The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) by Nikki Sloane (top e book reader .TXT) 📗

“I stand corrected. I have almost the same freedoms as you.”

He took a sip of his drink, then motioned beyond the dancefloor. There was a doorway on the far side of the room that led to the rest of the club, and I was eager for the tour, but before I could take a step, my heart lurched.

There was a man seated alone at one of the tables with his hand wrapped around a tumbler of amber liquid, although the drink looked untouched. He wore a beautiful gray suit and blue tie, and when he lifted his hand to wave, a brilliant smile broke on his face.

I didn’t know him, but blood rushed through me, heating my body regardless.

Clay was handsome and sexy, exuding intelligence and competence. He was like a Hollywood version a hot nerd.

This stranger waving at me was the Hollywood version of a hunk, and even though I usually liked Clay’s brand of guy best, it was impossible to ignore how good this man looked.

He was younger than Clay, but older than I was—maybe the guy was thirty. He had sandy-colored hair that was perfectly unruly, the ends curling as they fell to brush his ears. And—sweet Jesus—his friendly smile. It lit up the room.

I waved back, keeping my gaze locked on him, even as I whispered to Clay. “Why is that guy waving to me?”

He chuckled. “He’s not.”

When Clay waved back at the man, embarrassment slammed into me. How freaking cocky had my question been? To just assume the guy was interested in me, and not Clay? He’d told me twenty seconds ago he’d been a member at this club for more than five years. Surely, he’d met other regulars and become friends.

Another idea dawned in me. “Is he the client you’re meeting?”

“No.” I’d expected him to say more, and the long silence prompted him to reluctantly continue. “He’s a . . . friend.”

“Oh?” Interesting. “Let’s say hi before we start the tour.”

But he didn’t move. Instead, his gaze sharpened on me. “Why?”

What did he mean, why? “Because it’s polite?”

“Hmm, is that it?” His slight smile was teasing. “I’m sure the fact that he’s attractive has nothing to do with it.”

I played dumb as my gaze drifted back to the man. “Is he? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Right.” He laughed at my outright lie. “Maybe we can say hello after the show if he’s still here. I want to make sure I have enough time to show you around before my meeting.”

“Okay,” I said. It was clear he had a plan, and it didn’t include introductions with the hottie in the gray suit. The guy’s gaze followed us as we strolled past the tables and dancefloor, but he never made a move to rise from his seat or motion us over to him.

The next room was a swanky lounge. On one side, a couch and several cushy chairs were gathered around a glass table. On the other, there were two open doors, leading into rooms that were dark.

“If a door’s closed,” he said, “it means the room’s in use.”

He stuck his hand in and flipped on a switch, lighting up the room that contained two couches that were so small, they were more like loveseats, and a side table that was only big enough to set drinks on. It was tight in the room, but the couches were deep and inviting, and it wasn’t hard to picture what probably went on in here.

Clay turned off the light and led me down the short hall. To our left was a gorgeous L-shaped wooden staircase, but he went right, taking me into a room with a glossy black floor and dark red walls. There was a small platform, like a stage, at the end of the room, and a strip of exposed brick served as the backdrop, framing the St. Andrew’s cross mounted to it.

I swallowed a breath. I didn’t need to see the logo carved in the side because I recognized the style instantly.

“Yours,” I said.

There was a hint of pride from him. “Yes.”

This cross wasn’t like the modern one he had at home. It was the traditional X, made of wood and decorated with iron bands and rings. The warm oak looked great against the brick, and it fit the space perfectly.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

“Thank you.”

The cross had drawn my attention since it was the focal point, but my gaze shifted to take in the rest of the room. I got the feeling that the black folding chairs were typically set up in rows facing the cross, but tonight they were placed in a circle, leaving the center of the room empty.

Whatever the show was, it’d be happening there, rather than on the stage.

Disappointment skittered through me. “They’re not using your cross for the show?”

The corner of his sexy mouth quirked up. “No, it doesn’t look like it tonight.” He jerked his head toward the doorway. “Come on. Let me show you upstairs.”

The wooden staircase was ornate and had to be original to the old, converted house. The stair treads creaked and groaned loudly as we ascended. I didn’t know if it was a stupid question, but I was too curious not to ask and lowered my voice to a hush. “Is everyone gonna be naked up there? Will people be fucking?”

Amusement dashed through his eyes. “I doubt it. I mean, it’s still pretty early. Things usually start happening around midnight.”

He was right.

No one was having sex or even naked. It was because there wasn’t a soul on this floor, other than a staff member sitting on a stool at the top of the stairs. The second story of the house was smaller than the main floor, and the few rooms were basically more lounge areas. The only doors on this floor were for the bathrooms.

The biggest room had an impressive stone fireplace and a huge black leather sectional in front of it. An oversized matching ottoman rested in the center of the U shape the couch formed. Like