The Gentlemen's Club, vol. 2: The Gentlemen's Club Series, #2

By Erika Rhys

Finding love should be her dream come true. She never expected it to threaten her life.

In the wake of the deadly attack that nearly stole our lives, Nick sweeps me off to a Paris hideaway, swearing to protect me at any cost.

But the true cost of this time together is counted in a different currency. With each look, each touch, each drag of his lips across my skin, I'm falling…deeper in love, deeper into the danger that surrounds us.

I've already lost my heart.

When Nick's enemies strike again, will we lose our lives?

From #1 international bestselling author Erika Rhys—a steamy billionaire romance series that concludes with a Happily Ever After in Vol. 3. If you like sizzling romance, razor-sharp wit, and twists you won't see coming, you'll love this sexy page-turner!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erika Rhys
• Release date: Aug 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386287896

Erika Rhys

International bestselling author Erika Rhys writes contemporary romance novels featuring sexy men, strong women, and dashes of sparkling wit—the kind of books she enjoys reading. Her books include Heir of the Hamptons and the Gentlemen’s Club, Over the Edge, and On the Brink series. Erika’s heroes are driven, determined, and often wealthy, but can also be sensitive and vulnerable. Her heroines come from a range of backgrounds, and are strong, smart, and independent, but also sympathetic and caring. All her books feature laugh-out-loud moments, because humor is sexy! Erika loves dance music, shoes, long walks by herself, long dinners with friends, dark chocolate, strong coffee, and ice-cold martinis. She also loves hearing from readers, so get in touch!  http://erikarhys.com http://facebook.com/ErikaRhys.Author http://twitter.com/erikarhysauthor http://instagram.com/erikarhysauthor http://pinterest.com/erikarhysauthor

Book preview

1

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on my back, facing the night sky. Dark, blurry figures hovered above me, silhouetted by flashes of blue and red light that swamped my vision. My eyes felt dry and burned, and when I blinked them, pain bloomed in the left side of my forehead.

Where am I? What’s happened?

She’s waking up, a man’s voice said on my right.

Let’s get her into the ambulance, a woman’s voice said. She’s inhaled a lot of smoke, but her vital signs are good. She’ll need some stitches to the cut on her forehead, and she may have a concussion. She’s also got lacerations to her hands, but we won’t know the extent of those until we get her cleaned up.

Concussion? Lacerations?

The figures bending over me came into focus, and their uniforms revealed that they were EMTs. Sensing something over my mouth and nose, I brought my hand to my face, where my fingers touched the smooth plastic of an oxygen mask.

It was then that everything rushed back to me.

The gunshots.

The car crash.

Nick lying unconscious, bleeding out on the floor of the limo.

Our driver, equally unconscious, slumped against the wheel of the car.

My desperate, failed attempts—and those of nearby pedestrians—to rescue us from the death trap that the burning, smoke-filled car had become.

Fear lanced through me. Where were Nick and the driver? Had they been rescued as well, or were they still trapped inside the burning wreckage of Nick’s car?

I tore the oxygen mask from my face, and gripped the edges of the stretcher that I was lying on, wincing from the pain in my hands as I struggled to sit up. The strap around my chest prevented me from lifting my body more than a few inches, and as I strained to sit up, the ache in my head expanded into a painful, dizzy pounding.

Breathe. I have to breathe. I have to find Nick.

When I forced my scorched lungs to gulp in the cool night air, an acrid stench assaulted my nostrils, but my head cleared enough to take in my surroundings.

To my left, in the center of Fifth Avenue, several ambulances and two NYPD cars stood by, lights flashing, parked in a loose cluster. Just beyond the vehicles, the street had been cordoned off. A dark-uniformed patrolman with a bright yellow reflective vest stood in the middle of the street and redirected traffic. Beyond the cordon, a group of pedestrians stood watching the rescue effort.

Desperate to locate Nick, I turned my head to the right. As I absorbed the scene before me, my gut clenched.

A hundred yards down Fifth Avenue, a thick plume of smoke reached into the dark blue night. The base of the smoke billowed and glowed orange from what had to be the burning wreck of Nick’s car. The dense smoke concealed the car and the area around it from view. Nick and the driver were nowhere to be seen.

Nick! I called out—or tried to. The cracked, hoarse voice that emerged from my lips was unrecognizable as my own.

The male EMT to the right of my stretcher leaned over me. Lie down, lady, he said. We need to get you to the hospital. His face was kind, and his soothing baritone voice had a slight Spanish lilt.

What about my boyfriend? And our driver? They were trapped in the car with me.

The EMT grasped my shoulders. Try to stay calm, he said. The rescue team is working on getting your friends out, and they’re the best in the world at what they do. Now, you need to lie down while we get you into the ambulance.

I grabbed his hands and pushed them away from me. I’m not going anywhere without my boyfriend Nick—and our driver.

Gently but firmly, he pressed me back down against the stretcher and tightened the strap around my chest. Your friends are in good hands, and they’ll be right behind us. He moved to my feet and grasped the end of my stretcher.

Ready? he said.

Let’s roll, Sergio, a female voice replied from behind me.

As the EMTs rolled my stretcher across the pavement toward one of the waiting ambulances, I turned my head to the right again and stared at the mass of smoke, hoping to see something—anything—that might indicate that Nick was alive. But the smoke surrounding the car was so dense, the car itself was invisible. Masked rescue personnel darted in and out of the billowing clouds of smoke, and just as my stretcher neared the ambulance, a man’s voice called out.

"Get out now! he yelled. It’s going to blow!"

And then, with a loud boom that shook the street, an enormous fireball rolled up into the sky in angry plumes of red and orange. The smoke cloud expanded toward us, bringing a wave of scorching heat that swept across my face and seared my skin. Fragments rained down near us and struck the pavement in a harsh, metallic rain.

When the car exploded, had Nick been inside?

Nick! I screamed, straining against the strap around my chest. Nick! Smoke choked my throat, and the figures around my stretcher shimmered and flickered in and out of my vision. Darkness surrounded me, a rushing filled my ears, and I felt myself falling into an odd kind of darkness, spiraling downward into a strange, endless void.

Was this what death felt like?

From a great distance, a voice echoed, familiar, low, and soothing.

Ilana, the voice called. I’m here. You’re safe.

Reaching toward the voice, I flailed my limbs against the blackness that surrounded me, and my hands scrabbled against a surface that felt resilient and cool to the touch. When my mind registered the surface as the percale-sheeted mattress of my bed, I stopped thrashing, my eyes shot open, and I laid still on my back. Arms and legs outstretched, my heart slammed against my ribcage and I sucked in a deep breath as consciousness and memory flooded through me.

The images that had filled my mind seconds before had been a nightmare replaying my memories of that night two weeks ago, the most terrifying night of my life, the night when a drive-by shooter had raked Nick’s limousine with assault rifle fire on Fifth Avenue in New York, leaving our driver dead and Nick near death, unconscious in a pool of his own blood.

But Nick had survived, and I had survived with him.

The relief and gratitude that came with that awareness brought tears to my eyes. We were both alive. And we were a continent away from New York, in a rented Paris apartment, where Nick and Rocco Moretti, the security consultant Nick had hired, intended for us to remain until NYPD identified and tracked down the killers who had attacked us. To ensure our safety, Rocco had also hired a five-man team of bodyguards led by a swarthy, muscular Frenchman named Jean-Luc, and installed them in an apartment one floor down from the unit in which we were staying.

Nick? I said, wiping my damp eyes with the back of my hand before I looked over at the man I loved, who was leaning over me.

The clock on my nightstand told me that it was nearly 2 a.m., and although the room was dark, the light that entered through the open door behind Nick revealed his handsome face, currently stamped with worry.

Are you alright? he asked. His brow furrowed with concern. You were thrashing and moaning in your sleep again.

I’m fine. I sat up in the bed, swung my feet to the floor, and stretched my neck from side to side in an effort to ease the tension I felt. Just another bad dream.

Nick sat down beside me on the bed and wrapped his good right arm around my waist. Due to the neck and shoulder injuries that he’d suffered in the attack, he still wore a shoulder sling for his left arm some of the time. My own injuries had fortunately been minor.

At least the physical ones.

About that night? he asked.

Yes—my mind keeps replaying it when I sleep.

Due to Nick’s injuries, his doctor had not cleared him to be intimate with me yet, so we had been sleeping in separate bedrooms to lessen temptation. However, Nick was a light sleeper, and ever since we’d left New York, my nightmares had been waking him on a regular basis.

You went through a traumatic experience, he said. Your mind is still processing it. As time passes, the nightmares will come less frequently, and eventually go away altogether.

I hope that happens soon. I leaned against him, drawing comfort from his warmth and strength. It would be a welcome change for both of us to get a full night’s sleep.

He tightened his arm around me. Do you want to talk about it?

There’s nothing to say that I haven’t already told you. Every time it’s the same nightmare—about the car blowing up, and me thinking that you were still in it. Thank God the rescue team got you out in time.

His voice darkened. It’s my fault that you’re going through this.

We’ve been over this, I said. You are not responsible for the criminals who targeted us, and as you just said, my nightmares will pass with time.

If you hadn’t been with me, you wouldn’t be having nightmares. And if Mike hadn’t been driving me, he’d still be alive.

I knew where he was taking the conversation, and I didn’t want to go through that discussion again. When Nick had learned of his driver, Mike Sullivan’s death, he had been more distraught than I’d ever seen him. From his hospital bed, he had directed his lawyers to set up a trust to ensure that Mike’s wife and two teenage kids would never want for anything. But no amount of money could bring Mike back, and nothing that I said dissuaded Nick from blaming himself for Mike’s death.

Instead of arguing with Nick, I shifted gears. Let’s focus on the positive. We’re both healing, and thanks to you, we’re able to heal in a safe place. And not just any place—Paris. A city that I’ve dreamed of seeing for as long as I can remember. And here we are on the Île Saint-Louis, which is only the most romantic spot in the most romantic city in the entire world.

My words drew a rueful chuckle from Nick. Under less than romantic circumstances, I’m afraid.

Not for long, I said. Soon, your shoulder will be healed, and then, we’ll be able to make love.

My shoulder’s fine now, he said, kissing me on the lips. Hungry as always for his touch, I didn’t resist when he deepened the kiss, and I allowed myself to taste his mouth for a long moment before I reluctantly pulled back.

Come on, he said. We’ve waited long enough.

We can’t risk it. Not until your doctor says it’s OK.

I’m fine, he said before his lips crashed down on mine, and his good hand found my breasts and brushed their tips through the lightweight tank top of my pajamas.

We’ve managed to wait this long—

Trust me, he murmured against my ear. I’ve got this. With a smooth gesture, he pressed me down against the bed and swung one of his legs over mine. As we continued kissing, I felt his thick erection surge against my leg.

My nipples swelled to rock-hard points, heat rose between my thighs, and my resolve to respect the orders of Nick’s doctor eroded. If I was going to shut this down, I needed to do so now before the last shreds of my willpower abandoned me.

But your doctor said—

Forget my goddamned doctor.

I can’t. I lifted his hand from my breast, pressed it against my cheek, and interlocked my fingers with his. I want this as much as you do, but if you need a second surgery, it’s not going to be because I caused you to reinjure yourself having the kind of wild, crazy sex that’s been building between us these past few months.

He fixed me with his bright hazel gaze, and amusement colored his voice. "It wouldn’t have to be wild and crazy."

Wouldn’t it?

The corners of his mouth twitched. Maybe.

Like, probably. Neither of us planned on waiting this long.

Nick released me and flopped onto his back beside me. Don’t put that one on me, he said. The whole waiting thing was never my idea.

My bad. I said. I should have ravished you back in New York, when I had the opportunity.

I did give you every opportunity.

I rolled toward him and draped my arm across his torso. Somehow, you knew that we were right for each other—long before I did.

I knew the day that we ran into each other in the park, he said.

My lips curved at the memory. When I made you clean up after your dog?

When I met the real you, he said. Raven intrigued me, but Ilana made me feel alive in ways that I thought I’d never feel again.

You weren’t the only one who fell hard that day—it just took me longer to trust my feelings. It’s my fault that we’ve had to wait longer than either of us ever expected, which is why I’m going to enjoy every minute of making it up to you—as soon as you have a clean bill of health from your doctor.

His voice deepened. Is that a promise?

I touched a finger to my lips, and then pressed it against his. It is.

2

As he had often done over the past two weeks, Nick stayed by my side until I fell into a deep sleep, which thankfully was dreamless. When I awoke the next morning, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the sounds of activity from the kitchen told me that he was already up and about. I got up, and after quickly washing my face and brushing my teeth, I exchanged my pajamas for exercise pants and a T-shirt and headed downstairs.

Occupying the top two floors of a five-story seventeenth-century building on the Ile Saint-Louis, the apartment that Rocco had found for us retained original features that included exposed wooden ceiling beams, walls of rough, cream-colored stone, and balconies with the slender wrought-iron railings characteristic of Parisian architecture. However, everything else about the apartment was modern in style, from the luxurious second-floor master suite to the open layout of the first-floor living area and fully-applianced kitchen. When we had first arrived in Paris, I had insisted that Nick take the master suite for its king-sized bed, which, due to his height, he needed more than I did, while I had taken a smaller, adjacent bedroom with an ensuite bath and full bed that were more than sufficient for my needs.

As I reached the foot of the stairs, which ended in the living area, Nick emerged from the kitchen holding a mug, from which a tendril of steam rose. When he saw me,