Light streaked out from Clay’s open door. Wiping her damp palms on her skirt, she took a deep breath and peeked inside. String of lovers. You aren’t special.

He was bent over his desk, pen in hand as he checked over a ledger. Black clothing, as usual. His scars were twin shadows in the gaslight and she once again wondered how he’d acquired them. Round, gold-rimmed glasses were perched on his nose, the sight of which caused her stomach to do a funny roll. He wears glasses. And looks dashed good in them.

Insecurity gripped her and she struggled with what to do. How should she greet him? Good evening. No, I haven’t thought at all about what you sound like when you climax.

Which would be a lie.

He glanced up then, dark eyes framed by the metal, and his mouth kicked up on one side. “Were you planning on spying on me all night?”

“Of course not.” She entered and approached his desk. “I didn’t wish to interrupt.”

He took off the glasses, folded them and placed them by his papers. “I heard you walking down the hall.” He pointed at her feet.

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose I’ll need softer shoes when I open my casino.”

“Or fewer skirts.”

Now that reminded her of lifting her skirts the other night. Heat washed over her. Dash it. She hadn’t even been here five minutes.

“You’re blushing,” he said, rising out of his chair. “How have I embarrassed you?”

“You know very well what I’m embarrassed about.”

“Ah.” He slipped his hands in his trouser pockets, his shoulders hunched but still impossibly wide. “I thought we settled that afterward.”

Stop acting like a fool. You’re supposed to be experienced and mature. “We did. It’s settled. Ignore my fair complexion. So what shall we discuss tonight? I had questions about your accounting—”

“Yes, yes. We’ll get to all that.” He crossed the floor and shut the door for privacy. “First, there’s something I’d like to ask while we’re on the topic.”

She tried to maintain her composure as nerves skittered along her spine. Was he really going to drag this out? “What is it?”

“Do you regret it?”

His expression was serious, expectant. As if the answer mattered to him. She had no choice but to speak honestly. “No.”

“I’m relieved to hear it.” He perched on the edge of his desk. “Would you like more experiences like that? With me, I mean.”

“I . . .” God, how to answer that? “Do you?”

“Truthfully, yes. But I’ve made no secret of my desire for you. It’s what you want that matters here.”