His legs were incased in a pair of designer jeans, the denim molding to his tree trunk thighs. She let her eyes travel back up the length of him and settle on his face. Eyes the color of the Caribbean stared back at her. The way he watched her was very knowing, like he could see into her mind and knew exactly what she thought. Heat started to travel up her neck and settled in her cheeks. The only problem was it wasn’t from embarrassment, but from arousal.
“Ms. Weatherton?” One blond eyebrow cocked, and she felt herself grow even warmer. Now she felt humiliation take place the of her desire. Despite her embarrassment for blatantly checking out this stranger, she couldn’t stop where her thoughts were headed. His blond hair hung loosely and brushed the top of his collar.
He wasn’t one of the pretty boys who walked up and down the strip, their tans artificial and their smiles bleached. The man standing before her was rugged and dangerous, and the air around him became electrically charged.
She swallowed and clutched her purse tighter. “H—” Ugh, she acted like she had never seen a gorgeous man before. Straightening her shoulders, she forced a smile and pushed back her ridiculous and lustful thoughts. “Hello. You must be Mr. Castill.”
The corner of his mouth twitched in suppressed amusement, but it was gone as soon as it arrived. He strode toward her, and she felt herself take a step back. He lifted that damn beautiful brow again, and she forced herself to keep her cool.
“Please, call me Leo.” He lifted her hand before she could object and brought it to his mouth. His lips were full and soft, and when he brushed them against the back of her hand, she could have sworn she felt the roughness of his tongue stroke her. Before he dropped his hand, she caught sight of a ring around his pinky finger. She had never thought jewelry on a man was attractive, but he worked it. He gestured for her to have a seat in one of the leather chairs.
Feeling out of place didn’t even begin to describe what went through her at that moment. He sat in the seat across from her, his long, thick legs slightly parted as he relaxed into the leather. He slung his arms over the back of the chair and regarded her silently. This man could make her feel so unnerved with just a look. Fortunately, he didn’t make her squirm for too long.
“So, Tatum—may I call you Tatum?” The corner of his mouth curved up in a devilish smile. Why he even asked was beyond her. A man like him did whatever the hell he wanted.
“Sure.”
His smile grew. “Kiki tells me you’re in need of employment.” At her nod, he continued. “Do you have any special skills you would bring to The Lion and the Lamb?”
For some reason, she thought he’d ask her to strip down and ride the pole as part of his interview process, but the fact that he wanted to know her skills instead of her bra size had her feeling a little more at ease.
“Well—” She dropped her gaze to her lap. “—I have great people skills. I kind of have to work the floor at the Flamingo.” When she lifted her head, she became caught in his icy-blue stare.
“Go on, Tatum.”
Gawd! The way he said her name was like the smoothest, sweetest chocolate. Her nipples hardened, and she prayed he couldn’t see the way her body betrayed her. “I, uh…” She became speechless and shifted in her seat. “Since graduating high school, I’ve always worked in the casinos as one trade or another.”
“And that’s what you like?” His question caught her off-balance.
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” She shifted again.
“You enjoy working at low-paying jobs that put you constantly around drunken men who most likely molest you on a daily basis?” All amusement left him, and the man sitting before her looked frighteningly calm.
“I….” How was she supposed to respond? She should have been offended by his statement, but Tatum was in a little bit of awe that this man had described every single shift she worked. She hated her job and longed to go back to school, to actually do something with her life that meant something.
“What is it you really want out of life, Tatum? You have to want more than this.” He waved his hand around the club, and she felt her face heat.
How in the hell had this interview turned into a look at her personal needs and wants? She should have told him to fuck off and stormed away, that asking questions that delved too deep would likely blow up in his face. “I don’t think this is proper interview etiquette.” Despite the words coming from her, they were empty and held no real heat.