He threw down his pencil and pushed away from the desk. It wasn’t Jack. The club was full tonight and would remain so for another three or four hours. Until they closed, Jack would stay on the main floor, watching and managing, while Clay did the day’s books. That meant a maid or club employee had dared to wander into Clay’s domain.

He nearly rubbed his hands together as he moved silently up the stairs. At least this would give him the opportunity to vent some of his frustration at someone. Three nights’ worth of frustration, to be exact.

I will not think about her. I will not remember her tracing my face with her fingertip.

No woman had ever touched his scars before. His face was not soft and boyish; it was fearsome and blunt. The sensation of her reverently touching his injury, her gaze full of appreciation rather than pity, had nearly caused his knees to buckle.

But it needed to stop. He’d become too preoccupied with her. Had foolishly let her overshadow everything else in his life. He wouldn’t make that same mistake again, if she decided to return. Lessons and nothing more.

At the door, he withdrew his key, silently placed it into the lock and turned gently. After a slight click, he entered his apartments. All appeared as it should, with his practical and worn furniture spread around. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the semidarkness before continuing on.

There weren’t many places to hide. The floor was composed of four large rooms, mostly open. He checked behind the sofa and in the small kitchen. That left the washroom and the bedroom. His hands fisted as he ghosted across the floor and into his most private space. Whoever had broken in would live to regret it.

Silhouetted against the open window was a slight figure. Definitely a woman. Her back was to the room as she stared out into the night. Who in God’s name . . . ?

He threw the switch and the overhead gasolier brightened. The woman gasped and turned.

Florence.

All the breath emptied from his lungs in a rush. She was here. In his bedroom. Looking so damn beautiful, like a perfect angel. How in blazes had she gotten up here?

Then he remembered their conversation a few nights ago and felt the familiar anger tighten in his chest. He quashed any excitement over seeing her. She didn’t want him. She merely wanted his knowledge.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “What are you doing?” It came out more harshly than he’d intended but he didn’t take it back or apologize.

“Waiting on you.”

“I was working in my office, which you must’ve realized, considering the club is still open. So why not come there instead?”

“Because I didn’t come here for lessons.”