A Nightclub Kind of Love

By Lilah Madison

Sofia is struggling. She's trying to navigate a tragic breakup, she's lost her job, and life seems to have no intention of giving her a break anytime soon.
Jack owns Euphoria, one of the most popular nightclubs in the city. From the outside, he looks like he's got it all.
If only that were the case.
In a bid to rid himself of his recent heartbreak, Jack takes a break from being the responsible owner of his club and decides to see it through the eyes of a patron in search of a good time.
What he finds is Sofia...and a one night stand that sets both their worlds on fire.
One shared night of being bound, giving up power, and sheer loss of control. That's all it's supposed to be.
But when that secret rendezvous becomes more than either of them can ignore, Sofia and Jack begin to see each other--and themselves--in a different light.
Will they be brave enough to step into their own and find unexpected love, or are the shattered pieces of their painful pasts too much for their broken hearts to handle? 

This title was previously self-published.

• Language: English
• Publisher: EverLust Books
• Release date: Oct 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215921159

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

SOFIA

Maybe I want him. Maybe I don't.

No, to hell with it. I want him.

But I won't tell him that.

Instead, I will flirt with him, swing my dark hair as I bat my heavily made-up eyelashes, and allow him to buy me a drink. Something strong. Just one, though. I’m not going to be one of those women who blames alcohol for her poor choices and misdemeanors.

If I’m going home with this man—and I’m telling myself I am—then I’m doing it fully aware of my indiscretions and completely of my own accord.

And purely because I want to feel him on top of me, distracting me from… well, everything.

So, I’m going to go ahead and let him be tonight’s poor choice. He’ll just be another one in a long line of them lately, anyway.

Jack. That’s his name. At least, he says it is. It did occur to me that maybe he lied about it because it’s cooler than his real name. But, then again, Jack—probably short for Jackson or something—really isn’t that cool, so why lie if he’s not going to use a name that's undeniably sexy?

My name’s Sofia, I answer in response to his question, which a) is my real name, and b) is funny because it took him over forty minutes of fuck-me eyes and grinding on the dance floor before he even got around to asking.

Pretty name for a pretty lady.

It’s everything I can do to keep from rolling my eyes, but I manage to smile sweetly and pretend to be flattered by the compliment.

Let’s be honest, he doesn’t care at all what my name is. As long as I can moan against his ear at the appropriate times and get this tight skirt shimmied above my hips, I’m exactly the type of woman he’s looking for.

My name, career, and personal history have nothing to do with it.

I nod toward the glass of whiskey in his hand. I wouldn’t mind one of those. I lean forward, not only because the music is mind-numbingly loud, but because it gives him an eyeful of the cleavage my ridiculously low-cut V-neck shirt is accentuating. Breasts aren’t only a woman’s favorite fashion accessory; they’re also a sure-fire way to get exactly what she wants from a man.

And that’s precisely what I plan to do. Only, in my case, I want him to offer me one night’s worth of escape, of meaningless distraction, so I can find a few hours’ reprieve.

From my life.

From what it’s become.

Jack isn’t the first man to be used as a momentary diversion from the emptiness I’ve succumbed to, and he won’t be the last. That is, if I can even go through with it.

Sometimes, I just can’t.

He, however, might be the first one I feel a hint of guilt towards for the stunt I’m about to pull on him.

If he’s telling me the truth, then he’s here at Club Euphoria for the first time ever. Seeing as I tend to come to this club quite frequently, I’m leaning toward the fact that he might be being honest about that one, because I’ve never seen him here before tonight.

And I think I’d remember, seeing as he’s absolutely gorgeous and not at all like the hundreds of inebriated Neanderthals just looking to score.

I’m not judging anyone’s motives, especially since I know full well what I'll do to this man tonight, but my stance remains the same.

Jack isn’t like the other drunken men in this nightclub.

He says he’s here with a couple of friends to drown his sorrows. You know, the typical man-loves-woman, woman-finds-someone-else bullshit. He laughed when he’d said it, waving a hand dismissively as he explained, but there was something in his tone that showed a crack in the foundation of jokes and fake smiles he built his facade on.

It’s her loss, I’d offered, reaching out to pat the hand that held his drink. I said it because it was the right thing to say—the appropriate thing—and also because, if some woman had cheated on him, it was definitely her loss.

I don’t condone cheaters. I might find my entertainment beneath men whom I see once and never again, but if I have even the slightest inclination that that man is a lying bastard with a girlfriend or wife at home, I’m out of there before he even knows what's happening.

Well, that’s a lie. On the few occasions I have come across assholes on the warpath toward infidelity, they end up wearing the drinks they bought me, so I guess they technically do know what happened, but I waste no time letting them know my feelings regarding their unfaithfulness to whomever might be waiting at home for them.

Now though, I get no sense that Jack is cheating, and I tend to believe the shielded sadness in his blue eyes.

He’s on the rebound.

Maybe he needs this as much as I do.

At least, that’s what I’m going to tell myself to make myself feel better.

A glass of whiskey is slid toward me across the bar, and I give the bartender only a partial glance. He’s seen me here before, and he’s undoubtedly figured out my game.

Which means he knows Jack’s unfortunate fate, and he knows that I won't be around here in a few hours to see the shame and self-disgust on the poor man’s face.

I’ll be too busy dealing with my own.

CHAPTER 2

JACK

I want her. There’s no question about it.

If Sofia is half as incredible as she seems to be, then coming out to this too-loud, too-crowded atmosphere with too many goddamn strobe lights is worth it.

And, to think, when Bryce, my best friend since kindergarten, coerced me into tonight’s club crawl, I’d spent more than an hour trying to convince him I was in no mood to go to Euphoria during nighttime hours, let alone get back on the proverbial horse, as he so obnoxiously put it.

Now that I’ve had time to check out Sofia, though—from the waves of her chocolate brown hair, down the hypnotic curves of her body to the crimson polish on her toes—my body is saying that getting on her wouldn’t be a half bad idea.

But that’s not my style.

I don’t have sex with random women.

And I certainly don’t pick them up in nightclubs.

Especially not in nightclubs I own.

I’ve always been a gentleman, someone who keeps it together, reins it all in. Someone who puts everyone else first. Someone who plays the part of the man others need me to be.

A lot of good that did me.

After two years of being the good boyfriend, just like Cynthia wanted me to be, I’m left with nothing.

Sure, I’m successful. Owning Euphoria, one of the biggest and most sought-after clubs in the city, lines my pockets pretty well.

But money doesn’t buy happiness. And after the past few weeks since watching Cynthia walk out with a new man waiting in the wings, I have to say it doesn’t cure loneliness, either.

Which is why I’m in