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“Samson.” He grasped her tiny hand in his calloused palm. “Just ask if there’s anything else you need.”
“How about five more guys who look like you.” She batted her eyelashes while the other girls mixed drinks. The redhead next to Juliet turned her head, stared up at him, and his chest tightened to the point of pain. Her big blue eyes were vividly familiar … but they couldn’t be after all these years.
The last time he saw Lisbeth was in Bensonhurst, where he told her they were over, then abruptly walked out. He could still see her beautiful eyes clouding over with tears.
“Sorry, it’s just me.”
“No need to be sorry, you’ll do just fine.” Juliet’s eyes blatantly traveled over his body from head to toe, and she smiled with approval while Lisbeth’s expression froze in awe and confusion.
Samson had acted like a first-class asshole on purpose—making Lisbeth hate him and assuring she’d never darken his door again. He’d told himself he’d done the right thing by sending her away because his life was no place for an innocent, good girl like her. Now here she was, older, looking very sophisticated and even more beautiful than he remembered.
Life never failed to fuck with him, but this was one fuck up he couldn’t afford.
“I’m also guessing you’re the manager?” Juliet’s voice snapped him back to the present.
“No, I’m one of the owners.”
“Really?” Juliet drawled in full flirt mode.
“And I suppose you’re the bride-to-be?” Samson nodded to the banner while his logical brain and his dick brain were at war. Did Lisbeth even recognize him? Should he say something? Right, and how would that go?
Long time no see. Remember how we used to fuck like rabbits? Screwin’ in the Oasis’s back hall, pressed against the men’s room wall, or down and dirty in your tiny apartment over the pizzeria?
“Yes, yes, that’s right.” Juliet held up the banner. “I’m the bride.”
Lisbeth swiveled her head in Juliet’s direction but said nothing.
“This is my friend, Lisbeth, and she’s very much single.” Juliet turned toward her with widened eyes. “She’s also a successful businesswoman. Has her own event planning agency, organizing all the A-list parties in and around LA, Beverly Hills, Pacific Palisades—”
Holy fuckin’ shit, this is getting more fucked up by the minute.
“Juliet, please! You sound like a commercial. I’m sure Samson doesn’t need to hear my accomplishments or want to talk business.”
Yup, same sweet voice—a perfect mix of silk and sandpaper. A sense of modesty caught Samson’s attention that very first night when she walked out on the Oasis’s rickety stage. Lisbeth’s genuine honesty attracted the crowds, and even shaking her ass in those skimpy outfits, there was still goodness about her—a rarity in a business where women put it all out there and were hardly ever shy.
“I would like to hear about your business and—”
Their eyes connected, but she gave away nothing. Lisbeth’s tangle of wild red curls was now sleek and straight, and her features were more defined. For a split second, he questioned himself; then his gaze traveled over the creamy skin of her exposed shoulders in that fitted black dress and those long, shapely legs that used to wrap around his hips. Fuck no, he wasn’t mistaken; it was her. Ten years filled out her body in all the right places and added to the dramatic contour of her face. Although a hint of shyness still lingered, a trait that attracted him then and—
“Excuse me, boss.” Jax flanked him. “Can I have a word?”
Samson pried his eyes away from Lisbeth and spun toward him. “Not now.”
Jax widened his eyes. “We got a problem.”
Jax came up with them in Brooklyn, breaking up knife fights with gangbangers in the back alley of the Oasis. Nothing rattled him, so when he used the word “problem,” there was a big fuckin’ screw-up.
Samson drew in a deep breath and turned back to the women. “You’ll have to excuse me.” As his gaze lingered on Lisbeth, he thought her eyes flickered for a second, or was he just projecting his shock?
3
Lisbeth’s heart pounded hard and radiated to her throat as her eyes followed Samson. The past decade had been kind to him. The defined muscles of the man she knew in his twenties were now massive and thick. His face mirrored a seasoned maturity of a man who overcame adversity and came out the winner. Then he strode through the club with the same cocky swagger as if he owned it. Oh right, he did.
Samson’s low, distinctive raspy voice still sent a tingle down her spine. Embarrassing and surprised, he could still stir up those feelings after all this time. Luckily, she’d changed enough that he hadn’t recognized her, although if she planned on doing business with the club, she’d have to see him again, and there was always a chance his memory—
“You look like you’re under a spell.” Juliet waved her hand in front of Lisbeth’s face. “Or you agree that he is one drop-dead gorgeous man.”
The only disconnect was the form-fitted designer clothes he seemed to be wearing against his will. Ten years ago, she’d ogled him in band t-shirts that accentuated his muscled biceps and hip-hugging ragged jeans that hung over scuffed motorcycle boots. Granted, he’d upgraded his wardrobe, and she’d certainly enjoyed how he filled out those perfectly tailored black pants and white linen shirt. Still, the uneasy way he moved in them made her think he wasn’t comfortable in those expensive clothes.
