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“I can put my proposal together along with references and have it to you by Monday.”
“Sounds good.”
Samson’s phone buzzed again. He swiped at it, then mumbled some cryptic one-word responses. He ended the call and made another one, ordering a bottle of Dom Perignon delivered to his office.
She took the few minutes Samson was on the phone to stare at him without being noticed. He’d certainly come a long way from the rough, tough guy throwing thugs out of a dive bar in Bensonhurst.
He ended the call and leaned back against the leather cushions, his shirt straining against the contractions of his muscles.
Lisbeth bit her lower lip as his light blue eyes examined her.
Samson’s eyes flashed with expression any time he spoke, but when he was in the club, his gaze took on the same intensity she remembered at the Oasis. He had the bad-boy vibe still going strong, yet his voice remained mellow, almost soft, and she had to concentrate on hearing every word. Her eyes drifted back to the discarded, blood-stained shirt. There was more to that story. A story she was sure he’d never share, just like other mysteries from his past:
“I know you don’t believe me, but there’s some shit I can’t share, some shit you’re better off not knowing.”
“If it concerns you, I want to know about it.”
Samson’s calloused palm cupped her cheek. “You’re way too good and sweet to be wrapped up in my bullshit.” He seared her lips with his, taking his fill and then pushing her away. “You don’t see it now, but I’m doin’ you a favor, babe.”
That was the first time he tried to push her away, but they were back in each other’s arms in less than twenty-four hours.
A knock on the door snapped Lisbeth back to his luxurious office as another beautiful woman in the same fringed outfit as the other servers carried a silver tray with Dom and two fluted champagne glasses. She wordlessly set them down on the glass coffee table and effortlessly popped the cork without losing a drop.
Her eyes fell to Samson, and when he nodded, she filled the glasses, wiped the mouth of the bottle with a linen napkin, then set the bottle in an ice bath and waited.
“Thanks, Dianna.”
The girl politely smiled and left without a word.
Being in the service industry, Lisbeth appreciated two attributes of a good waitstaff: efficiency and knowing when a conversation wasn’t necessary or needed. No mindless chatter, no unwanted flattery to her boss, just proficient service. She noticed the level of professionalism the minute they were admitted into the club. Samson and his partner, Nick, expected and received the best from their employees, which usually meant they were well-compensated and treated fairly.
Whatever reservations Lisbeth might’ve had about doing business with Club Wicked were eased a bit. She could see success here and, hopefully, a future business association. All she had to do was remember ten years had gone by, leave the past in the past, and focus on business. It seemed easy since he had no recollection of her. Down the road, she could bring it up in an offhanded way, and they would laugh about it.
“Champagne is my favorite.” She accepted the glass from him.
He raised his head, and their gaze connected. “I remember.”
Lisbeth paused mid-sip, and her eyes widened. “You know who I am?”
Samson grinned at her as he gripped the glass with his broad hand. “How could I forget?”
“When did you . . . I mean, how long have you realized—”
“I wasn’t sure until I heard your voice before. I always loved your voice.” He sipped at the champagne. “So smooth and classy.”
“I knew the minute you came to our table.” The words flew out of her mouth before she could censor them.
“Even after ten years?”
“Some people are hard to forget.” That sounded way too much like flirting, so Lisbeth put the glass to her lips and let the icy liquid slide down her throat, hoping the bubbly fizz would calm the surge of heat soaring through her. Samson’s intense stare always unraveled her, and right now, it could make her fall apart at the seams.
“You look good.” He continued to undo her with his eyes, and a schoolgirl giggle threatened to emerge, so she swallowed it down with another big gulp of champagne.
“So do you.” Lisbeth motioned around the room. “You’re obviously doing well, although I never doubted you would.”
Truth. Under all the rough, hard-edged persona he threw around at the Oasis, she knew Samson was destined for success. His sheer will and determination alone would’ve catapulted him to the top.
“You changed your hair.” His gaze flicked over her long tresses, then settled on her lips.
