The table erupted in murmurs and a few begrudging claps, but Clare barely noticed.
Not when Ash was still looking at her like that.
Like he wanted to drag her upstairs right then and there.
Clare collected her winnings, slipping them into the small satin reticule at her wrist.
Ash lifted a brow. “I believe I owe you congratulations.”
She tilted her head. “Feeling generous?”
“I was about to offer to buy you a drink,” he murmured, stepping just a little closer. “But I suspect what I really want isn’t on the menu.”
A sharp wave of heat shot through her. “Is that so?” she breathed.
His lips curved in that slow, wicked way that always made her stomach twist. “Tell me, Clare,” he said, voice low and intimate. “Are you here to win at the tables?”
She met his gaze, heat simmering between them. “Not tonight.”
His fingers brushed just along the inside of her wrist. A tease, a question, a promise.
“Then tell me,” he murmured, his voice dropping even lower, his breath warm against her ear. “What, exactly,doyou want?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ash hadn’t planned on this. Hadn’t planned onher—on Clare Handleton appearing in his life like a slow-burning match, igniting something he had no hope of controlling.
But he had stopped trying to fight it.
Tonight, there was no pretense, no teasing deflections. She had come here for him.
And he was about to give her everything she wanted. Everythinghewanted as well.
With nothing more than a look, he procured a key from one of the barkeeps, slipping a coin into the man’s hand before turning back to Clare. He held up the key between two fingers, watching the way her gaze flickered toward it—toward him.
He didn’t ask her to follow.
He didn’t need to.
She already had.
As they climbed the stairs, their eyes smoldered at each other, the tension between them taut as a bowstring. She was silent, but her breath quickened slightly when he led her down the dimly lit hallway, past gilded sconces and heavy doors that concealed the secrets of theton’s most immoral elite.
He stopped at room ten. Turned the key in the lock. Pushed open the door.
And then, before they stepped inside, he turned to her, his arms wrapped around her waist, his voice a dark whisper at her ear. “Are you certain?”
Clare held his gaze, no hesitation in her eyes, only hunger and something else—something that mirrored the ache inside him.
“Yes,” she murmured.
That was all he needed.
The moment the door closed behind them, he pushed her roughly back against it. His hands tangled in her hair, tilting her head back as his mouth claimed hers, hot and unrelenting. She kissed him back with equal fervor, fingers digging into his waistcoat, pulling him closer, as if she couldn’t get enough—as if she had been waiting for this just as long as he had.
He turned her then and walked her backward until her spine met the far wall, pinning her there with the weight of his body.
“My…appetites are dark,” he murmured against her lips.
