His blond hair is styled to perfection, longish on top, trim around the sides. His fair complexion, chiseled jawline, full lips, and stern brow work together to form a compelling scowl.
How I can be so captivated by a scowl is beyond me, but it stirs something inside me. Something raw and achy and so very lonely.
I step within inches of him and tilt my head up, up, up. Holy shit, he’s at least a foot taller than my five-foot-four frame. Over six feet of gorgeous Norse god in tailored twill.
It’s as if the crisp suit was fitted to emphasize the hard lines of his legs, the cut of toned thighs, the sizable bulge of his groin, and the width of his chest. All of it wakes me from a foggy, ghostlike sleep.
Blinking once, twice, I crane my neck to peer up at his face.
Crystal blue eyes.
My stomach erupts in a flurry of tremors. My God, I know those eyes. I curl my toes against the brick pavers as excitement and trepidation spikes through my nerve endings. There’s something in that gaze, something in the forever pools of blue that knows me, too. But how? Where have I met him?
A voice clears behind me, and my spine goes rigid. Shit. Mark.
I toss an apologetic smile over my shoulder and return to the sculpted physique under the white shirt. With the silver tie hanging loose and the top few buttons open, there’s a gorgeous expanse of strong neck and hairless pecs exposed. Not that I’m staring.
“How do I know you?” I lift my eyes to the icy blue of his.
“Everyone knows me.” He offers a large hand. “Trace Savoy.”
The casino owner. “I’ve never been to your casino.” I place my palm in his and gulp at the electricity zipping up my arm. “I don’t know how…”
My voice fragments as a memory surfaces. Crowded dining room at Bissara. Dark suit. Blue eyes. He’s watched me belly dance at the restaurant.
“You like Moroccan food?” I slide my hand away and flex my fingers at my side.
“I do.” His scowl deepens, and it makes him look even sexier, if that’s possible. “I purchased Bissara.”
“When? Why wasn’t I notified?”
“I own it as of this morning. I want to discuss your employment at the casino.”
I shake my head, confused. “I don’t work at the casino.”
“You will. We’ll finish this conversation in my office.” He glances at my bare feet. “Put some shoes on.” Flicking his wrist, his gaze falls to his watch. Then he folds his hands behind him. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
Don’t keep him waiting?
A surge of righteous anger rattles my insides, but I can’t afford to explode and risk losing the belly dance contract.
With a calming breath, I jut my chin. “I’ll meet with you, Mr. Savoy—”
“It’s Trace.”
“—at a scheduled time and place.” I feel so damn short beneath his freakishly tall frame I’m tempted to lift on my toes to better compete with his stark glare.
“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear.” His head tilts, expression stony. Like a marble statue. “You work for me now, and I require your presence in my office.”
I anchor my fists on my hips. Trace might’ve bought the restaurant I dance at, but I work for myself. He can take his inflated sense of superiority and shove it up his ass.
“Hi, I’m Mark Taylor.” My date holds out a hand to my unwanted visitor.
Trace glances at Mark, a millisecond assessment and dismissal, before returning to me. “Say goodnight to your friend, Danni.”
I release a shocked laugh. “Don’t tell me what to do.” You insanely handsome, overbearing Neanderthal. Sweet mercy, why does his bossiness turn me on so much?
The intensity of his eye contact sucks me into a spinning vortex. This isn’t like the fleeting looks I exchange with men I pass on the street. It goes beyond any of those few-seconds-too-long gazes shared between strangers. This is dialog without words. Absorption without expression. Foreplay without so much as a twitch of a finger. I feel him in places that haven’t been touched by a man in years.
“I own a vinyl siding company.” Mark pulls a business card from his wallet and offers it to Trace. “We do commercial jobs, so if you’re looking to renovate any of your properties, I’d love to work with you.”
I gape at him. Did he seriously just turn this into a business opportunity? If Cole were here, he would’ve muscled Trace off my property with steam billowing from his ears. Not that I expect a hot-tempered reaction from Mark, but a Hey, man, she’s spending the evening with me would’ve gone a long way in earning a second date.
Trace pockets the business card, and Mark grins like he just won the lottery. They can both go to hell.
“Mark, I hate to cut the evening short.” The lie tastes like sweet relief. “But I need to deal with this.”
“No worries. I have an early morning anyway. I’ll call you, okay?”
He leans in to kiss me, and I turn my head, letting his lips graze my temple. As I watch him amble toward his truck, the potency of Trace’s gaze hijacks my traitorous libido. He stares at me as if he just staked his claim, and God help me, that notion awakens such a deep-seeded need inside me it takes all my strength to not surrender to it.
Heat tingles across my cheeks, pulses in my breasts, and swells between my legs. My lungs work harder, and a phantom caress sweeps over my skin. I imagine his lips coasting down my neck and nipping at the curve of my shoulder. His breaths would be steady, patient, hovering over the pulse point in my throat and electrifying me with desire. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from fisting his perfect blond hair and bringing his mouth to my chest, where my nipples are now tightening and throbbing beneath the thin fabric.
My heart pounds against my ribcage, kicking up the dust of abandoned emotion. I want to pursue this…this crazy possibility. But if my job is going to be entangled with him, I can’t. I don’t even know him, for Christ’s sake.
When Mark pulls away from the curb, I head toward the back door and pick up my pace at the sound of footsteps trailing behind me.
“You’re not going to see that schmuck again.” His silken voice kisses down my spine.
That’s exactly what Cole would’ve said, and the familiar possessiveness wobbles my knees. I hurry inside the house and spin on the threshold, forcing my gaze to the intruder’s flinty stare.
“My dance company is listed online, along with my phone number. Goodnight, Mr. Savoy.” I shut the back door on his beautiful brooding expression and lock it. “Fucking fuck, that was…just…fuck.”
I lean my back against the wall, thankful there aren’t windows in the dance room. Because his eyes… Holy hell, he has that look. The one that makes my blood run so hot everything inside me melts and trembles. It’s the same look Cole gave me the day we met. The You’re mine, and there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it stare that owned me instantly and completely.