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“I was only there a few minutes . . . and we weren’t alone.” Lisbeth threw out the words like a fifth-grader explaining why she didn’t have her homework. “I’m meeting with him this week to discuss further details and give him a proper proposal.”
“I wouldn’t mind discussing more details with him.” Willow fanned herself while making goofy eyes. “I don’t know how you’ll be able to concentrate.”
“Because Lisbeth is a businesswoman, plus, she’s engaged.” Evelyn rolled her eyes at what she considered Willow’s immaturity. “I’m sure she didn’t even notice this—”
“Samson.” Willow gushed. “Yup, that’s his name, and let me tell you, he definitely lives up to it. His body and roughed-up face look like he’s been fighting for his life.”
If Willow only knew how prolific her words were. He’d fought in the dingiest, crappiest basements and abandoned buildings in New York—and they’d met up after almost every bout.
“I hate to see your face bruised and bloodied.” Lisbeth gently cupped his jaw.
“It’s nothing, babe. I’ve had way worse.” He twisted his cut lip into a devilish smirk. “Anyways, I think it turns you on.”
Samson pulled her close until she felt the heat of his body, the scent of his sweat and blood, and God help her—he was right. It did turn her on. It electrified her every nerve ending from the inside out, then settled in her core—a desire and gnawing ache she neither wanted nor couldn’t control.
“After throwing fists in the cage”—he threaded his fingers through Lisbeth’s hair and nuzzled his nose against her neck—“your sweet scent is what I need.”
“And you’re right. It does amp me up.” Being with Samson empowered her to let go, let loose, and say exactly what was on her mind—no filters, no shame, no censors. She liked the Lisbeth he unleashed. The woman who didn’t care what others thought, didn’t have any boundaries or rules to follow, and she never wanted her to go away.
“I’ll ruin you,” his whispered words were a promise she wanted him to keep.
“And I’ll let you.”
“I’ll bring you down with me.”
“And I’ll go willingly.” Her palms cupped Samson’s face. “Don’t you see? I don’t care as long as I can be with you.”
He pulled back slightly, and his eyes shone against the overhead security lights in the alley. “That’s what scares me.”
“Was the other partner, Nick, in his office too?”
“Just Samson, it seems Nick had to stay behind because of some trouble at their New York club.”
The phone rang in the reception area, and Evelyn left the office to answer it while Willow scrolled through her ever-present phone.
“Right. The NFL quarterback who brought an underage girl to the club, who later ended up in the hospital due to exhaustion.” Willow waggled her eyebrows. “More like too many lines of coke, but you didn’t hear that from me.”
Lisbeth’s lips quirked up at Willow’s inside knowledge of all the juiciest gossip. “You amaze me.”
“So far, only a few insiders know the whole story, but it’ll be common knowledge once they go to court. Of course, the girl’s parents are suing everyone, from the NFL to the owners of the Oasis.”
Willow handled the company’s social media without effort, and Lisbeth was grateful for that alone. Although Facebook and Instagram were vital in today’s promotions, Lisbeth abhorred live videos, selfies, and all the crazy dancing that seemed to go along with TikTok. Having Willow deal with and excel on those platforms benefited LLL, Inc. since three-quarters of their business came from promoting their events on social media.
“So, Samson.” Willow scrolled through her phone again. “I know he’s yummy, but what was he like?” Then turned the phone screen toward Lisbeth. “Quite impressive.”
Samson—in brutal, living color.
Lisbeth took the phone from Willow for a closer look. “He sure didn’t look like that on Saturday.” It was Samson, only this version resembled the man she’d known in New York.
She pinched the screen, enlarging Samson’s massive body in a faded Rolling Stones t-shirt, ripped and frayed jeans, and straddling a Harley similar to the one she’d rented a year ago for a wedding event at the Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel.
His undercut-style hair was loose and hanging over one eye of his aviator sunglasses, not slicked back tight like the other evening, and his slightly slouched body angled directly into the camera. Samson seemed more at ease in this picture than on opening night in his office. This man resembled the bikers who visited him and the Samson who lived in her memories, not the buttoned-up businessman at Club Wicked. It made her wonder who was the real Samson now.
Willow waved a hand in front of her face. “He is one delicious man.” She nabbed the phone from Lisbeth, scrolled some more, then flipped the screen around again. “This is his partner, Nick.”
Nick was also very handsome but completely different. His body was fit but not as bulky as Samson’s. He was leaning against a brick wall, probably in Manhattan—wearing tailored black slacks and a fitted shirt much like Samson’s the other night—and his dark, brooding eyes penetrated the camera. Nick was entirely at ease in his designer clothes. Lisbeth always found it interesting these two seemingly different men were partners in business and long-time friends.
“Just one question. With all your in-depth searching, how is it you didn’t come up with these pics last week?” Those pictures could’ve saved Lisbeth the shock and prepared her for seeing Samson again after all these years.
