Chapter 3 She's A Thing Of Beauty

• “Yeah, yeah. And you’re never late.” Dante massages the bridge of his nose. “Never late, never have a drink. Never partakes in anything Vegas has to offer, including women—” Something catches his eye on one of the monitors and he drifts toward it, entranced. “On second thought, I think I’ll make time for this interview.”
• I’m not sure why I look.
• Women are an afterthought for me. They’re customers. Employees. I don’t think of them as sexual objects, because I’m not an immoral snake, like Dante. In fact, most of the time, I’m completely unaware of them. But for some reason, I look at the monitor…
• And my muscles stiffen into concrete.
• In seconds, the pulse points in my wrists and throat are thrumming rapidly and I’m sweating underneath my suit. Who is that?
• Before I register my own movements, I’m stepping into the space beside Dante at the monitor, inhaling the sight of her, my dick already beginning to grow heavier against my will.
• She’s a thing of beauty.
• Plucked straight from the painting on the ceiling of my church. A golden-haired angel. There is something blatantly pure about her. Vulnerability radiates from every inch of this girl, even though her body…
• Oh dear God, her body is designed for sin.
• Dark, secret kinds of sins that people don’t speak about out loud.
• It’s the exact opposite of her innocent face.
• I’m a large man, tall and wide and thick. I would crush her to death, yet I can’t seem to stop my mind from picturing myself between her thighs. Just pulling her skirt up and rutting. Her big, fathomless eyes blink up at me, telling me it hurts.
• 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?” Dante 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 of 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.
• Barely 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—Angel Bryan—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 Bryan.”