“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 privilege 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.”