Nine Hours

Chapter 3

The moment I spied Cassie across the casino, there was no question.

It is her.

Every night for the next month, I sat at the bar and watched the petite brunette. Balancing trays laden with cocktails and beers, efficiently delivering them to the drunk, sort of drunk, and stark-raving blotto drunk, she never lost her cool. Although she smiled politely at the customers, there was an underlying layer of...what? Sadness? Pain? Discontent? Yearning? None of the distracted, self-absorbed jack-asses in the bar would see it. They wouldn't care to look beyond the enticing curves and swells of her body. I did. I saw it all. And liked what I saw. A lot. The Gods have been extremely good to me in their choice.

Observation was a necessity. I had to be sure. Damned sure. Once it happened, there would be no going back. For either of us. Especially her.

The whiskey I'm sipping is top shelf, but I hardly taste it. I'm focused on my target. I could be drinking battery acid for all I know. Fingers of the warm liquid coat the edges of the glass as I tilt it. The alcohol doesn't hold my attention for more than a second, as Cassie stands next to me placing an order.

Beautiful. Undeniably beautiful she is. Perfect features shaping her delicate face. She's close enough that I am able to study the color of her eyes. A deep shade of amber-whiskey which could knock a man flat. Sultry and expressive, there are many things in those eyes. Intelligence, caring, need, compassion, heartbreak. A subtle sensuality aching to be unlocked by the right man. It was all there if you bothered to look. It's easy for me to read every emotion, every secret hiding in a person's eyes. I've had many years to practice that skill.

I continue my survey. Lips full and smooth, tipped into a slight smile. Kissable. Succulent. If the eyes don't make me hard, those lips do. Soft pillows glossed sheer with an enticing hint of color, they all but dare me to lean over and press my own against them. Fortunately, she steps away from the bar, preventing a disastrous slip on my behalf. It is too soon. Whether I like it or not, I have to play by the unspoken, unwritten rules I've been given.

As she walks, her backside sways. Not like the other waitresses who swish in hopes of attracting a few more dollars in their tips. I suppose it works. But Cassie? No. Hers is a natural flowing movement that innocently teases. It brings one's gaze to legs to die for. She's not tall. A few inches over five feet. Well-toned and tan, even a taller woman's legs couldn't compete with Cassie's, in my opinion.

Tonight, lost in purposeful attention to her assets, I wait for her to return to this end of the bar, as she stops with a polite smile at a table on the way to collect a few empties.

"Can I get you another, bro?" The bartender removes my cocktail glass and wipes a water stain from the highly polished surface. "Laphroaig neat, right?"

"Yeah." In a smooth motion, my gaze slides from her to the bartender. "Trey" the badge reads. Female patrons bat their lashes over Trey nightly, however, the guy is never interested beyond expected courtesy.

"Hey, Trey. I need two beers, three gin and tonics, and a glass of Chard."

There she is, right next to me again. Her chest swells slightly as she breathes. A sweet scent is barely detectable, but can't be missed. Of course, my sharp senses are on red alert. Not meaning to, my gaze drops.

Gods! The most perfect pair of breasts. The neckline of her skimpy uniform scoops low. So low all it would take is a quick little tug to reveal the pink nipples I envision hiding beneath like pert berries. An overwhelming desire to suck on each one in turn has me hard within seconds. It's uncomfortable, but I don't care. My cock has made me uncomfortable many times in the past and would do so in the future. The torture is pleasurable in a way.