Wicked lessons with the rakish wolf

Slow seduction

*Rosalind*

I have waited three nights before returning to the club, thinking it best not to appear too eager. Yet they might have been the longest nights of my life, even though I spent them with Benjamin, reading, playing whist, and walking through the gardens. He preferred the gardens at night.

Although the flowers had closed their blossoms, their fragrance still lingered.

Here, the fragrances are very different. Tobacco, spirits on the breath, and dark masculine colognes fight with lighter feminine perfumes for dominance. I am surprised not many she-wolves are about, but then, simply because a place is accessible to she-wolves doesn’t mean they will frequent it, particularly if they have domineering fathers, brothers, or husbands in their lives. I am fortunate to rule my own life, having done so since I reached the age of seventeen and ran off from my cruel father.

I hand my wrap to a young she-wolf at the counter by the door, receive a slip of paper with a number on it, and tuck it into my reticule.

I wonder if I should first visit the she-wolves' salon and private gaming area, if I should strive to strengthen connections there. On my last visit, I met very few she-wolves, and while my ultimate plan involves a gentleman, I know that she-wolves have quite the influence over men, even if those men are domineering.

On the other hand, I am sure to be noticed with so few she-wolves about in here. Being noticed is paramount.

As I approach a roulette table, I catch a gentleman's eye. Winking at me, he eases over slightly, allowing room for me to get nearer to the excitement. I watch the little ball spinning, heading toward a numbered slot.

Five, I think. It lands on twenty-one. A single groan, composed of nearly a dozen voices, rises. No sooner have the wooden tokens been gathered up than others are being set down.

A hand comes to rest on the side of my waist, and I am remarkably aware of a firm chest at my back. I might have been startled if his presence weren't so powerful, if I hadn't sensed his approach before he arrived.

“Have you ever played?” Ethan whispers low against my ear, and I fight not to alert him to the tiny shiver that courses through me at his nearness.

“No, but it seems rather easy.”

“Which means the odds of losing are greater.” He sets some coins on the table. The man who had spun the wheel gives him a stack of green disks and places a small metal token on it. Ethan holds the disks out to me. “Place them wherever you like.”

“I don't want to lose your money.”

“It's only money.”

I grind my back teeth together to withhold a scathing retort. Only money to him. Life to me.

Peering at him through lowered eyelashes and giving him a gamine smile, I take the wooden circles and place them all on twenty-five, Benjamin's age.

“You can spread them out if you like,” Ethan says.

“I believe in all or nothing.”

I feel a subtle tightening of his hand on my waist.

“As do I,” he rasps so low I suspect no one else hears.

The croupier waves his hand over the table, spins the wheel, and drops the ball.

I am acutely aware of Ethan’s inappropriate nearness. I should elbow him, make him move, yet I relish the heat of him, his fragrance, his breath feathering along strands of my hair. I don’t want the ball to stop rolling; I want to stay as I am forever, which is remarkably stupid and shortsighted. I have responsibilities. A plan.

“Thirty-three black,” the croupier calls out.

I slam my eyes shut, releasing in a great huff the breath I have been holding. Opening my eyes, I peer up at Ethan. “I’m so sorry.”

“Have dinner with me, and I’ll forgive you.”

I release a light laugh. “Forgive me? When I had no control over the outcome?”

“You chose the number. Besides, you apologized, so you must feel a measure of guilt. I merely wish to relieve you of it. Have you eaten this evening?”

“Nothing substantial.” I admit.

He smiles slowly. “I’ve yet to sample the dining room here, but I do know the cook is excellent.”

“I suppose I’m feeling a bit peckish.”

“Splendid.” He offers me his arm, but the intensity of his gaze gives me pause. He could destroy my plans so easily.

Or perhaps he will turn out to be my savior.

I place my hand in the crook of his elbow. Merrick has discovered that Ethan is quite well off. A lot of activity is going on at his residence, as though he is moving out a previous mistress in hopes of moving in a different one.

If he is thinking of me for that role, he is going to be disappointed, as I have no intentions of being his mistress or visiting his bed. But his interest indicates that I can taunt him, make him want me until he is willing to give me whatever I ask, only to discover too late that he will not acquire all he desires.

I have some standards, arbitrary and low though they may be.

As we make our way along the hallways, I catch the occasional inquisitive, speculative glance from gents and she-wolves, but am relieved to see... once we enter the dining room... that at nearly every occupied table there is a man and a she-wolf. Two gents are seated at one table. At two others are solitary gentlemen. But this place seems to cater more to couples.

Ethan speaks in a low tone with a man in red livery. Then we are escorted to a distant corner that houses more shadows than light.

I have the irritating notion that he is ashamed to be seen with me. “Wouldn’t it be better not to isolate ourselves?” I ask, not bothering to hide my pique at being hidden away.

“I want to get to know you better,” he says. “Being away from the others suits my purpose.”

“They may think we’re up to no good.” I point out.

He chuckles. “They all know me well enough to know that I’m always up to no good.”

“You say that with such pride.” I scoff.

“One must excel at something, and I excel at being fodder for gossip.”

Has he no shame? How wonderful it must be to be in a position not to care what others think. He nods toward the servant, or whatever the man is, and the servant quickly pulls out my chair.

Hesitating, I consider the other couples. Surely they are not all married; surely sitting with Ethan in a darkened corner would not cause damage to my reputation, to my goal. On the other hand, sitting in the shadows with him might make everything else moot, might allow me to gain what I want that much more quickly.

I sink onto the seat and proceed to peel off my glove. Before I can blink, Ethan is kneeling beside me, taking my hand. “Allow me.”

I fight not to appear stunned. “Get up. People are likely to think you’re proposing marriage.”

“As I said, they know me well enough here, and so they know I’m not engaged in any such nonsense. Although before the night is done, I intend to propose something quite wicked.”

His eyes smolder as they meet mine. With that devilish smile of his, how can I take offense? I can’t blame him for his forthrightness when I had accepted his kisses the other night. In fact, I prefer it. The game he is playing is more honest than mine. “I believe, My Alpha, that you have mistaken me for a she-wolf of questionable moral character. I assure you, I am no light-skirt.”

“I’m counting on it.”

What the devil does he mean by that? Then all thoughts flee my mind as he slowly strokes a blunt-tipped finger along the inside of my upper arm, above the glove. Down. Up once more. Pleasure skids along my skin, warms me to the core.

When he reaches the glove again, he begins slowly rolling it down, the edge of his fingers caressing my skin, a hint of a touch, more a promise, until the supple kidskin is gathered at my wrist. I wonder if he can feel the throbbing of my pulse there.

Gently, he tugs on each finger until he finally peels away the glove. He holds my fingers, strength and assurance in his hold. He isn’t cocky. I don’t even think he can truly be classified as arrogant, but he is a man who understands his place in the world is at its peak and that he cannot be toppled from it.

I imagine his ancestors on a battlefield. They would have led the charge; even if they had been the last ones standing, they would not have gone down in defeat. I have an insane realization that I should have stayed at the roulette wheel. The odds might have been with the house, but I think I stood a better chance at beating them than beating him. Then again, I do so love a challenge, and outfoxing him would bring such satisfaction.

He takes my other hand and gives the exact same ministrations to the skin above my elbow, caressing with soft deliberation before removing my glove. Only this time, when he takes my fingers, he turns my palm up and presses a kiss to its heart. My lungs freeze. Everything within me tells me to run, but I have run only twice in my life.

The first time had resulted in failure and a beating. But I had learned a hard lesson.

The second time, no one had been able to catch me.

In the years since, wisdom has taught me the value of standing my ground. He can only win if I let him.

“You're taking liberties you shouldn't,” I say.

He lifts his gaze to mine. I see the amusement there, and a hint of victory. It appears he is one to stand his ground as well. “This is a place of vice and sin. She-wolves should comprehend the significance of that if they want entry.”

“You're using me to set an example. That could be most dangerous, My Alpha.” Leaning over, I brush a kiss against his cheek, before sliding my mouth to his ear and whispering in a low, sultry voice, “Know that two can play this game.”