Page 4 of The Duke and the Darkness

So who the devil was she?

The last man left the table then; only the two of them remained. The dealer called for a pause and left the table to speak again to the club manager, surely to inform him that the stakes had grown even higher.

Devlin laid his arm across the back of her chair. “You’re very beautiful.”

“You noticed,” she murmured, her eyes almost glowing as she turned them onto him. Those eyes…not just blue, but multiple shades of blue. The shadows of memory stirred faster in his mind, but nothing came into focus. “How perceptive of you.”

He wasn’t blind, for God’s sake. “In that dress…you want to be noticed.”

He moved his hand to trail his fingertips over her bare shoulder in a soft caress. He smiled when she trembled.

“Who are you?” he drawled. “And what is it you want?”

“You.”

His fingers stilled against her skin. He froze, except for his cock which began to ache with longing.

“You said you weren’t a courtesan,” he reminded her.

“I’m not. I’m not for sale.” She removed her right glove, then dipped her fingers lightly into his glass of brandy. He watched as she sucked the drops of golden liquid from her fingertips. “But Icanbe won.”

He stared at her, transfixed, her brandy-wetted lips glistening in the lamplight. A small drop clung to the corner of her mouth. He reached slowly to wipe it away, then licked it off his thumb. It tasted of her. Of brandied cherries, rich and sweet with a hint of tartness, and it left him craving a deeper taste.

She leaned toward him to bring her mouth close to his ear, and the soft brush of her breast against his arm stole his breath away.

“If we’re going to play together tonight,” she purred, her breath tickling warmly against his cheek, “then let’s make it worthwhile, shall we?”

His blood heated with anticipation. “What do you have in mind?”

“Winner takes all.” Her lips slid across his cheek in a featherlight caress as she shifted away. The challenge in her sapphire eyes was undeniable.

“I’ll win,” he warned, his deep voice husky with desire.

She settled back in her chair, pulled on her glove, and lifted his arm away from her shoulder, returning it to his side. Her attention turned back to the dealer as he returned with a new deck of cards in hand and the club manager at his side to oversee the game.

“You won’t,” she whispered, but with such icy intensity Devlin would have sworn he saw her shiver.

He frowned. “If you’re not comfortable with—”

“Deal,” she ordered.

The dealer nodded and placed three upturned cards on the table in front of her, Devlin, and himself.

With a king in her cards, she placed a stack of banknotes onto the table. “One thousand pounds.”

Devlin smiled and matched her wager for that card. And the rest. When the hand was over, he’d won five thousand pounds, only to lose it all and more on the next one. He didn’t care. Either way, when the game ended, he’d escort her upstairs to one of the private rooms and into bed. As she’d implied earlier, it was simply a matter of who would be on top.

He opened the next hand with the same thousand-pound wager as before, then watched as she coolly swallowed the last of the brandy in her glass. He watched the soft undulation in her elegant throat and wanted his mouth, right there, on her so badly that his hand shook as he reached for his own glass to distract himself.

But she did say that the winner would take all, and he planned on taking all of her. Repeatedly.

She tripled the wager on the next card. That got his attention, and also that of the club manager, who nodded to accept the bid when the dealer looked at him questioningly. Ten thousand pounds rode on the last card.

When the dealer flipped it over, the manager blew out a relieved sigh. The club had won.

“We don’t have to keep doing this,” Devlin told her beneath his breath, to keep from being overheard by the crowd of gathering onlookers. “We both want to end the evening the same way.”

For a moment, she didn’t reply. Then she turned her head and boldly looked at him. “I want to win.”