Stripping Her Gears

Jack Brandon watched her. There was something about the tall blonde that grabbed him and wouldn't let go. Sure, she was damn good looking. She had a body like an Amazon warrior and the face of a fallen angel or a Renaissance painting. No, make that a pre-Raphaelite painting. There was a hint of wickedness in her blue eyes.
But pound for pound, she was no more lovely than the bevy of staff he'd hired for Goggles and Cogs. All of them were talented and attractive, and he knew once the club opened he'd have a full house every night. Boston society was always on the lookout for something new and exclusive. He was offering them both in one package deal.
His fingers drifted over the condensation on his glass of soda as he watched three of his new waitresses running through a little soft shoe routine. He planned on keeping their entertainment consistent with the time period, although he was straying out of Victorian theater and into early twentieth century Music Hall. So let someone sue him. After a few martinis they wouldn't care if it was era-appropriate Victorian or Ozzie Osbourne.
And there were those legs--a major distraction if he ever saw one. Or two, in this case. She had legs that could be defined as perfect. Flawless. Calves that were firm and shapely, knees that looked about as good as human knees could look, and thighs... Well damn. Just looking at those thighs made Jack's mouth water. He wanted those thighs wrapped around his waist, or pressing against his ears.
He sighed and surrendered. He wanted her. Cora Standish, her name was, from Somerville. She was twenty-seven and single and she'd walked in to the interview like a queen. He had the strangest feeling if she'd demanded fealty he'd have fallen to one knee before her and asked for her blessing.
But then again, history was his thing. She might not be able to spell 'fealty', let alone understand what it was.
Nothing to do with the blonde hair, of course, but everything to do with the class of women Jack had been mixing with lately. For some reason, the intellectual level had dropped and the giggle quotient had risen. He was, all things considered, not impressed with either.
So if Ms. Standish had a brain to match her breasts, he was looking at a piece of heaven he would very much like to get his hands on. And yes, that was about the most arrogant thought he'd had in some time. He mentally slapped himself for being a jerk.