Page 2 of An Angel’s Share (The Greystone Family: Greystone Brothers #1)

The club CAshO has been around in different formats for over two decades.

Slipping in and out of fashion, it’s morphed from a normal club, to an eatery with a trendy music vibe, to a see and be seen venue for the rich and famous.

The back of the place—the special events area—hosts everything from Oscars after parties to lavish special events, with VIP rooms catering to themed events.

Tonight’s motif? At the races.

Men in sharp suits, dripping in luxury accessories, mingle with women in amazing dresses and serious hats and headgear.

Racing plays on the large screens with facilities set up to place your bets.

The more drinks and drugs consumed, the more money is spent.

One of the club's most profitable events, the wagers become larger and larger as good decisions start to fly out the window. Along with lots of inhibitions. This can be catered to with a separate entertainment event of a more intimate nature, if you’ve registered.

And clearly, Jackson, who never comes here, has us on the guest list.

The announcement is discreetly conveyed, event staff inconspicuously alerting the guests that the event is ready to start. Or should I say, the parade ring is ready for our perusal. ‘Runners and Riders.’ I grin at the horse related theme.

“I’ve put you down as a Rider,” Jax tells me. “I know you like to be in control at all times.” He rolls his eyes. He knows me well.

“How did you manage that at an event we only just rocked up to on the spur of the moment?” I don’t give him a chance to lie to me again. I grin wickedly and ask him, “What have you put yourself down as? Switching again?” He shrugs, annoyed with my ribbing, as I laugh at his face .

“I like to keep it interesting.” He grins at me, the naughtiest look in his eyes. “See you at home, brother.”

He’s crazy. Why on earth wouldn’t you want to be in charge? No fucking way that is ever happening.

I walk into the Riders waiting room—or should I say saddling up room—nodding at the majority men, and a few women. The women are stunning, beautiful. Done up to the nines. Gorgeous hair and make-up, along with serious outfits. Jackson may end up with a great pick.

“Jonno, good to see you, sugar,” Carter Maywood drawls at me, springing to stand in front of me.

I grin at him and shake his proffered hand. “You too. Having a good night?” I laugh at him, he’s so fucking loud all the time. Everything the man does is loud and out there. He’s more extroverted, more of an exhibitionist than my sister’s husband Kellen, and that’s saying something.

He manoeuvres me towards the back of the room, out of the glare of the crowd. Although every eye is on him, he’s oblivious. “How’s Kitten? No sign of the baby yet? Kasey is phoning her daily.”

He looks at me from under his eyelashes, eyeing up my tight-fitting shirt. Taking in my suit that’s moulded to my body. One I chose specifically to showcase the muscles and lean physique I work hard to maintain. He’s flirting again, batting his eyes ten to the dozen.

I ignore him, stating coldly, “He’s a dickhead. I can’t believe he’s still trying to wind up Kell and Xan. That interview he did about the love of his life marrying someone else. Subtle as a brick.”

He guffaws with laughter. “Yes, he does like to do that. They’re so very easy to wind off the clock though, especially when she’s involved.

” He peruses my body like a piece of artwork, looking me up and down.

I’m getting a full inspection. He couldn’t get more obvious if he tried.

“I’m sure he’ll be dashing over the minute she has the baby.

Regardless of what Marcus and Xander say.

” He shakes his head at me. “You here on your own, honey?”

I ignore the contrived invitation. “No. Jackson is here. Somewhere.” I waft my hand around. He doesn’t need to know exactly where. I’ve seen how he looks at Jackson too. Not that I should have to be worried about my big brother. But you never know with this guy.

“I’m off back to support the birth. I’ll be gone the day after tomorrow.”

“Well, give my love to Kitten, and the guys. I hope to go to Devon to see Marsh and Pinky. I had the best time with y’all in the summer. I’ll see y’all soon.”

He moves off as I watch him schmooze his way around the room, batting his super long lashes at everyone he comes in contact with. He’s so touchy-feely, it's a wonder he’s not been arrested yet. I smile. The man is outrageous.

Into the room walks a line of women, all around the same height, hair swept into elaborate coiffeurs, black-feathered fascinators covering the tops of their heads.

Make up all the same, and crimson lips. Silk blouses, the same colour as the lipstick, cut open to their navels, a large motif of the club on the back in black.

The silk flutters and sways around the room, hypnotising everyone.

The blouses are tucked starkly into skin tight, white jodhpurs.

Black leather riding boots complete the ensemble.

These bear no resemblance to any of the jockeys I’ve ever seen at the races, but the effect is striking—sultry and elegant.

Carrying silver trays with electronic pin pads, all coded to the individual, the women approach each of us.

I’m told in breathy tones to use the handset to make my selection for the night, along with the maximum bet I’m prepared to place in case of any duplication or overlapping selections.

I have no limit. Whatever or whoever I want, I will have.

Tonight is not going to be a betting frenzy for me.

My favourite whiskey is handed to me, all very personal, all very expensive. Every nuance of the evening has been thought out. It’s time to make a bid for my mount for the night.

I grin and mentally shake my head. Jackson must be insane to leave this to someone else.

Someone else to take the reins. My mind is full of all things horse related, all the proper terminology, my grin getting wider and wider as puns form in my head.

I can’t wait to take the piss out of Jackson at home tomorrow.

The lights dim, and the room through the one way glass is lit so we’re able to see the Runners for the night.

But I don’t see Jackson. He’s probably hiding, or changed his mind.

Fell at the first hurdle, or an open ditch.

I grin again, chalking down more comments to whip him with.

I’m imaging a crop now, and my smile gets wider.

Until I spot her.

She stands out to me straight away. Sat with a female—possibly a friend, if the body language is anything to go by—she’s nervous.

Back stiff, body tense. Talking to her friend, but her hand movements are jerky, all over the place.

Raven black hair, brown eyes, porcelain skin.

Tall, her body folded into the comfortable chair.

Long legs crossed, slim ankles, and high heels.

Supple. How fantastic that skin will look warmed with my hand prints, or maybe a whip.

I feel myself harden as my mind starts to calculate what I could do to her.

How she’d look chained to a cross. What colour I could turn her complexion.

If her eyes would darken to the colour of her hair with desire.

What that full upper lip would look like stretched over my cock.

The bright red lipstick leaving its mark on my balls.

Yep, she could do a lot for me, and I certainly could for her. Well, Black Beauty, it’s time to saddle up for the ride of your life.