Daddy, it’s too big.
I jerk back from the monitors, recoiling from my horrible thoughts.
What is wrong with me?
“Holy shit, would you look at that?” Craig is observing me now, instead of the television screen that surveys the waiting area of the executive offices. “A reaction from the priest himself. I was beginning to question if you were a warm-blooded mammal.”
“I’m not a priest,” I say, my voice thicker than molasses.
“Maybe not. But you act like one.” He laughs. “Until now, apparently.”
Unable to help myself, my gaze travels back to the monitor and she’s pacing now, nervous. Scared. I don’t like that. My instincts are railing at me to calm her down. Why? I’ve never met this girl. She is not my responsibility. Yet every fiber of my being is telling me the exact opposite. “I will interview the girl.”
“Nah, I’ll make the time-”
My hand is around his throat before I even know I’ve moved. “Go near her and I’ll throw you from the roof this casino to the pavement below. Do you understand me?” I lean in and speak very close to his whitening face. “Let everyone in this godforsaken place know she’s hands off. As in, touch her and get your hands cut the fuck off. Am I being clear?”
“Yes,” he chokes out, stumbling away when I let go of his throat. “Jesus, man. No need to get angry. There’s plenty of ass to go around. But if you want the starry-eyed, barely legal girl from Nebraska all to yourself? Go nuts.” He licks his lips and gives a revolting smile. “And welcome to Vegas. You’ve finally arrived.”
Have I?
No.
No. I simply feel protective of this girl. For some insane reason.
I’m not going to give into temptation.
Barley legal? I’m thirty-five. I have no business laying a finger on a girl so young-and I won’t. What I am going to do is get her out of the casino life before it sucks her down to its inky black bottom. I’m going to help her. Send her down a better path.
I’m not going to fuck her.
But when I walk into the lobby a few minutes later and say her name-Sissy Laughlin-and she shoots to her feet, the unexpected way she looks at me quakes the ground, makes my heart shoot into my throat. This angel whimpers once and clasps her hands together, mooning at me like I’m her lord and savior.
I’m dreaming.
I have to be dreaming.
But…no.
She walks toward me in her high heels, filling my head with the scent of lemon icing and whispers, “Are you going to take me now?”
My cock reacts at lightning speed, stiffening to full attention in my briefs. “Take you?”
“For my interview,” she says, blinking innocently.
Christ, guide me. Help me make good decisions.
The last thing I should do is close myself into a room with this walking temptation. To be alone with her is asking for trouble. But I find myself ignoring my own warnings in favor of spending a few minutes in her presence. Need to. I swallow hard and nod, sweat coursing down my spine. “Yes,” I rasp, gesturing to the hallway. “Last door on the right, Miss Laughlin.”
Sissy
I don’t understand why I’m suddenly on fire from head to toe.
This is Craig?
When I pictured the kind of man who would expect a female to remove her dress in order to get a job, I imagined him a lot more…smarmy. Slick.
This man has integrity in every bulging line of his big body.
No, big doesn’t even begin to do him justice. He’s a mountain.
A beautiful, magnificent mountain.
As I follow him down the hallway to the final door, I must squeeze my keys hard enough to hurt the palms of my hand. Otherwise, I fear I’ll reach for him. Run my fingertips along his mammoth shoulders, sink them into his black hair. I have the strangest urge to climb onto his back and be carried. My goodness, that would be the most secure place in the world. On the back of this giant, my legs around his waist.
That last part creates a pulsing sensation between my thighs.
I bite down hard on my bottom lip and consider excusing myself to the bathroom, so I can rub myself through my panties. I know from experience that rubbing only makes the ache worse, but the impulse has never been this bad. Not in all my eighteen, almost nineteen, years.
His scent drifts back toward me in the air conditioning.
Incense. Musk.
My private area is becoming wet.
Why am I reacting to him this way? How will I keep my composure for this interview?
We reach the final door at the end of the hall and he opens it, grunting for me to precede him. Walking past his thick body without touching it is sheer torture. My mouth salivates. My heart bounces wildly in my chest. Is it my imagination or does he inhale raggedly as I pass, too?
Focus. You need this job.
Shaking myself, I continue into the office. The room consists of a couch, a desk and a chair. I take a spot on the couch because it looks the most comfortable. After a short hesitation, he drags the chair over in front of the couch and sits facing me, swallowing up the piece of furniture like Goliath sitting on a doll chair.
There are no lights on, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“You don’t have any paperwork, Craig,” I whisper, trying not to breathe hard.
He’s so close.
So huge and intimidating with those intense green eyes.
He could flatten me on this couch and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.
“My name is Locke.” He looks at me hard, as if willing that name into permanence in my memory. “Craig is busy. And I don’t need paperwork. I know everything I need to know about you,” he says, his tone of voice like metal on stone. “I know you shouldn’t be here.”
“Already?” Panic bites into my gut. “We haven’t even started the interview.”
“I don’t need to interview you to know you’re too soft for Vegas.”
“I’m not,” I breathe, visualizing the last of my cash swirling down the drain. Seeing myself back at the farm, crawling back and asking for forgiveness from a man who has never shown me an ounce of compassion. Come on. Be convincing. “Just because my name is Sissy doesn’t mean I am one. I’ve worked hard my whole life, sir. Just last winter, I helped birth a foal in the middle of a blizzard. I’m pretty sure I can carry a tray and serve drinks.”
“I’m not worried about you serving drinks,” he responds sharply. “I’m worried about the men you’ll be serving them to. How they’ll react to you.”
Confusion mars my brow. “What do you mean?”
Very fleetingly, his attention drops to my breasts, then away, his chest puffing up and down faster. He removes a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs it against his upper lip. “Men have polluted thoughts on a regular basis. Throw in gambling, alcohol, sex and the understanding that nothing they do here will follow them home? It’s a whole other story. You…” He can’t seem to look at me. “They will lose their minds over you.”
What is he talking about? “I’m still lost.”
“Yeah, honey. That’s the problem. You look lost.” He rakes the handkerchief down over his open mouth, his gaze tracing my knees this time. Then upward to my thighs, stopping on the place in between. “And someone with bad intentions is going to find you really fucking fast.”
My flesh tightens beneath his regard. Intensely. If I lifted my dress, I swear he’d be able to see it squeeze right through my white cotton panties. Why…why am I so tempted to prove that theory? To show him what’s beneath my clothing? I just might get the chance if I can’t convince him to hire me. “Do the other waitresses have to worry about being found by men with bad intentions?”
“Not the way you will,” he says, closing his eyes.
“Spell it out for me,” I whisper, goading him for a reason I can’t explain.
“God help me.” His nostrils flare. “You look like a virgin tied up on an auction block. Scared and confused. But very clearly built for…”
“What?”
“I’m not saying it out loud,” he growls.
“Then you’ll always leave me wondering.”
“A couple of days in Vegas and you won’t wonder anymore.” He leans forward in the chair, the wood creaking long and low beneath his bulk. “You’d be wise to get back on the bus to whatever little town you came from and run home to mommy and daddy.”
“Never.” I’m very annoyed at him and yet…I want to crawl into his lap and pout and incite him further. My urges seem to conflict with the situation. Shouldn’t I want to slap him, instead of crawling closer and getting right in his face? Because that’s where I am. Leaned forward, matching his pose, until our faces are very close together. “Tell me what I’m built for.”
“No,” he booms.
Though his raised voice makes my insides tremble a little, I stand my ground. Somehow I know he wouldn’t lay a finger on me out of anger. But how do I know that? “Then I’ll just go get a job at a different casino and find out.”
That’s a bluff. None of the other casinos answered my resume submission-which I spent all day yesterday sending out from a Staples off the Strip. I don’t lie often, but again, there is something inside of me that naturally pushes this man’s buttons for enjoyment. Like I’m supposed to. Like it’s the right thing for us.
His gaze is locked on my mouth and he swallows over and over again. Audibly. That thick Adam’s apple sliding up and down in his muscular throat. His hands are in fists on his knees, knuckles white. “God forgive me for saying this.” His voice is uneven. “You have a girl next door face and…the kind of body men drag into dark corners, plagued by the need to fuck. You will have them in a frenzy. You will have them ignoring their consciences for the chance to get their cocks wet between the two sweetest legs I’ve ever seen. And here I am, ready to kill the next man who even looks. Do you understand? I will be in a constant state of rage. You cannot work the floor. For my sanity. For the safety of the population.”