The car door hissed open.
Nash stepped out into a thick, humid wall of perfume and smoke. The bass was everywhere, like someone had hidden a giant heartbeat under the sidewalk and cranked it up just for kicks.
It was hot, not weather hot, but the kind of heat people carried with them, sticky, heavy, full of want.
Desire hung out here, no question. It pressed against Nash's skin, crawling in before anybody even touched him.
Victoria took off ahead like she owned the city, heels cracking like tiny gunshots. The crowd made way for her, parted like some biblical thing, only with more sequins.
Those escorts, all lips and legs, slowed down to stare. Guys in shiny suits tried not to be obvious, but their necks nearly snapped. Even the big guys guarding the velvet rope seemed to stand up straighter.
It was clear that this woman wasn't anybody here.
People showed no jokes, no winks, just pure respect.
Nash trailed after, eyes glued to Victoria's hips. Hard not to.
