“It sounds silly, but I’ve loved that house since I was a child. I spent more time there than my sisters and it became a refuge for me.” A place far away from her father’s disappointment and her mother’s expectations. “I don’t know what I would have done without Granny and that big, rambling house.”
He said nothing for a moment, then took her shoulders and settled her back against his chest. His arms wound around her, holding her tight. “Won’t you marry and find a home with your husband?”
“God, no. I’d rather have my own business than a husband. And if I’m living in my grandmother’s house, I can use my trust fund for the casino’s operating expenses.”
“I had no idea.”
“No one does. But Granny’s house is critical to my future plans. If she sells it then I will probably end up living atop my casino and becoming a surly recluse.”
He grunted at the dig, his burst of air bouncing her on his chest. They sat in easy silence for a few seconds. Water lapped against the side of the tub, the steam curling toward the ceiling. She figured now was as good a time as any to ask the one question standing between them.
“Will you ever tell me the reason why you hate my father?”
“No.”
Well, that response left no opening whatsoever. “He’s not a bad man. A little intimidating at times but he isn’t cruel.”
“You’ll never change my mind about him.”
“Even if I regale you with stories about his support and love as a father? The various charities to which he donates? The time he saved a kitten and brought it home for my sisters and me?”
“None of that will affect the way I feel about Duncan Greene.”
“How long have you known him?”
“I don’t.”
“Clay,” she said, her voice rising in frustration. “You are deliberately—”
In one smooth motion, he lifted and twisted her until her thighs straddled his hips. He bent his head and took the tip of her breast into his mouth, and fire swept through her veins. Each suck and swirl on the taut skin caused her core to contract in the most delicious manner. “You’re attempting to distract me,” she murmured.
“Yes, I am. Is it working?”
His fingers dipped beneath the surface of the water to tease between her legs . . . and she forgot all her questions. For now.
Daylight brought a different mood to the Bronze House. It was less elegant, more practical. Maids and servants bustled throughout, washing off the previous night’s debauchery and battening down the hatches for the upcoming revelry. Suppliers and workers were in and out to make deliveries and conduct repairs. Clay spared no expense and paid his people well. Nothing less than the best would do for this shining jewel of vice and sin.
He generally rose at ten or eleven in the morning and dressed. Then he’d sip his coffee and walk through the various rooms of the casino, checking on every nook and cranny. He loved this place.
This morning he lingered a bit longer over his morning routine. He was tired, the late nights with Florence catching up with him. She was worth every yawn and grumble the next day, however. He couldn’t get enough of her. Adventuresome and bold, she wasn’t afraid of him. She challenged him in unexpected ways, like her willingness to experiment and asking questions about different preferences.
He nodded at a maid as she polished the brass on the main bar. “Good morning, Adeline.”
She paused and blinked up at him. “Good morning, sir.”
“Very fine work you’re doing. Thank you.”
“Oh.” She cast a wary glance at the railing. “It’s my job, sir.”
A hand landed on Clay’s arm. It was Jack, who’d appeared seemingly out of nowhere. “Yes, very nice work. You may carry on, Adeline.” He began towing Clay across the room. When they were out of earshot, he said, “Stop being nice to the staff. It makes everyone nervous.”
Clay frowned. “What does that mean?”
They came to a halt. “It means that your mood swings have everyone on tenterhooks around here. We’re not used to seeing you smitten.”
“I am not smitten,” he scoffed. Jack made a face that communicated his skepticism on that statement. Clay decided to leave it alone. Instead, he asked, “Am I not allowed to be moderately happy for even a few days?”
“Neither of us has time for this conversation,” Jack said. “Duncan Greene is upstairs in your office.”
Christ. Clay’s body tightened, every nerve on alert. He’d expected this, only not so soon. “And when were you going to tell me?”
“He just arrived. I was coming to tell you when I found you scaring Adeline.”
“No doubt he’s learned of the building plans filed with the city.”
“No doubt.”
If Clay hadn’t been holding a china cup he would’ve rubbed his hands together. God Almighty, he was looking forward to this exchange. “Then I best give him the bad news.”
“Want me to come along?”
“That’s unnecessary. You have a lot to do and I don’t expect this to last long. He’ll threaten me and then storm out.”
“Well, I’m not far if you need me.”
Clay clapped Jack on the shoulder, grateful for this man who always had his back, and then headed for the stairs. Anticipation slithered over his skin. These plans were years in the making, so much blood and sweat. Fighting and scraping. All with one goal in mind: to get his hands on Duncan Greene’s childhood home and destroy it.
How do you like having your life upended, Duncan?
It wasn’t exactly an eye for an eye. Duncan had considerably more money than the Maddens had at the time they lost their home. The Greenes wouldn’t be forced to live in a crowded tenement with rats, bedbugs and disease. Not to mention this wasn’t even a house in which Duncan currently resided.
But taking his family home was the vow a young Clay had made all those years ago . . . and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to see it through.
Even if it meant dealing a blow to Florence’s future.
Granny’s house is critical to my future plans.
Regrettable, but he’d find a way to make it up to her.
He threw open his office door and stepped inside. Duncan had made himself right at home in a chair across from the desk, his large bulk settled as if he belonged there. The other man looked over his shoulder, saw Clay, and remained seated.
Very well, then. No pleasantries.
Clay smothered a smile as he closed the door and strolled toward his desk. Duncan was annoyed, which brought Clay an unbelievable amount of joy. “Mr. Greene.” He lowered himself into his office chair and took a sip of his coffee. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Duncan’s eyes were hard, his expression closed off. He was a big man with a barrel chest, well dressed. He’d spent his boyhood boxing, shooting, playing baseball and riding—basically any physical activity in which rich young men dabbled. He was the picture of wealthy entitlement in a city that rewarded such circumstances.
“You know why I am here.”
Clay lifted the cup to his mouth. “Do I?”
“Tell me, Madden. Why Seventy-Ninth Street? You could build anywhere in the city. There are plenty of empty lots, not to mention swampland to be excavated. Yet, you chose this particular block in this particular neighborhood. Why?”