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“I don’t buy it, babe. You’re not the type to do anything against your will, so I gotta believe you want to start this back up too.”
“One thing has nothing to do with the other.”
“But you agree you do want this—want me.”
“This can’t be happening.”
“You don’t want to feel my lips on your skin? Remember how my cock filled you up and made you scream my name until the neighbors banged on the walls.”
“This isn’t right.”
She didn’t understand how her willful, determined brain allowed this to happen. Samson wasn’t good for her, and he wasn’t what she wanted or needed. The wicked sensations he stirred up were wrong in all the right ways.
“Lots of things ain’t right, babe. But you and me? We’ve always fit together. The first time I saw you at the Oasis, I knew you were different. I knew you were something special.”
“Can I help you?” Lisbeth was startled when a deep voice rasped behind her. She spun around and faced a Grateful Dead t-shirt stretched over a broad chest with colorful tattoos decorating his biceps.
She cocked her head to look up at him. At five feet ten, she usually came eye-to-eye with most men, but not this time. This dangerous stranger easily had four, maybe five inches on her.
“I’m applying for the bartending job.” The squeak in her voice rose above the pounding music, and she inwardly scolded herself. Confidence—she had to sound confident. “I need to find the person hiring.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Not that long ago. Anyway, I remember everything we said, and I think you do too.”
“You found him.” He stepped back and assessed her, making no excuses as he blatantly examined her body. “You ever bartended before?”
“Yes, many times.” She waved her hand over the mostly empty room. “At places much more crowded than here. I’m organized, love talking with people, and memorized hundreds of drink recipes.” All true, and she added the organization part after the last manager mentioned it right before he turned her down.
The edges of his full lips twitched into a smirky grin. “You never bartended, huh?”
Lisbeth’s heart rapidly beat as she recalled their banter and how even then, when Samson was still a stranger, he had the power to captivate her.
“What I remember is you telling me I should be a stripper.”
Samson’s narrowed eyes traveled over her again. “Ever thought about stripping?”
“Excuse me?” She cocked her head. “Ahhh, no, I’m here for the bartending job, not the—”
“Already filled the bartender job.”
“But the sign is still in the window.” She pointed over his shoulder.
“Just had a girl call in sick. You could take her spot on stage.”
“No, as I said, I’m here for the bartending job.”
“Do the three-to-nine shift.”
“I don’t think you’re hearing me.”
He shrugged his shoulder. “Less crowded than the late shift. Give you a chance to strut your stuff, and I can see if you’ll cut it.”
“But I—”
“Look, you ain’t no bartender or at least not one with experience 'cause someone who looks like you wouldn’t be coming in here looking for a job if you had other offers.”
Lisbeth squared her shoulders. “Someone who looks like me?”
