I don’t think about how his smile makes a row of goose bumps sprout on my back, or his high cheekbones and the satiny black hair falling around his face, or how I feel a wave of desire across my abdomen. He looks like those perfect guys you see in fashion magazine spreads—that lazy, haphazard perfection that makes you trace their images with longing.
And he’s staring right at me.
He fucking wants me.
Excitement flutters in my stomach, almost immediately doused with cold water.
There’s a guy I would be perfectly willing to go home with, a guy who looks like he’s dynamite in bed just from the confidence blazing from that unrelenting stare. A guy I absolutely can’t go out with because he’s obviously an employee here.
I can’t help but think this must be a fucking cosmic joke.
“Thanks.”
The target’s voice tears my attention from the hottie eye-fucking me across the room. He tips me, and I take the folded cash, slipping it under my strap. The poor bastard has no idea his wife set him up. Whatever. It’s easy money and I happen to be pretty good at it. In a couple seconds I’ll be out the door. Job well done.
Except that guy keeps watching me.
His hot gaze follows me as I set the drinks down, nearly unbalancing the whole fucking tray as I try to move my hand to adjust to the weight. Fuck.
“Another round? What about you, sir?”
The dealer’s voice fades as I walk with the tray of mostly empty glasses. I just need to get out of here. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man take a few purposeful strides toward me—oh shit.
Don’t even look at him. Just keep walking.
Rough fingers curl around my free wrist, and I stop in my tracks.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Not so fast.”
A rich voice falls over my ears as he tightens his grip around me. My heart pounds in my throat as I face the man, who looks too handsome to be real, his features too perfect, like a soccer star or a Hollywood celebrity. I try to focus on the fine details of his slim-cut suit, and then he smiles, revealing a row of white but slightly uneven teeth. It only increases his sex appeal—those little imperfections. Intensity radiates from his eyes and warmth slips down my throat like a hot drop.
“Did you need something, sir?”
My voice comes out all wrong—reedy.
The smile tightens. “My drink.”
He plucks the small glass from my tray, the shot of vodka, and he raises it to his lips. I watch it as if in slow motion as he tips it back, his hot eyes all over me, and pours the drink down his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs and his lips shine with a little bit of wetness, and I feel a line of desire from my breasts all the way down between my legs. Jesus, he’s gorgeous.
“You new?” he says, setting the empty glass on the tray.
“I’m filling in for Emily. She’s sick.”
The rough pad of his thumb strokes my wrist. I think about that longer than I should, and my heart thuds against my chest. I should be getting the fuck out of here.
“That’s funny. I didn’t get a call from her.”
I let out a pathetic sound. Something that sounds like a heh.
Oh God.
His face darkens, lust swimming in those black pools. “What’s your name?”
“Claire,” I say immediately.
Claire? Claire? You’re not supposed to tell him your real fucking name!
For a moment I don’t care. He still hasn’t let go of my hand. For some bizarre reason, my mind brands an image in my skull: a lion with its jaws fastened around the neck of a gazelle.
A smile staggers over his face and he slips his other hand in his jacket pocket, a crisp twenty between his fingers. I pull my hand away, but his fingers tighten around my wrist, locking me there, and now it feels different. Like he’s intent on trapping me here.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He slides the twenty-dollar bill over the swell of my breasts. Then he curves his finger along my flesh, grazing my sensitive skin as he sinks the note right between my tits. My gasp cuts the air as he shoves the money deep in there. I can’t think—I can’t speak.
“T-thanks.”
He’s touching my tits.
My heart pounds so loud that I’m sure the whole room can hear it. This is what I wanted—wasn’t it? I wanted an asshole to grab me—to basically treat me like a quick, easy fuck. My body screams at the slightest touch of his hands on my bare skin.
You need this.
“I’ve never seen you before.”
I can’t fuck him. I can’t.
“Well, I’m new.”
Jesus Christ, get your hand out of my tits before I lose my mind.
He smiles, as though he thinks my response is amusing. “Yeah, you said that. I think I’d remember a pretty girl like you, though.”