Dinner was a disaster.
At least for Clare.
Meredith and Griffin chatted pleasantly, speaking of the latest theater performances and the coming holidays, as if nothing in the world was amiss. Meanwhile, beneath the table, Ash was ruining her.
She barely breathed as his fingers traced lazy circles on her thigh, the touch featherlight, maddening. He inched higher, closer, teasing, knowing exactly what he was doing to her.
And damn it, she wanted him there.
She wanted his hand to slip between her legs, to find her slick and aching. She wanted his fingers inside her, curling forward in that devastating way he had taught her could undo her completely.
But not here.
Not in the middle ofdinner.
Not when Meredith and Griffin were sitting right across from them.
Her skin burned as she forced herself to reach for her glass, her fingers trembling slightly around the stem.
How had it come to this?
They regularly met at the Onyx Club. Again and again and again. She sneaked out at night after her hosts were asleep, hiring a hack at the corner to take her there. She had long since surpassed the amount of money she needed to escape and had more than enough tucked away to take her far from England.
So why was she still here?
Arranging travel should have been easy. A few discreet inquiries, a carriage to the coast, a ship across the Channel. She should have already done it.
But she hadn’t.
Because of him.
Because she wantedthis—his touch, his heat, his wicked mouth whispering the kind of things that made her toes curl. But worse, she wanted his company.
That was the most dangerous part.
He was more than just a lover. He was clever and charming, sharp in the way she liked. She had spent years feeling like an outcast, on the outside of every conversation, every gathering. But with him, she belonged.
And she didn’t want to give that up.
Not yet.
Ash’s fingers glanced off her inner thigh, and she sucked in a sharp breath, her grip tightening on her wine glass. The stem wobbled between her fingers, nearly toppling, and every glass on the table jumped.
Meredith placed a hand at her throat, startled. Griffin’s hand caught the table’s edge.
“Clare, dear, are you quite all right?” Meredith asked, concern in her voice.
Clare barely swallowed a curse. She grabbed her napkin, dabbing at her lips, hiding her shock behind it.
“I—I’m not feeling entirely well,” she said quickly. “Excuse me, won’t you?”
She pushed back from the table before she had to look at Ash. Because if she did, she knew exactly what she would see.
Mischief.
Triumph.
And something else she wasn’t prepared to name.
