“I wasn’t hustling…at least not Otto,” Archie said. “There was some rube from Ohio there. Thought he was all that. I was playing him. Otto was taking down some guy on another table, and he was in a great mood up until the fight started.”
Archie ran out of steam and hung his head.
“And?” Richie said.
Archie drew in a deep breath. “And then he noticed the money missing from his table and blamed me.” He scratched his head. “I don’t know who started that fight. Came out of nowhere.”
“That true?” Richie asked, eyeing the stranger.”
“True from what I saw,” the stranger said, nodding. “Some big guy at the next table threw a bottle and all hell broke loose.”
My pulse picked up as I stared at him. I hadn’t even seen his face, but the timbre of that voice did something to my insides. I knew this was the man I wanted.
The men’s voices became more muted, but it sounded as though they were rehashing the fight, and the stranger laughed as he talked about Otto. When I heard his laugh, the sound shot straight through my body and my pussy clenched again. My breath caught at the sensation, and for a split second, I was afraid they’d heard me because the mystery man turned slightly, his gaze darting toward the open door.
Jesus, he was good looking.
“So, Richie, about the job…” Archie scratched at his arm again, clearly needing out of there.
“What do you think of Pussy Whipped?” Richie asked.
The tall man laughed. “Depends on the lady.”
“Good one,” Archie said then murmured helpfully, “But he means the club.”
“I get it, Archie. It’s a great club. First-class ass. Love the classic rock vibe too. Too many clubs play all that new shit. You can’t go wrong with classic rock.”
“So, Richie, Danny here is looking for work. I kind of thought you’d help him out,” Archie said. “After he helped me out and all.”
“And we always make good on promises around here,” my brother said. Truer words had never been spoken, and in my brother’s case, those promises often ended in real pain. Why anyone would willingly take a job in this place was beyond me.
“Do you want to work here, Mr. O’Shea?”
“I could use the cash,” the man said. “Like I told Archie on the way over, I’m looking to start a new life with new opportunities.”
Richie gave him the eye. “Was the old life so bad?”
“Depends on your definition of bad,” the guy shot back.
Richie sat forward in his chair and folded his hands on his desk. His “businessman” persona.
“What the hell. I’ll give you a shot. We always need good bouncers here at the club. Day shift to start. It’s a good training ground. Not much happens during the day. Still, we like a solid presence to show we mean business and our girls are not to be touched without permission. Until after the guy pays, of course, for a little backroom action.” Richie winked. “Butch here can show you the ropes tomorrow. Be here around noon.”
I hadn’t noticed Butch slinking around in the opposite corner. He grunted now, not seeming too happy with the new hire or the added responsibility of training him. Butch liked to sleep in until early afternoon and then spend his shift staring at me and making my life as miserable as possible.
“Sounds great, Mr. Silvestri,” the man said, sticking out his hand. “I appreciate the opportunity.”
“Richie,” he said with that pleasant, almost unrecognizable smile. “Mr. Silvestri is my dead father.” He laughed, and there he was, the brother I knew, the one that made my heart sink every time I saw him.
They shook hands and exchanged a few words, and then as I heard my brother tell Butch he needed to get Archie to the hospital, the stranger turned. I caught a better look of his face, and I froze, my eyes wide, my hands clenched. I simply couldn’t move. I felt as though I’d been caught in a magnetic pull.
His face was as gorgeous as I expected. His dark hair was combed back from his forehead but fell in soft waves against the sides of his face. He had an Italian look to him, but the name O’Shea meant Irish. Black Irish. I’d read about them in the historical novels I devoured. His cheekbones stood out prominently, and dark, penetrating eyes locked on mine.
We stared at one another as he pulled the door closed and began to walk in my direction. Walking wasn’t quite the right word though. This man prowled, like a jungle cat, like a predator walking toward prey. And like a rabbit caught in a snare, I just stood there waiting for the inevitable.
His gaze went from my eyes down my face to stop where my robe gapped just a bit. I fe
lt the heat of that gaze on the swell of my tits, rising and falling as my breath grew ragged. His stare left a trail of fire, and beads of sweat popped out along my skin. I was sure it was from the intensity of that stare, though it might have been from standing in a hot hallway in a flannel bathrobe. He continued to stare, his gaze wandering from my cleavage to my hips and lower to my bare toes, which I curled against the dirty wood floor.