A Little Country Christmas - Carolyn Brown Page 0,79
to the club’s entrance. A group of women, walking arm in arm in an attempt to maintain their balance in four- and five-inch stilettos, made their way across the parking lot, giggling uncontrollably. Her eyebrows lifted a fraction. It looked as if she wasn’t the only one exposing a lot of skin tonight.
Iris had come to the club for Thursday karaoke and Sunday brunch, but this would be her first Tuesday Ladies’ Night. The club’s greeter secured a fluorescent pink plastic band around her left wrist after he’d checked her ID.
“Welcome to Happy Hour’s Ladies’ Night.”
Iris flashed her best smile. “Thank you.”
He winked at her. “Enjoy, beautiful.”
Cradling her small evening bag, she managed to wend her way through the crowd to the bar. Even though it was Ladies’ Night, there were just as many men in attendance. The twenty- and thirty-something males coming directly from their offices in Charleston had shed their ties and suit jackets, while their female counterparts preened in power suits and designer dresses with shoes to match.
Prerecorded music blared from numerous speakers, making it virtually impossible to carry on a conversation without shouting to the person close by. The U-shaped bar, which was the club’s centerpiece, and mirrored walls made the space appear larger than its actual square footage. Tables seating two, four, and six were positioned closely together, maximizing capacity as waitstaff moved from table to table, taking orders from those who’d elected not to take advantage of the prix fixe buffet and salad bar. Iris planned to order a cocktail and then become a spectator, and if no one caught her eye, then she planned to head home. Raising her hand, she caught the attention of one of the three bartenders pouring, shaking, and mixing drinks.
Deeply tanned with a long, sun-streaked blond ponytail, the bartender gave her a practiced professional smile, exhibiting shockingly white teeth. “What are you drinking, miss?”
“I’ll have a cosmo.” Opening her bag, she took out a bill and placed it on the bar. Iris went completely still when she felt body heat and the woodsy scent of a man’s cologne sweep over her. He was standing so close she couldn’t turn around even if she wanted to. His hand grazed her waist as he placed a fifty-dollar bill on the bar next to her twenty.
“That’ll be on me,” said a deep voice in her ear.
Iris shivered despite the warmth of the man’s chest molded to her back. She closed her eyes. Apparently the heels and dress were working even better than she’d anticipated.
Channeling her inner Halle Berry, she smiled and opened her eyes. “Would you mind stepping back a little bit, so I can see who’s offering,” she said.
He complied, and Iris glanced over her shoulder to meet the most stunningly virile man she’d ever seen. He was beyond gorgeous. The black pullover sweater he wore emphasized broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips. And it was as if the gold flecks in the brown depths of his eyes had hypnotized her. Iris studied his face like an artist, taking in each distinct feature one by one. He reminded her of wrestler-turned-actor Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. Her gaze moved up to his cropped straight black hair. He exuded masculinity, making her dizzy and unable to draw a normal breath.
When Collier Ward walked into the club, his intent was to have a couple of drinks and catch up with old friends before driving back to his hotel. Then the woman in red caught his eye. As she turned to face him, he saw she was just as scrumptious from the front as she was from the back. His eyes lingered on her full, parted lips, which practically begged to be kissed. Now he stood a hairbreadth away, inhaling her vanilla-infused perfume, fighting to keep himself from reaching out to stroke the skin he knew would feel like pure silk. Everything about this woman was a definite turn-on.
He extended his hand. “Collier Ward,” he said. He counted off at least three seconds before she placed her hand on his outstretched palm.
“Iris Nelson.”
His fingers closed over hers. “Well, Iris, will you allow me to pay for your drink?”
There came another moment of silence before Iris said, “Yes, but only if you let me pay for yours.”
“My drinks are on the house, compliments of the owners.” The fact that he was a silent partner in the club was a closely held secret on Cavanaugh Island, where keeping secrets was as scarce as hen’s teeth.