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The rough scruff along Samson’s jaw left a mark along her neck and collarbone, sending a prickle of heat straight to her core. His muscular body braced Lisbeth against the wall of the alley behind the club, the only thing keeping her weakened legs upright. He grabbed Lisbeth’s thigh, anchored her leg around his waist, and the tight skirt she danced in rode up around her hips. Samson ground against her, the roughness of his denim scorching through her silk panties, his warm breath at her ear. “Need to fuck you, babe. Need you real bad.”
“You all right?”
Lisbeth’s eyes widened, suddenly fearful he could read her mind. Maybe it would just be easier to end the suspense and tell him who she was than bear the embarrassment of Samson not remembering her.
“Yes, just admiring your office.”And arguing with my traitorous mind.
Lisbeth made a show of glancing around the area, and her gaze fell on the discarded shirt he’d worn earlier in the wastebasket alongside his desk. Why would he throw away such an expensive item, and were those red stains blood on the cuffs? Of course, they were. That probably happened while threatening whomever he had pinned against the wall before.
“What happened to your other shirt?” She nodded to the wastebasket, then let her gaze fall to his scraped, bruised knuckles.
“Cut myself shaving.” Samson threw out the simple words along with a smirk like he knew she was onto his lie and didn’t care.
“I have to say I’m a bit surprised you want to talk business on such a big night.” A complete subject change was needed.
“I made the rounds and shook hands.” Samson shrugged his massive shoulders. “Not my thing.”
She remembered how Samson would come to the Oasis and sit at a table off to the side, observing everything going on around him, his inborn street smarts sensing danger around every corner while his friend Nick handled business out front.
“My other partner, Nick, had to stay back in New York to straighten out a few things.”
Interesting. He and Nick were still in business together.
Rumors constantly floated around about the Oasis being mob-owned and a money-laundering business front for notorious Brooklyn mobster Frank Barnett. Maybe New York mob money funded Club Wicked too. More information to delve into for the future.
“Nick’s more the people guy. He loves all the bullshitting.”
Nick had the charm and movie star good looks, but Lisbeth always felt more at ease with Samson. Even though he was much larger and more intimidating than Nick, he revealed a vulnerability at the most unexpected times.
“Plus, we’ve brought in some of the best people from our New York club to make sure it all runs smoothly.”
Except for earlier when Jax mysteriously whispered something in his ear, causing the bruised knuckles he didn’t have when he first approached their table.
“I understand you’re an event planner. Why don’t you tell me about it.”
Another strategic shift in conversation.
“First, I’d like to clear up something over what Juliet had said earlier about her being the bride.” Lisbeth didn’t want to start any business venture on a misconception, so telling Samson about Juliet’s lie was necessary. Then she’d forge on to the other truth of their past . . . liaison?
“I get it. She was just letting loose and having fun, but I gotta tell you, I’m glad you’re not the bride-to-be.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing against getting married, but we need someone focused on the club right now. If everything goes well, I want to host as many big events here as possible, so I’ll need someone who’s focused on Club Wicked, not planning a huge fuckin’ wedding.”
Lisbeth’s brain scrambled back and forth between her ethics and her profit margin. Host as many big events as possible and gain a reputation with a high-end club or tell the truth about her personal life? A life that didn’t interfere with her business life at all. Even if Samson thought it did.
“Yes, of course.”
Now she doubted admitting her identity. Samson hadn’t come to a conclusion yet, so maybe he never would.
“What did you wanna tell me about Juliet?”
“Ahhh.” Lisbeth swallowed hard, her brain working overtime for a plausible lie. Great, the very thing she wanted to avoid. “That her future husband might want to have his bachelor party here.”
“Cool, that would be great.”
He seemed to buy the story, even though Edward, her future husband, already had his bachelor party, and Juliet wasn’t the one getting married.
