Page 12 of Caruso
As she eats, I struggle to maintain my cool because every twist of her mouth and bob of her throat registers with my raging libido.
“You’re not eating.”
She smiles with concern, and I smile. “Sorry.”
As I turn my attention to the food, I ask casually, “So, Taylor Harvey, what made you walk in off the strip and apply for a job at The Artemis?”
“Is this another interview?”
Her eyes dance with mischief, and I shrug. “If you like.”
“I’m sorry to say it’s because you were hiring and not because I simply had to work here as my life’s ambition.”
“You’re not saying the right things, baby girl.”
Her eyes widen, and a soft blush steals across her face, and she quickly glances away.
“Actually, I’ve burned my bridges at most of the establishments I’ve worked. You are my last shot at remaining in Vegas.”
“Ouch!”
She giggles, and I take a deep breath because I was right. She does fascinate me, and in a good way.
“What happened before?”
“What always happens.”
She sighs, and her fork hovers against the food as she says sadly, “They want me for something else. For what I can give them outside of my job description and when I fight back, they toss my ass back onto the street.”
“I see.”
I’m not surprised because I’m no different from them. There is something so attractive about this woman. It’s the innocence wrapped in beauty that bewitches, and I understand how hard that makes it for her.
She sighs. “Mrs. Joyce was so kind to me. She didn’t hit on me, and she recognized I needed food and gave me an opportunity. Then I repaid her by murdering one of the guests. You have every right to call the cops and wash your hands of me.”
“Do you want me to?”
“No, of course not, but I would understand if you did.”
She angles her head to one side, and those gray eyes power down to my soul. It’s all in the eyes. The mirror to her soul, and we are both aware that I am no different from the rest. I want her too, and I will not deny that.
“There will be no cops.”
I reassure her, and she visibly relaxes.
“Thank you.”
She hesitates. “I suppose you want me to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because of what I did.”
“I’ve done worse. I’m not judging you.”
Her eyes widen, but she’s not horrified by my words, and she smiles softly. “I know.”
“What do you know?”
