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“Yeah.” He waved his huge hand over her. “You look like you belong working at the Gap, not slinging drinks in this dump.”
“I see.” She propped her hand on her hip. “I’m not bartender material, but you can see me taking off my clothes as a stripper?”
“Shit, yeah. With your legs and flaming, curly red hair.” Again, that smirk. “Fuck, I’d have to hire extra bouncers just to keep the guys from storming the stage.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“As a fuckin’ heart attack, babe.”
She’d come across all kinds since her dad lost their home—cutthroat lawyers who only wanted to line their pockets, the bank officers who refused to give her family more time on their payments, or lecherous managers who’d hire Lisbeth if she promised to make it worth their while, but she’d never imagined herself dancing on stage in a skimpy bikini as a stripper.
“That’s 'cause I know talent when I see it, and I was right. In just two weeks, you had a huge following.”
“But now, ten years later, everything is different.”
“What happened tonight doesn’t surprise me. You always lit me up. Fuck, I’d watch you up on stage at the Oasis, and all I could think about was getting you home and having you all to myself.”
Lisbeth adjusted the strap of her crossbody purse while her mind spun with alternatives. This was the end of the road, but she wasn’t leaving without a fight.
“I think you’re lying about the bartender job being filled, and I’m not leaving here until I speak to someone else in charge or the owner.”
Lisbeth glared up at this annoying, misogynistic, crude, drop-dead gorgeous man, making her position clear.
He stared back at her for a few long seconds, then stuck out his hand. “Samson,” he said as a way of introduction.
“Lisbeth.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling but played along, sticking out her hand. “Now, may I please speak to the owner?”
His broad palm surrounded her slender hand. “You already are.”
She narrowed her eyes as she processed his words. “You’re the owner?”
“Afraid so.”
He twisted his lips. “Sometimes, we didn’t even make it home. Dragging you into the store room, bending you over the desk in the office. Shit, I’m getting fuckin’ hard just thinking about it.”
“Again, it was a long time ago, and I find it very difficult to believe you haven’t had women, many women in the last ten years. I hardly think you were waiting to reconnect with me.”
“You’re right, I’ve had plenty of women, but most don’t even last a week, and no, I never thought I’d see you again, but now—”
“Your reasoning has no bearing on today. If you want to continue on a completely professional level, fine. If not, then I’m afraid you’ll have to seek another agency.”
The words came out of her mouth because they had to be said, but Lisbeth hoped like hell he didn’t make that choice. She wanted this account—a perfect start to her client list in the Vegas office—but not at the cost of her upcoming marriage.
“I don’t want another agency. I want you.”
“Then it’ll be on a professional level, and nothing else can happen between us.”
“But this is happening.” Samson cocked his head as if he were explaining something to a child. “We’re just as hot for each other now as we were ten years ago—how your body heats up, those little moans. Shit, you can’t fake that.”
Lisbeth’s back stiffened. “You’re telling me you’d have no problem being with a woman who’s about to be married.”
A low chuckle rumbled in his throat. “What I’m telling you is I usually stay far away from married women and women about to be, but as usual, you have me breaking all the rules, including my own.”
“No, this is wrong. Completely wrong.” Lisbeth pushed herself off the couch, unable to make sense of his words. “Then I guess I’ll make the right decision for both of us.”
Samson sprawled out his long legs, laced his fingers behind his head, and stared up at her. “I don’t know about the right decision.” His voice was mellow and matter-of-fact like he hadn’t almost brought her over the edge. “But I’m not worried.”
“Not worried? What on earth does that smug comment mean?”
