After Dallas’s fuck-off dismissal,Ellen shoots me one last glare before leaving.
I’m left standing there, stunned and speechless.
Not even a word of protest from my evil boss, and I’m kind of impressed.
He was sitting at the bar last night so I couldn’t see how tall he was. He’stall.Maybe 6’3’’ or 6’4’’. And every inch of it is pure muscle.
Wow,he’s built.
Thank you, Jesus.
I don’t know why I’m thanking anyone. Nothing’s happening here except that the man I dreamed about last night—veryintensely—has literally materialized out of thin air and is standing in my bar, looking like he stepped through time or off a movie set where men wear leather armor and you can’t quite tell if they’re heroes or villains but you don’t care becausethey’re dreamily hot with thick dark hair and inked, veined, muscular forearms.
He’s wearing jeans and an expensive-looking navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up that sets off the blue of his eyes. Now that his hat is off, I can see that his hair is a dark, silky brown, thick and a little too long, barely touching his collar at the back. I notice again that it’s got the slightest wave to it, flicking out even though it looks like he might have tried smoothing it into place. This hint of unruliness somehow perfectly matches the tattoos on his hands, his forearm porn and his neck, which disappear under his shirt. The combination of his ink, his muscles and his tan are just … shockingly tantalizing.
I want to trace those designs over his warm, hair-dusted skin with my fingers.
Whatever he’s successful at, he’s also got a darker side. My guess is that he’s a little bit twisted, in a good way.In a way that’s reminding me of how good he felt when he came to me in my dreams.
It’s easy to tell he’s got money. When you spend as much time studying and serving people as I have, at a guess, he’s got more than most. Maybe a lot more. But he’s the opposite of showy and I like this.
I’m adjusting to him in a way that’s connective. I’m not just clocking all the things about him that appeal to me, I’mfeelingthem. Absorbing them and getting used to them.Like he’s already mine.
I don’t know how to feel about this.
“Amelie Thibodeaux,” he says, with barely-amused awe. The deep, smoky rasp of his voice touches me …there. Where Idreamed he touched me, right before I came.The low pulse of my heartbeat warms me as my body remembers.
God. I’m getting wet. Like I could come again, very easily.
He knows my last name.
“You googled me.” I don’t know if I should feel flattered or offended.
“I googled the hotel.”
Ah. So he knows everything. The press wasn’t shy about opening the vein of my tragedies all over the internet and letting me bleed out for the world’s entertainment.
“Dallas Wilder,” he says, watching my eyes. “So we’re on equal footing.”
Something about the name is vaguely familiar, but I can’t recall why it might be.
The beat of silence isn’t empty at all. It’s filled with some unspoken agreement we’ve already decided on but haven’t yet defined the terms of.
We’reinthis, I think we can both feel that, whether we want to be or not. Something about this feels bigger than us both. We have a power over each other that’s weaving itself around us.
The pull and the look of him is wildly magnetic—even though there’s danger here. I know I’ll go with him today, even if it might cost me my job.Because how many people do you meet who can give you your first orgasm without even being in the room?
What I don’t know yet is where this will lead me. Heaven, for at least part of it. Hell, maybe in equal measure. Because I already know,this is a man who could break me.
Good thing I’m already broken.
Either way, I’m not about to go quietly. “Equal footingwould imply that you’ve also gone bankrupt. And you don’t have the look of a man who’s destitute.” I don’t say it like an accusation. My voice sounds lightly out of breath.
I’m about to accept a date with this gorgeous hunk who is, from where I’m standing, as close to physical perfection as anything gets. But it’s true that he’s being very presumptuous with the little stunt he just pulled. Life might be easy for him, but it isn’t easy for me.
“Thank you for the invitation, Dallas Wilder, but I think you might have just cost me two out of my four jobs. Which I actually need.”
Watching my eyes, he takes one of my hands and pulls off my pink rubber glove. “These are just completely wrong on you.” Then the other one, tossing them on a nearby table. “Let’s make sure you never have to wear them again.” He continues to hold my gaze with his as he gives the back of my hand a slow kiss.
