They were growing up, and as they pressed onward into their thirties, a part of him yearned for the old days. But every night, while Brett and Raf went home to their gorgeous partners, Alex still went home to his cold, empty condo, which overlooked Las Vegas Boulevard. All the revelry below did not match the sullen loneliness of his thirty-six-hundred square feet in the sky. Alex looked around the packed club, at the women in their minuscule dresses, gyrating, bumping and grinding against one another on the dance floor. More than one cast interested looks in his direction as he sat alone on the VIP couch. Maybe a little “trouble” was exactly what he needed.
Finishing the bourbon in his glass in one swallow, Alex headed for the dance floor, his eyes sharp and focused as he looked over the women in attendance. And there were many who were just his type—blonde, gorgeous, tall, fit, generously proportioned.
But there was one woman in the crowd that caught his attention, and she stopped him dead in his tracks. She was easily the sexiest woman in the club, moving with a confidence that came from always being the most beautiful woman in any room. The woman swiveled her hips to the music, keeping time with the beat. But there was something familiar about the dark-haired beauty, in a short skirt that stopped just below the round curve of her ample ass and perched on high stilettos, dancing with some guy, grinding against him as they moved. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer. She was stunning in a gold satin backless shirt; the only thing holding it on her body were the thin ties at her neck and lower back. She spun around, so she’d faced him briefly before turning her back on him again. Her breasts moved unencumbered under the loose material, proving she definitely was not wearing any kind of bra.
Every other woman in the club fell away as Alex got closer to her. It didn’t matter to him that the siren was dancing with another man, she wouldn’t be for much longer. He was a couple of yards away before her face came into view. The large brown eyes, and full red lips were those of a woman he knew.
Fuck, it was Maria.
Rafael’s sister—his best friend’s sister—looking like complete, unadulterated, absolutely sinful sex that made his dick stand upright at attention. She might have been twenty-six, but he’d never seen her dressed like that, moving like that. How had she transformed from the good, sweet young woman he knew into the vixen in front of him?
What the fuck is she doing here?
He stalked over to her as anger, possessiveness and a lust he didn’t quite understand coursed through him, each feeling warring for dominance. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw him, but the guy she was dancing with didn’t seem to notice his presence at all until he pulled the other man’s hands from Maria’s body. “Think again, kid,” Alex sneered.
“What the fuck?” The young bro came up to Alex, his ego injured, looking for a fight, even though Alex outsized him by at least eight inches and one hundred pounds of muscle. The kid was clearly somehow stupider than he looked in his polo shirt and khakis. Who even dresses like that anymore?
“Get