A Deal With the Devil (12 page)

“I’m a writer.” Hands fluttered to her face as her cheeks pinked, that little muscle under her eye working frantically. “I’m so sorry.”

A writer? That was all? No big deal. “Oh I get it—you’re undercover?” Amateur in every way … if he hadn’t been so pissed he would have laughed.

The pinked cheeks turned crimson and he could have sworn her hands began to shake. “How the hell did you know …?”

“All the questions. Finding you in the management suite … it’s all falling into place now. You’re not the first. We get quite a few people asking if they can come and interview us for a crime thriller or heist story or something. Casinos are great story material. What do you need to know? Just ask.”

“I think I’ve learnt enough already.” The shaky hands stilled against his chest as she breathed slowly out. “I was here to do some research, but I don’t think I want to do it any more. I have to think … I don’t know … it’s all become too complicated. I’m sorry I lied to you. Truly I am. But I do really have to go.”

“And tomorrow?”

She pulled on her skirt. Fastened the buttons on her blouse. “What about it?”

He got the feeling she was still holding back, that there was even more to Kate than she was letting on. And he intended to find out exactly what it was, because until he did he wouldn’t be able to get her out of his head. “Seven o’clock in the VIP lounge. We have a date with Chin to finalise the deal.”

“We? I didn’t think you’d want me there after this?”

“Are you kidding? We’re practically engaged, you have to come. Besides, I’d say you owe me.”

The look she flashed him was one of surprise. “One time hardly constitutes an engagement.”

“I meant in Chin’s eyes. But we could make it twice … three times …”

Smoothing her hair down with her palm and then taming it into a low ponytail she shook her head. “But I lied to you.”

“Yes, you did.” As if that was okay. It wasn’t. It was far from okay. But who was he kidding? He didn’t want to get her out of his head. He wanted her in it. He wanted to know who she was deep down. Despite his easy clean-edged life right now he craved something messy and complicated with Kate. Something he could handle—maybe something he couldn’t—a challenge, something that made everything else he did worthwhile.

And with that realisation he should have ended it right there. Closed it down. Stopped it. But he didn’t. Instead, he dug himself deeper. “We’ll do the business stuff first. He’ll expect you to be there for that, and if it’s good news he’ll want to celebrate. Hell, so will I.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “So you want me to lie for you again? Double standards, much?”

“Lie
for
me one last time, just don’t lie
to
me, Kate. Ever. Again.” Rey stood and wrapped her in his arms. Kissed her again, felt an initial hesitation, then the softening into him that he’d come to enjoy so much. Too much.

H
e didn’t like
lies. Who did?

But was there any point in telling him everything? What good would it do if Rey knew she’d been hell-bent on bringing him down by exposing the fight club and tarnishing his reputation? When things had changed for her to the extent that she didn’t know what angle to take for her article? For that matter, if she was going to write the damned article at all.

Before she’d started all of this she’d had offers from a couple of prominent newspapers for an exposé, so they were expecting something and willing to pay a high price. She needed that money for extra tuition for Jake, for all the lessons he’d missed while in hospital—because of Rey.

She also needed Jake on side if she was going to parent him through this difficult time, and he was proving more than tetchy these days.

And she was desperately confused about Rey. One time might not make an engagement, but it had certainly put a whole new spin on things.

Plus, the craving him night and day hadn’t stopped. If anything it was worse.

The VIP lounge was, once again, quiet the next night. Deliberately so, she assumed, on Rey’s orders; it was hard to hold an informal meeting in a busy bar. She nodded to Carlos as she walked in, this time not in work uniform but wearing a carefully chosen midnight-blue cocktail dress from her admittedly sparse wardrobe. But she’d paid for it, no one else.

The pretence was over—she wasn’t a gangster’s moll, a pampered princess or a gaudy whore. She was Kate, take her or leave her. Rey didn’t need to know who she’d been only a few days ago, because she’d changed already. She’d realised that nothing really made sense the way it was supposed to, that life was murky at times, that shit happened to good people—to Jake, to her mum and, yes, to the bad guys too. To Rey.

He was standing at the bar, on his own, drinking a shot of whisky. He smiled as she walked towards him, the pale blue open-necked shirt and charcoal pants covered a body she ached to touch. Would she ever stop having this immediate urgent reaction to him? It made no sense. “Where’s Chin?”

Rey took her elbow, gave her a kiss on her cheek, sending instantaneous whispers of desire through her. “He left. He had to take an earlier flight back to Macau for an unexpected meeting, but he sends his good wishes and apologies. Good news is, he’s going to recommend Doyle’s for a license. Seeing as he’s the chair of the licensing committee he doesn’t think there’ll be a hitch.”

“So you don’t need me then?”

His eyes glinted in the subdued light. “I want to thank you for helping me to land the biggest deal this century. We’re going out to celebrate.”

She looked down at his hand on her elbow, back to those intense grey eyes. “Does everyone always do what you say?”

And he looked right back at her as if she was completely mad. “Of course they do.”

Maybe she would this time. “Don’t get used to it. So where are we going?” Suddenly she was excited at the prospect of having him to herself for the evening. It was like a date.

Was that what she wanted? Before she had time to think it through he steered her towards the lift. “You told Chin you liked dancing.”

“Oh, yes, you remembered? It was an off-the-cuff remark. I didn’t realise you were listening.”

“You underestimate me, Kate. Never ever underestimate me.” But this wasn’t a warning, it was a promise. He smiled, more relaxed tonight although there was still that dark edge, but it was diminished a little. She imagined it was because one of his problems had been solved. Almost. He took her hand in his. “You look very beautiful, those shoes are … outstanding.”

She looked down at the silver nineteen-fifties shoes she’d picked up for a song in Camden market. “Gorgeous, eh? And cheap.”

“Nothing about you is cheap. Nothing at all. That dress suits you.”

“Thank you. Another one I managed to choose all by myself.”

He gave her a wry sideways smile. “Was my offering to choose one overkill?”

“What? Choosing what a woman wears without canvassing her opinion? Bordering on weird in my book. Would you like me to choose your suits? Pants?”

The Gallic shrug. “Lots of women seem to like it.”

“This woman doesn’t.”

Cocking his head to one side he regarded her as if she was some kind of puzzle he needed to work out. “Noted. No shopping without consent.”

“Unless it’s diamonds, obviously. Then you can choose what the hell you want, I’m all in. The more the merrier, I say.” There was something very sexy about a grouchy man who could laugh at himself. She laughed along.

“Says the woman who isn’t interested in money.”

“I’m not.” She truly wasn’t. But it was fun to watch his bewilderment morph into guffawing. “Just diamonds.”

A roll of the eyes. “Now who has the double standards?”

She tiptoed up and pecked a kiss on his cheek, feeling, for the first time since she’d met him, that she was being truly and openly herself. “Takes one to know one.”

“You are unlike any woman I’ve ever met.”

“I damn well hope so.” Then she curled into his arms and kissed him like no other woman kissed too.

*     *     *

The Roxborough Club
was just off Wardour Street in the heart of Soho—a short walk from the casino—behind a heavy panelled door that simply bore the letters RC and gave no indication as to what lay behind.

“What on earth …?” Kate’s smile grew as they were greeted by a woman in a dark red basque, black fishnets and heels that defied any laws of physics. Surely no one could possibly keep upright in them?

The woman grinned at Rey. “Good evening, Mr Doyle.”

He gave her a kiss on both cheeks and handed over a wad of notes. “Rosie, this is Kate. We’re here to have a bit of a celebration. See that we’re not interrupted.”

“Right you are.” She led them to a table at the back of a room decked out in nineteen-twenties decor. An old-fashioned gramophone sat on a card table next to the bar, dark wood round tables dressed with plumes of huge white feathers, blood-red plush-velvet chaises-lounge. The servers all wore claret-coloured basques or drop-waisted dresses, hair neatly bobbed and pinned down with bands of jewels and feathers. The men had slicked hair and collarless shirts, braces and pleat-waisted trousers, spats on their feet. Kate had never been anywhere so eclectic. Up on a tiny stage, a band played ragtime.

Rey ordered champagne and surveyed the room. “You like it?”

“Oh yes.” She couldn’t stop smiling. “This is wild. How come I’ve lived in London all my life yet I’ve never been here?”

One corner of his mouth kicked up. “One of our best-kept secrets. Members only.”

“I’ve heard about gentlemen’s clubs, but I imagined them to be stuffy and dull, not like this.”

“Why would we want stuffy and dull?”

“Good point, this is much more fun than dark green reading lamps and butlers. And you get … interrupted?”

Rey’s eyebrows rose. “On occasion. There are private rooms out back that we can use for meetings and a few of the less scrupulous journalists try to get in and sniff around, see what we’re all up to.”

Her eyes widened as her brain worked overtime. “Why? What are you up to?”

A shrug. “Nothing particularly underhand. But a real assortment of people come here: actors, MPs, lawyers, judges … we talk. We chat about things. Boring usually, but useful.”

“Useful?”

“Deals are forged, business partnerships are made, things get … overlooked … gambling debts get written off in exchange for … things.”

“Things?”

“Deals. Law amendments, statutes …”

So this was where the real action occurred. It was indeed a journalist’s haven for gossip. A real coup to be in the inner circle. Immediately she was on alert. To her left she recognised Lord something-or-other making out with a woman who definitely wasn’t his wife; in the far corner was an actor she’d seen in a West End high-brow play with what appeared to be identical twins on his knees—of the male variety. How much could she be paid for pictures of that? Add in some decent copy and she’d be made for a month or two. Or six. If she was the kind of journalist who was in it for titillation and a quick buck. She wasn’t.

The article.
Her stomach contracted at the thought of it. Her livelihood versus Rey. Jake versus Rey. Loyalties pulled her in different directions. What the hell should she do? What would her mum think if she knew her daughter was doing this? For that matter, what would Rey’s mum think? Sometimes Kate felt as if Rey’s guardian angel was watching over her too—and she was found decidedly wanting.

Chaos swirled in her chest. He was a good man underneath it all. It had been so, so long since anyone had taken care of her, years since someone had put her first. She’d moved through adolescence as a nurse for a sick parent, and now was little more than a mum to her teenage brother. But Rey didn’t see her like that, as a carer; he saw her as a sensual woman. He wanted Kate the woman. And it was so wonderful to be wanted by such a man. She realised she could easily fall for him. Hard and irrevocably. She could love him. Too much. Such a strange turnaround from a week ago when all she’d wanted was revenge.

She was getting in too deep, because she knew those emotions must be shining there in her eyes for him to see. And whatever happened next, whether she wrote the damned article or not, whether she broke the code or broke his trust, she could not let herself fall in love with him. He was too dangerous. Too tightly wound. Rey Doyle was the kind of man who played with his prey before he killed them.