Above all, Florence had wished for La Maison to be a relaxing and pleasant gathering space for women. The club was light and airy, with comfortable seats. A tearoom served repast and beverages all day long and well into the night. The casino allowed for gaming and cards, and there were bedrooms available for those who needed a place to stay. And the crowds proved that her idea had been a good one.

She turned the latch on her office door and entered. The room was dark except for a row of lit candles on the mantel and several more candles on her desk, which had been turned into a dining table. Clay stood by the desk, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. She shut the door behind her. “What’s this?”

“We’re celebrating.”

“Is that so?”

“Of course. Don’t you remember what today is?”

“Yes, I do. I wasn’t certain you remembered, however.”

“One year ago you opened La Maison. How could I ever forget?” His dark eyes tracked her approach with an intensity that caused her to shiver.

She placed a hand on his massive chest. “I never could have done it without you, my love.”

The edges of his mouth turned up as his hand landed on her hip. “Yes, you certainly could have.”

“You’re right. I could have done this alone, but I am very glad you have been here by my side.”

Bending, he pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. It never failed to impress her how such a big, tough man could kiss so sweetly. “I love you,” he whispered. “And I’m proud of you.”

Her heart stuttered as her chest expanded. “Thank you.”

“Now for your surprise.” He patted her hip and then walked to the far wall, where a huge covered piece rested. Was it a portrait? Grabbing the cloth, he pulled it free, revealing a familiar erotic painting. “I bought it for you from the Hoffman House.”

Nymphs and Satyr. She covered her mouth with a hand. So many memories. The image was just as provocative as before, but with deeper meaning. “I’m your nymph.”

“And I, your satyr.” He shifted to stand behind her, where he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into the flat planes of his body. Heat enveloped her and she leaned into him. “We may now study this at our leisure. Forever.”

“It’s perfect, Clay. I love it. Thank you.”

He kissed the top of her head. “How much do you love it?”

“Enough to let you lift my skirts and bend me over the desk while we look at it.”

She felt the air leave his chest. “Jesus, Florence. I am the most fortunate of men.”

“Yes, you are.” She shifted her backside into the growing erection behind her. “And I’m never leaving you.”