My dancer looks even sexier in a business suit. How is that possible?

Stop it, I order myself sternly. Now that the initial heart-stopping surprise of seeing the same girl from earlier has worn off, I wipe the idiotic smile off my face.

That doesn’t mean I can’t watch her out of the corner of my eye, though. She takes a seat at one of the tables along with the rest of the staff, one delicate foot resting a heel on a horizontal bar connecting the legs of the tall chair, the other brushing the ground daintily.

All day, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. Nothing I’ve done today has required my full attention, leaving my body free to resonate with the memory of her dancing, my mind to recall every tiny detail of her perfection.

She’s just different from the other dancers, but it’s hard to tell why. They all had nice asses, perky breaks, billowing hair - but she has something… else. She’s imperfect, I think, as I recall her off-beat moves. But there’s something behind her eyes, something in her determined expression. Something, familiar.

Regret drags my heart down like crushing debt.

When my beautiful dancer ran into me, blue eyes awash with tears, I had done nothing. All I did was ask if she was alright. Why would she be crying if she was okay?

I still don’t know the answer to that question, but I do know that all the instincts I have took one look and told me to protect this girl— and I ignored them. I should have given in and let my arms wrap around her and pull her into my chest; to run my fingers through her soft blonde hair and kiss her on her forehead; to take care of her, to hold her.

Cullen stands and begins talking about the state of renovations on the club, but I only listen with half an ear. He won’t say anything that he and Rick didn’t tell me over dinner, so I’m just here for appearances and professionalism. Instead, I continue to watch the petite blonde unobtrusively.

Every time I get close to convincing myself that she won’t disappear if I look away, she does something tiny that completely derails my mental focus. If she isn’t teasing me on purpose, I would hate—no, absolutely love—to see what she can do when she’s trying.

Right now, she’s balancing the tip of her pen in her mouth, just at the right corner. Her lips part just barely, revealing a flash of white teeth as she gives a slight smile at a comment Cullen makes. Everything seems to slow as she licks her lips, slightly nibbling the bottom one, and squints her sapphire eyes in deep concentration.

If this girl keeps walking her sexy, slim body into my workplaces, she’s going to drive me insane. Why is she here, though? The question gives me a moment of clarity to ponder. The other dancers left nearly an hour ago, and none of them are present at the meeting.

I barely contain an enraged snarl when I realize she must have been fired. Maybe she wasn’t as fluid as the other dancers, but they were simple girls compared to her complexity and looks. She didn’t move gracefully, but her movements bespoke passion and determination. How could they fire her?

They didn’t fire her, I realize. Not exactly. She’s here, isn’t she? Maybe Rick and the other co-owners had just given her another job?

Suddenly, I wish I’d been listening to Cullen’s speech. What if he mentioned her name and I missed it? Or explained why my dancer isn’t a dancer now?

It’s a little late, but I tune into the conversation. “—shouldn’t have any more unexpected expenses,” Cullen is saying. “The renovations are on schedule and House of Stars should open in a few short weeks. I expect all of you to continue putting in the effort that has brought this business where it is so far, and soon our Stars will be ready to take the stage!”

Clapping echoes through the club. I join in to be polite, but my legs remain frozen in place as the other attendees begin to talk amongst themselves.

Should I? Should I do it? I want to talk to her so badly. I want to meet her, know her name, hear my name roll from her lips. The answer makes me clench my jaw and fidget in my seat. No, I shouldn’t. What I should do is get up, approach a few of the co-owners and shake their hands, then leave so I can get a good night’s sleep before work tomorrow.

What is this woman doing to me? I never hold back from asking someone out. I never get so distracted I can’t even listen to other people talk.

I turn away from her as she speaks to Cullen. Rick is talking to one of the other co-owners— Shawn, maybe? His name doesn’t matter. Smiling, saying a few congratulatory words, and leaving matters.

“Brandon!” Cullen’s strong voice booms from behind me.

I turn, a smile making it halfway across my face before it freezes. Cullen is standing there, his massive frame half behind the blonde dancer’s slight, tall body. Her eyes are filled with emotion, but it isn’t sadness or disappointment, or even embarrassment like I might expect after she ran into me. She’s regarding me like she’s wondering what I’ll do or say next.

She’s confident. She isn’t worried about what I’m going to say, and she’s just eager to hear it. She’s not flirty. She’s… irresistible. And those blue eyes, why are they so familiar? Is it the striking color? Is it their shape? Is it what might be behind them?

“Cullen,” I reply after a few heartbeats of silence I couldn’t find a voice to fill. “Congratulations on the House of Stars progress.”

“It’s been an adventure.” He runs a hand through his mostly dark, salt and pepper hair. “This is Taylor. She’s our newest accountant, and I thought I would get her started by getting price estimates on those extra materials you’ll need to finish the electrical work. You can wait for our senior accountant to look over her notes and allocate you the money for the electronics, or you can purchase them, and you’ll be reimbursed fully. Either way, I want to get this done now so we can keep House of Stars on track.”

“Sure, Cullen. I can handle making the purchases with my own money and then be reimbursed. The cost won’t be very high,” I assure him, managing actually to look at my employer while I speak to him.

“Good. I’ll leave you to it, then.” Cullen makes his way to a group contemplating the bar with expansive gestures.

Disentangling my soul from Taylor’s direct gaze, I put out my hand. “I’m Brandon, by the way.”

“I know,” she says, taking my hand with a hint of hesitation as she puts her clipboard on the table.

“You do?” My heart skips a beat. Jesus, that’s something I haven’t felt in a long time. Why does the mere possibility of her already knowing me give me butterflies?

“Oh. Oh, you d—” The strange look flashes across her features again, then just as quickly vanishes into an even, polite smile that manages to show every white tooth in the most incredible smile I’ve ever seen. “Oh, Cullen told me before he introduced us. He just forgot to do it formally, I guess.”

“Oh. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Taylor.” There. That’s professional and not at all true to my thoughts.

“Nice to meet you too,” she says. Did her voice break just slightly in the middle of ‘meet’? Maybe she’s more emotional than she’s letting on.

I clear my throat. “Please, have a seat, and I’ll be right back with my estimates.”

She nods and sits on one of the chairs at the table. The entire walk to where I left my belt, I can swear that I feel her gaze on my back, and I relish the spark it ignites in my chest. But when I sneakily shoot a glance back at her, her eyes are focused on her papers in front of her.

I want to ask about the sudden change in jobs, see if there’s anything I can do to help or fix things, but she probably doesn’t want to talk about it anyway. Especially not to the man she bashed into, crying.

The torn sheet of flip-notebook paper is rolled and shoved into the belt next to the other tools. I retrieve it, drop it like a clumsy child, grab it more firmly for a second time, and return to Taylor.

I know her name now.

“Here,” I say, sitting beside her. She reaches out a hand for the paper. I almost handed it to her, and then my mind shakes itself from the sole notion of wanting to make her happy and remembers—

“You won’t be able to read it,” I tell her. “I use some shorthand and abbreviations when I take notes.”

About two feet of space and a quarter of a circular table separate our chairs. It’s my turn to hesitate, and my heart beats faster at the idea of moving closer.

It’s professional. She needs to see the numbers, and I need to be able to translate my electrician's jargon. I walk around my chair and stand beside her, leaning down to indicate a section of writing. “Okay. This is a special type of wire, and here’s the footage I’ll need and the cost per foot.”

I swallow as she leans closer. The air between us is thick and magnetic. She adjusts herself in her chair and clears her throat. Her delicate fingers push a small bunch of simmering blonde hair behind one of her eyes. A soft hint of jasmine flowers hits my nose.

“Done,” she says what feels like an instant later.

Surprised, I glance at her notepad. She took less than five seconds to copy all the numbers down, and she did the math to calculate the full cost of the wire without stopping to think.

“Here’s the next thing I’ll need, then.”

This is a more complicated calculation, but she again completes it faster than I could punch numbers into a calculator and hit enter.

As she copies down number after number without erasing so much as a stray marking, I have to give myself a shake. Although I hadn’t realized it until now, I think I expected my dancer to be… well, a showgirl. Pretty enough to eye from a distance and with the sexiness to get a grown man hard for no reason, but used to getting what she wants from men despite a lack of tact or smarts.

Taylor knows how to use her brain, and that does more than make me want her body intertwined with mine—it makes her incredibly attractive. I’m hopeless. A girl working numbers gets me going.

“Was that the last one?” She sets down her pencil with a click.

I survey my hastily jotted notes and compare them to her neat, compact handwriting. Can Taylor be imperfect in any way? “Yep, that’s it.” I fold the sheet and place it into one of my front pockets as I sit at the table. “So, Taylor, I have to ask—”

She sighs, cutting me off. “I knew this would happen.” Her slight smile dispels any worries that I’ve upset her. “I crashed into you crying like a baby, and it makes sense that you’d remember.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” I backtrack.

“No, it’s fine. The short story is that Cullen hired me as a dancer, I didn’t fit the bill, so he offered me a job as an accountant instead.” She sweeps her hair back and clasps her hands in her lap. Looking directly at me, she continues, “I don’t mind, though. Numbers suit me.”

She’s lying—she definitely does mind. I don’t press, though. “I noticed. I’m good with electronics, but not so much mental math.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it,” she points out candidly. “It’s my job.”

“If my opinion matters, though, I thought you were great at dancing.” I can’t stop myself. I have to tell her something I’m thinking; otherwise, I’ll just burst.

Finally, she does something that isn’t a businesslike comment or polite conversation: her pale-skin glows with a hint of a blush. “It doesn’t, but thanks anyway, I guess.”

I don’t know why, but her refusal to accept my compliment exhilarates me and a smile curls my lips. Between my looks and my body, it’s much harder to find a girl who won’t flirt with me than one who will.

Suddenly unsure if I should have even said anything, I smile and stand up. “Well, you have what you need, and it looks like we’re done here for today. It was nice to meet you, Taylor.”

Suddenly, I’m in control of myself. Old memories are returning, ones that tell me it’s not wise to let myself obsess over this girl—over any girl. Anaja taught me that much when she broke off our engagement, and I’m done bending myself over backward to please women. To please anyone. I’ve got more than enough work here in Vegas as an electrical engineer. I don’t need to be cut short by one sexy lady when I’ve got so much to do.

Her gaze lingers on my eyes. “See you around… Brandon.”

I can’t ruin what I’ve got with an attraction to a woman—not even an exceptional one like Taylor.