by Joanna Shupe
Clay wasn’t surprised. Harris and Big Bill were of the same ilk, both on the take from every gin palace, brothel and saloon in the Tenderloin. Clay pressed his shoe deep in the carpet, which squished from all the liquid on the floor. “I honestly didn’t think he was this stupid.”
“Yes, well. Bill’s never been known for intellect. Thinks he has you cornered and can get more.”
They both knew Bill was wrong. “The question is, what do we do first? Share the evidence of his mistress with his wife or call in the note on the Brooklyn townhouse?”
“I vote mistress,” Annabelle said, a gleam in her eyes. “His wife will make his life an ever-loving hell.”
“Done. See that it happens, Jack, will you?”
“With pleasure. Shall we get a team of maids in here?”
Clay pointed at the mess. “Have the boys carry out the broken glass and wood first. Carpets will need to be replaced.”
Jack nodded but studied Clay carefully. “Hmm. I thought you’d be angrier about all this.”
“I am angry.”
“Are you? I’ve seen you angry and this seems quite different. Or perhaps next door with Miss Greene—”
“Stop. Do not finish that sentence.” Both Jack and Annabelle broke out into laughter, and Clay ground his teeth together. “Don’t you both have better things to do than stand around and irritate me?”
Jack held up his hands and turned to Annabelle. “I’ll leave him to you, Anna, while I try to get the club cleaned up.”
“No need for you to stay, either,” Clay told her.
“Nonsense,” she said. “You clearly need my help.”
“Do I?” He leaned down to pick up two large pieces of broken glass and set them on the bar. “Watch your feet.”
She bent to carefully retrieve a broken bottle. “So you and Miss Greene.”
He didn’t say anything. Replying merely encouraged Anna’s meddling.
“I know something happened in that tiny room tonight. You may deny it all you want.”
“Perhaps it’s none of your business. And why did you put us in there to begin with?”
“Because the police would never find that room should they come to search the brothel. And you’re welcome.” She placed another bottle on the bar. “Admit it, you both liked the show.”
Florence had certainly appreciated it, but Clay didn’t tell Anna that. “It was highly inappropriate.”
“I figure any woman who hires you for mentoring lessons can take watching a little slap and tickle. And you do seem . . . relaxed. I think I like this woman even more.”
“Me, too.” Unfortunately.
“I’m glad to hear you say it. Jack did mention that your plans for the East Seventy-Ninth Street casino are moving forward. I assume you’re putting off such plans for Miss Greene’s benefit, considering they involve tearing down her grandmother’s home.”
Not ruin Duncan Greene and his family home? Clay couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t see this through. “Absolutely not. And my issue is with her father, not her grandmother.”
“I can’t imagine that distinction will matter to her.”
“Nothing changes. She doesn’t get a say in how I run my affairs, no matter what happens between us.” Anna made a noise in her throat, one that had Clay narrowing his eyes. “You don’t believe me.”
“I have known you a long time, so I’m going to give you a piece of advice.” She put a hand on Clay’s arm. “Do not start anything with her if you are still intending to ruin her family. It’s cruel, Clay. And while you are many things, you are not intentionally cruel to the innocent.”
“Duncan Greene is not innocent.”
“He is not his daughter, however.”
“One has nothing to do with the other—and I’m not planning on courting Florence Greene. Stop worrying about her.”
“Women must worry about other women,” she snapped. “God knows men won’t do it.”
His skin heated with irritation. “I will do whatever the fuck I want with Florence Greene and my plans for her father haven’t changed.”
She dropped a piece of glass on the bar then dusted her hands off. “I see. Indeed, excuse me for caring. You know, if you push people away then one day your revenge will be all you have left.”
An apology tried to force its way out of his throat but he swallowed it down. He’d already explained his need for revenge to Florence and it hadn’t stopped her from coming here. Clearly, she wasn’t concerned over her father’s future. “Noted,” was all he said.
Anna’s face fell, anger seemingly draining right out of her. “I don’t wish to fight with you. I only want to see you happy.”
“I will be once I have my revenge on Duncan Greene. And I don’t wish to fight, either. Other than Jack, you’re my oldest friend.”
“Hell, we’re your only friends.”
“True.”
“Which is why we have noticed the differences in you since Miss Greene began visiting here. Jack told me he caught you whistling the other day as you were doing the books. Whistling!”
That was what he got for leaving his office door open after hours. “You’re being ridiculous. And don’t listen to Jack.”
Anna shook her head as she came toward him. “I have to go. I’ll just leave you with one piece of advice.”
“No, thank you.”
“Too bad. You’re getting it anyway. Seduce the lovely Miss Greene, but be careful with her. She’s young and fairly sheltered, for all her bravado. Just be honest about your intentions.”
He had been. On several occasions. “Is that all?”
She sighed and started for the door. “Yes, I suppose so. Just tell her the passage is always open, should she have any questions for me. As I said, women must look out for other women—especially those who get involved with surly casino owners.”
The Bronze House remained closed for two days after the raid. Florence was grateful for the reprieve. She spent that time going over what happened in the brothel and wondering how she would ever face Clay again.
For nearly three years, she’d led a wild and bold life, sneaking out and traveling the city. Drinking, dancing. Men. Yet, even for her, what happened during the raid had been scandalous. She’d brought herself to orgasm while in the same room with Clay. And he’d been doing the same. It was the most arousing and yet horrifying experience of her twenty-one years. Thank goodness he’d seemed to take the episode in stride, bidding her a polite good-night as she left, as if they hadn’t shared something momentous.
Then a thought had occurred. What if it hadn’t been momentous for him? He had round-the-clock access to the brothel, the women who worked there. Then there was the joke about her corrupting him, but that might’ve been for her benefit, to relax her. Those sorts of illicit rendezvous could be an everyday occurrence for him.
Did you believe you were special?
No, not to a man like Clay. He probably had a string of lovers to keep him busy. No doubt he’d forget about the closet in time, if he hadn’t already. The realization actually made it easier for her to return to the casino. Now she could walk in and act as if nothing happened.
That night had been a momentary lapse in judgment, one they’d both never mention again.
But one she’d relive in her mind when she was alone in her bed.
She bit her lip and fought a smile as she entered. The man at the employee door in the back greeted her and relayed the message that she should go straight to Clay’s office. Ignoring her racing heart, she removed her cloak. “Are you certain? His office?”
“Yes, miss. The floor’s busier tonight than we’ve been in months. Everyone’s come out after the raid.”
Figured. The jackals in this town loved a good spectacle. She thanked him and worked her way through the inner corridors toward Clay’s office. Sounds from the casino drifted through the thin walls. The men were having a grand time, it seemed. And why wouldn’t they, out celebrating their wealth and privil
ege while wives and sisters waited dutifully at home?
Florence would change that. She’d hear the same raucous laughter and exuberance in her own casino, except the voices wouldn’t be so low and gruff.
Light streaked out from Clay’s open door. Wiping her damp palms on her skirt, she took a deep breath and peeked inside. String of lovers. You aren’t special.
He was bent over his desk, pen in hand as he checked over a ledger. Black clothing, as usual. His scars were twin shadows in the gaslight and she once again wondered how he’d acquired them. Round, gold-rimmed glasses were perched on his nose, the sight of which caused her stomach to do a funny roll. He wears glasses. And looks dashed good in them.
Insecurity gripped her and she struggled with what to do. How should she greet him? Good evening. No, I haven’t thought at all about what you sound like when you climax.
Which would be a lie.
He glanced up then, dark eyes framed by the metal, and his mouth kicked up on one side. “Were you planning on spying on me all night?”
“Of course not.” She entered and approached his desk. “I didn’t wish to interrupt.”
He took off the glasses, folded them and placed them by his papers. “I heard you walking down the hall.” He pointed at her feet.
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose I’ll need softer shoes when I open my casino.”
“Or fewer skirts.”
Now that reminded her of lifting her skirts the other night. Heat washed over her. Dash it. She hadn’t even been here five minutes.
“You’re blushing,” he said, rising out of his chair. “How have I embarrassed you?”
“You know very well what I’m embarrassed about.”
“Ah.” He slipped his hands in his trouser pockets, his shoulders hunched but still impossibly wide. “I thought we settled that afterward.”
Stop acting like a fool. You’re supposed to be experienced and mature. “We did. It’s settled. Ignore my fair complexion. So what shall we discuss tonight? I had questions about your accounting—”
“Yes, yes. We’ll get to all that.” He crossed the floor and shut the door for privacy. “First, there’s something I’d like to ask while we’re on the topic.”
She tried to maintain her composure as nerves skittered along her spine. Was he really going to drag this out? “What is it?”
“Do you regret it?”
His expression was serious, expectant. As if the answer mattered to him. She had no choice but to speak honestly. “No.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.” He perched on the edge of his desk. “Would you like more experiences like that? With me, I mean.”
“I . . .” God, how to answer that? “Do you?”
“Truthfully, yes. But I’ve made no secret of my desire for you. It’s what you want that matters here.”
Every impulse screamed for her to agree. But was she being hasty? This decision required thought and consideration. Clay was a man, not a bumbling youth at a society ball. Perhaps this was how these things were handled, with a clearheaded discussion between mature adults. Wasn’t her family always complaining she was too rash?
And there was her purpose to keep in mind. A relationship with Clay didn’t help to open her casino. However, it might help her father. Would he really continue his plans to ruin Duncan Greene if he was involved with Florence? She didn’t believe so. Clay was not a cruel man, at least from what she’d seen. He could be harsh, and he didn’t let anyone push him around, but he was fair.
She cleared her throat. “What would that mean? No more lessons?”
“The lessons remain a separate issue. I’m willing to mentor you for as long as you wish, regardless of what happens between us.”
Well, that was a relief. “Speaking of lessons . . .” She reached into her skirt pocket for the money she’d tucked away earlier. Withdrawing the bills, she placed them on his desk. “There you go. That’s everything I owe you to date.”
He didn’t spare the money a glance. “So?”
“I . . . don’t know.”
“Because there’s someone else?”
“No! Goodness, no. Is there someone else . . . ?” She waved her hand to indicate him.
His mouth twitched as if he was amused. “No. There’s no one. There hasn’t been for quite some time.”
Interesting. Annabelle wasn’t his lover, then. “So like an affair?”
“Yes, I suppose, if you need to label it.”
“What would you label it, then?”
“I’m not sure I should say the word in polite company.”
She smirked, enjoying this playful side of him. “I thought you were no gentleman—not to mention you’ve already said that particular word before in front of me.”
“So I have. If it helps your decision, I’m also disease-free and still in possession of all my teeth.”
That caused her to laugh. Would he next brag about his stamina? “You certainly are tenacious when you want something.”
“You have no idea.” He straightened and closed the distance between them. “I cannot get the other night out of my head. I’m desperate for more of you. And I feel it’s worth repeating that I’m a very private man. No one will ever learn of what happens between us, if anything.”
She figured as much. Clay was a mystery to most New Yorkers, including his employees. Discussing his personal life seemed very uncharacteristic. Which reminded her. “Yes, you’re private. So private that I hardly know you.”
His dark eyes glittered as they stared down at her, a thousand secrets buried in their obsidian depths. “You know more than most anyone, save Jack and Anna. You know enough.”
No, she rather thought she didn’t. She stared at his mouth and wondered, could this large man be gentle with her? There was one way to find out, an idea that had her skin crawling with anticipation. But it would change everything.
Was she ready for that?
Her family thought her reckless, irresponsible—and she’d spent years trying to prove them right. Now she had a future mapped out, one that didn’t include a husband or even a handsome casino owner. So what did she want?
Standing across from this enigmatic and rugged man, she knew the answer. Perhaps she was reckless and irresponsible because she wanted to explore whatever was happening—and she’d discuss it as directly as he had.
“Wrong. I barely know anything about you,” she said. “For instance, I haven’t the first clue on how well you can kiss.”
He paused, but only for a second. “Are you asking for me to rectify that?” He reached out to slide his hands up her arms, past her shoulders, until rough fingers trailed under her jaw. “Because you’ll find I’m very amenable to requests.”
She shivered as he traced the skin of her throat with his knuckles, his gaze never dropping hers. It was as if the simple touch was a test. As if he expected her to push him away.
She didn’t.
The touch had the opposite effect, the backs of his fingers mesmerizing as they swept back and forth. Tingles followed in his wake and she was quickly realizing that, yes, Clay could be quite gentle with her. And she liked it. A lot. The air grew heavy in her lungs, each breath filled with expectation, and she leaned in ever so slightly.
He bent his head, his hands shifting to cradle her jaw. She could see the whiskers on his face, the bow of his upper lip. Dark lashes that framed his eyes. Tiny lines and creases in the skin that signified a life well lived. Every inch of him was fascinating, each mark and scar another facet of his mysterious past.
His mouth hovered just above hers, their noses almost touching. “Change your mind yet?”
“No,” she whispered and then his lips brushed hers, softly at first, barely a graze. Her lids swept closed and she held perfectly still, waiting. Then he was kissing her—really kissing her—and she felt herself falling, spinning as his mouth caressed her lips. He held her tight, his large frame solid and warm against her, and she clutched his shoulders, holdi
ng on, as she kissed him back.
His mouth parted and his tongue slipped past her lips to twine with hers, stroking and rubbing until she was gasping, desperate for air. It was thorough and intimate, a melding of breath and flesh, unlike anything she’d ever experienced. His mouth was inviting, soft—a sharp contrast to a body of sinew and muscle. She arched into him, straining, trying to get closer, trying to ease the ache building in her core.
Had she ever doubted his kissing abilities?
This was no young swell, with a few chin whiskers and an overzealous, sloppy tongue. No, this was a man, competent and strong. One who knew what he wanted and let nothing stand in his way. And right now he was kissing her with a single-minded thoroughness that stole her wits.
She lost track of time. It could have been minutes or hours. Days, even. Nothing existed but the two of them and the need to stay connected. When he lifted his head, she was clinging to him like a limpet, her chest heaving as if she’d swum the length of the East River. Her fingers were buried in his hair, which was silkier than it appeared. It took her a moment to reacquaint herself with reality.
“Have I proven myself?” His voice sounded harsh, deeper than normal.
“What?”
He leaned down and kissed the edge of her mouth. “You were uncertain of my kissing abilities. I hope I’ve cleared that up.”
“I—I think we may safely put that concern to rest.”
His rugged face filled her vision, his imposing features gentled after the kiss. She brought a hand to his cheek, helpless not to touch him. With a fingertip, she traced the scar through his brow. He inhaled sharply but said nothing as she stroked him. The raised skin was smooth, a testament to his perseverance. “How did you get this scar?”
“Fighting. There was a time when I would do almost anything for money.”
“Was this when you worked in your uncle’s saloon?”
“It was. So your answer is yes, then? You’ll sleep with me?”
The change of topic was not lost on her. This decision had to be made with a clear head, so she dragged in a lungful of air and stepped back. “When? Now?”
