A Deal With the Devil

by Louisa George

  But something about her intrigued him. Maybe it was the curves that made him want to slip his hands around her accentuated waist, or the long legs, the hesitant smile. Or the little nervous tic she had going on under her eye before she turned away and headed back to the bar.

  Maybe it was that he’d never really gone for the bookish type, and that was exactly what she looked like; underneath the over-enthusiastic make-up the woman looked way too wholesome for their usual hostess. She also looked like she had all the smarts, but none of them came from having to fight for a living. Which made the next thought completely foolhardy, but he went with it. Needs must. “Actually, wait. Kate?”

  “Oh?” She swivelled on her heels, tottered and grasped the bar ledge. If she hadn’t looked so serious he’d have laughed. She was clearly not used to playing dress-up either. “What can I do for you, Mr Doyle?”

  Too many things that kept popping into his head and they all seemed to involve her, those lips. He wanted to kiss her? After knowing her for how long? Hell, yes, what sane man wouldn’t? She was pretty damned attractive even with all the make-up. Although, mighty inconvenient to have a testosterone overload right now. “I have an important meeting tonight and I need someone to act as a … partner. Female. Love interest. You don’t have to say much … just be open and friendly with the guests, small talk … chit-chat … Can you do that? And there’s a boutique downstairs, ditch the uniform, get an appropriate dress, whatever you need. We have an hour to prepare.”

  “What? You want me to be your … escort?” For a moment the prospect of doing such a thing looked abhorrent to her, but she quickly straightened. “For how long? My shift is supposed to finish at midnight.”

  “For as long as it takes. I’ll double your wages.”

  After another moment’s thought she said, “Treble my wages and I’ll consider it.”

  So she did have a spine. He hid a smirk. At least, tried to. “Double, that’s my final offer.”

  “When do they arrive?”

  “Fifty-five minutes.”

  “In that case …” A hand hit her hip, eyes sparkling. “Treble, or I’d say you’re in big trouble.”

  Monica would have done it for time and a half—but Monica wasn’t here. Kate, on the other hand, was proving feistier than he’d first thought.

  Rey never allowed himself to be at a disadvantage for long, unless the game strategy called for it. Creating a false sense of security went a long way in the boxing ring—let the opponent think they have the upper hand, draw them in, let them use up their energy with ill-thought out jabs, then take them unawares. One. Two. Down. “Okay, Kate, you win this round. You’ll get a nice handout for helping me. But how do I know you’re up to the job?”

  “You’ll just have to trust me. I can talk way better than I serve drinks.”

  “Trust me, anyone can do anything better than you serve drinks.”

  “Practice makes perfect, right?” Two perfectly plucked eyebrows peaked. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine, and play it exactly the way you want me to. What kind of dress should I get? Am I to be your gaudy whore or your pampered princess?”

  “Ouch. Was that supposed to be an insult?” Entertaining. The serving waitress didn’t fit, but the girlfriend with gumption definitely worked. This time he did nothing to hide his grin. “I’m not sure you’d manage either of those. How about my content fiancée, or girlfriend if fiancée seems too … committed.”

  She shook her head, brown curls bobbing on her shoulders, but there was a smile there too. “I should be committed for even thinking of agreeing to this. Long-term girlfriend it is, unless you want to buy me a ring as well as the quadrupled wages?”

  “Trebled.” It was all playing out just fine. Now she thought she had the better of him she was a firecracker. One. His eyes fixed on hers for a long moment. Two. She held her own, unflinching. And again there was the dare there that fired something inside him. “You drive a hard bargain, Kate, but alas, no ring.”

  “Okay, I knew I was pushing my luck just a little too far, but it doesn’t hurt to try, right?” And she was down—he’d played it perfectly. Trebled wages was small fry. A ring on the other hand … She turned around, but jolted back, finger held up. “I guess we also need a few minutes getting to know each other.”

  “Sure.” He stepped closer. She didn’t move, but her scent of something flowery and light hung in the air around them. It was a stark contrast to the dark surroundings, the faceless sweet-scented perfume they used to lure punters in and keep them entranced. He liked the change, it reminded him of another time—when his life had stretched in front of him untarnished. Too long ago for him to remember clearly. Too much had happened to sully everything, turning light to dark.

  He shook that shroud of shadows off, he needed all his focus on tonight. “So how do you suggest we become better acquainted, Kate? Any ideas? I have a few.”

  Okay, so clearly work focus was hard to come by right now.

  She shook her head with a look that said something between bugger off and in your dreams. “Tell me some details, you know … your life, your work. Who is the real Rey Doyle? Why would I be attracted to him?” Her tongue darted out, licked along her bottom lip and he was mesmerised. His gut coiled in a stark feral hunger that shocked him. Goddamn, he wanted to run his own tongue along there.

  He cursed under his breath—not the time or the place—and grabbed on to that loose thread of self-control and wound it back in, tight. Rey Doyle never lost control. “I own four of the most successful casinos in the world, two in London and two in Vegas. I was Commonwealth heavyweight boxing champion five years in a row. WBA heavyweight champion three times. What more do you need to know?” Because hell, the way she was looking at him with those dark eyes and unintentional pout, God knew what he’d be prepared to tell her. Doyle, he reminded himself. You’re a Doyle. Talking didn’t happen, unless it was with fists.

  She frowned. “Now you’re assuming that all I’m interested in is money and power.”

  “Isn’t everyone?”

  A shake of her head. “The exact opposite, actually. None of that interests me at all.”

  “So you’re more a home-and-hearth sort of a girl? Working in a gambling joint where everything is geared towards money is an interesting career choice, then.”

  “I needed a job, the hours suit—usually. And I don’t think putting me in a box like that is going to help your cause either—but, really? I don’t see any problem in having a healthy disregard for power-crazed money obsessives. Besides, this isn’t about me, it’s about you. If I’m going to be your girlfriend, I need to know more about how you tick. Deeper stuff than all this outward show of power and money stuff. What would a girlfriend know about you? Where did we meet? What’s your home life, your dreams, aspirations, zodiac sign if you think that’s important … family plans, that kind of thing.” She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then continued, “What do you do in your spare time? Do you still fight?”

  “What spare time?” It was all work, fight, work, fight. He offered his arm to escort her to the boutique but she just looked at it as if touching him would lead her down a path she definitely did not want to go. So he walked ahead, leading the way. “Okay, we can play catch up in the lift, but there’s not much more about me to know.”

  “Oh come on now, Mr Doyle.” She followed behind. “I bet there is.”

  Chapter Two

  “Call me Rey for a start.” He walked to the far end of the VIP lounge, behind the heavy drapes and through the doors to his private offices. He hit the lift button. “Using ‘Mr Doyle’ would appear very strange to prospective business associates. These are from Macau, and we’re hoping to get them to facilitate a license for us to open a casino there. It’s a precarious move on our side—Macau hasn’t given a license to anyone for years and right now their decision could go either way.” Bare minimum details were all she needed to know—that way she couldn’t say or do anything to jeopardise the deal.
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br />   “So we have to impress.”

  “Yes. It could be a long night, they’ll want to see how we do things here and we need to show them a good time. We entertain first …”

  She nodded. “Okay, understood, I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

  “Good. I don’t need a loose cannon.” He was taking a huge risk here. “Don’t ask them too many questions. Talk about London, about your work. They’ll be impressed to hear you’re a nurse. What field are you in?”

  If he wasn’t mistaken her eyes widened a little. So she didn’t like to talk about her personal life either. He got that. She flicked her hand up, casually. “Like I said, studying at the moment. It’s Rey with an ‘e’, is that right? Unusual spelling. Isn’t it usually Ray with an ‘a’?”

  Observant, outspoken, challenging. And now avoidance tactics. Well, well. They could spend the whole night talking and not getting to know each other at all. “It’s one of the French versions of the name, it means king.”

  “Ah, the casino king. Now I understand. Clever.”

  “If the shoe fits.”

  “Shoe? Don’t you have something more royal? Kidskin boots lined with ermine? No? Boxing gloves padded with silk and velvet?” She flashed him a smile that whipped his breath from his lungs. When she used that mouth for smiling and not smart-mouthing she was stunning to watch. “What’s the French connection? Is there one?”

  “My mother was French.”

  An eyebrow lifted. “Was?”

  “She died.” And that was the end of that subject. He stomped on the memory and jabbed the lift button. She was dead. No amount of wishing would make things different. He could barely remember her face these days—but he remembered how she’d died; in fear, in pain. And how he’d been helpless to stop it and useless after she’d gone. Until he’d shut down the direct line to his heart. No one was allowed access to that ever again.

  “I’m sorry.” Her eyes misting, Kate looked at him gently for a few seconds as if expecting him to elucidate, then she turned away across the hallway towards his offices. She cleared her throat before she spoke. “I wasn’t shown this part of the casino at orientation. What’s down there?”

  “My office. Management suite. You ask a lot of questions.”

  “Like I said, I need to know things about you.” Something akin to uncertainty flickered across her features, but she recovered herself as they stepped into the lift. She leaned against the rail that ran around the walls. Her skirt had ridden up a little, showcasing her long tanned limbs, and heat shot through him.

  He ignored it, dragged his gaze away. “And what about you, Kate …? What’s your surname?”

  “Wilkinson. It’s all in my personnel file.”

  “I haven’t got time to read up about you; we have forty minutes and counting. Quick-fire round: marital status?” Odd question to ask but for some reason it suddenly seemed important.

  “Is none of your business.”

  “If you’re my girlfriend and I have a rival then I need to know who I’m up against. Theoretically.”

  “A rival? What century are we in?” Her mouth pursed, red lipstick shimmering in the fractured light. “I’m single.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Yes, aren’t you. Theoretically.”

  He couldn’t help but watch her. Reflected in the mirrored walls were hundreds of Kates, effecting a nonchalant stance, which was belied by the illuminated tight grip on the handrail, white knuckles repeated over and over. Either he made her nervous or she really did not want to be here doing this with him. Money clearly spoke to her, regardless of what she said.

  “Age?”

  She turned again to look at him. “Twenty-six. You?”

  “Thirty-three. Where did we meet?”

  “You tell me. Where do you usually meet your girlfriends?”

  “I don’t know, wherever.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one. Sex yes, but a relationship? Dating? Commitment? “Come on, make it up. Anything, anywhere. Where would you want to meet your dashing prince charming?”

  She frowned. “I have no delusions about fairy tales, Mr Doyle. I know life never serves up that kind of soppy romantic happy ever after.”

  “Ah, a fellow cynic. Then we at least agree on something. And yet we’re so desperately in love.” In an uncharacteristic roguish gesture he took her hand in his, trying to ignore a powerful surge of something that fired between them at the first touch of skin on skin. It threw him off balance a little. Kate threw him off balance.

  She pulled her hand away and wiped it down the latex skirt. So she’d felt it too, and wanted to be rid of it as quickly as possible; he had no argument there. She gave him a sarcastic lift of her lip. “In some strange parallel universe that I seem to have found myself in, yes, apparently I adore you.” Her eyes gleamed as she turned to him. “But don’t get used to the idea.”

  He tapped his chest. “And now you’ve broken my poor gentle heart.”

  “Oh, you tragic sweet thing who wouldn’t hurt a fly, ever. I’m so sorry to break this to you but, between you and me, you’re just not my type.”

  And then she laughed. Hearing that simple sound felt as if something in his chest had been liberated. Was this a glimpse of the real Kate Wilkinson? “You have a type? What? A compassionate doctor? A philosophy student—with wordy books and a head full of ideas?” Not a bruised and belligerent boxer. And who could blame her?

  “Not up for discussion.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because it has nothing to do with you. But trust me on this: a man who dedicates his life to hurting people either physically or through their wallets is definitely not the man for me.”

  Again he touched his heart. Seemed she was hell-bent on stomping on it. Strange way to start a relationship, pretend or otherwise. “Kate Wilkinson, I think you have the wrong impression of me.”

  “Oh no, I have the very right impression.” The doors swished open at the southernmost end of the ground floor, the grand gilt Victorian-era decor accenting Doyle’s executive casino experience. Kate flashed him a cool smile as she stepped out. “Shall we?”

  * * *

  Kate tried to stop her hands from trembling as she followed him into the shop. What the freaking hell was she doing? It was one thing to pry and eavesdrop and spy, but another thing altogether to agree to be his woman for the whole night, with company too. And to add another layer of lies … a nurse? A nurse? Where in hell had that come from? But then she’d nursed her mum for so long until she’d died, and then Jake when he came out of hospital, she might as well have been one.

  And yes, so it put her in pole position for getting closer to Doyle, but now she was there, she didn’t think it was such a great idea. From the first moment she’d seen him she’d been weirdly affected by this walking, talking bundle of uncoiled testosterone who appeared to have no qualms at trampling over everyone in a bid to get his own way. She wanted to believe she could meet him spar for spar—and she was good at playing the part. Too good. Combative words seem to fall from her lips whenever they discussed anything, but to her horror she’d enjoyed it. She was someone else, someone with an edge. It bordered on dirty flirting.

  Therein lay the problem: he had a sharp wit and a keen observant eye, but he was also strangely enigmatic in a rough, savage way and that seemed to enthral her on some deep level. She had to see past the man to the monster she knew him to be.

  “Good evening, Nancy.” He gave the officious-looking shop manager a smile as they walked in to what was the most peaceful, sophisticated, beautiful shop she’d ever seen. The displays were simple but stunning; gold and silver dresses hung from racks suspended from the ceiling, red silks, black velvet, a dress for every occasion and every one more lovely than the last. There were birdcages, feather stoles, silk shoes … she wanted to run her fingers across every item to feel its exquisite quality, imagining being able to afford this, to be in this shop for real, choosing a dress for a night out with a man sh
e loved. Someone who loved her right back.

  Rey’s voice broke through her reverie. The fairy tale screeching to a sharp halt like a scratched vinyl record—there’d been no fairy tales in Kate’s life. “My friend here is looking for a dress for an event tonight, could you help her, please?”

  Nancy looked from him, to Kate, taking in her Doyle’s uniform, and back again. “Friend?”

  “Yes. Whatever she wants, charge it to me.”

  The older woman almost sneered over her gold-rimmed glasses, but she patted her over-coiffed hair and gave a thin smile. “Certainly, Mr Doyle.”

  He glanced towards a rack of silk dresses. “Something oriental inspired?”

  As Nancy went into the back room he looked as if he was going to sit down. No way was he going to watch this. Kate walked over to him and hissed. “It’s okay, you can go now. I can manage perfectly well on my own, I know my body and what suits me.”

  “I was going to stay—”

  “Don’t pull that Pretty Woman crap on me. I can choose my own clothes and pay for them too. I’ll meet you back in the VIP room.” She didn’t want to feel indebted to him, that he had bought her. She didn’t want him to choose her clothes. She was doing this for a damn good story—and for Jake—not because she wanted to be Rey’s woman in any shape or form.

  “I said I’d pay for your time and whatever you need to wear.” That smirk again. “If I get to pay, I get to choose.”

  As he spoke Kate flicked over one of the price tags on a simple-looking cornflower blue day dress. How freaking much? Trebled wages wouldn’t be nearly enough. “You seem to have forgotten that you need me here, so be careful not to demand too much, Rey. I suppose, if you insist, you can pay half. Equal stakes. But I choose.” She looked up at him and glared, was she really trying to do a deal with the devil? “Trust me, it’ll all work out fine.”

  As she said the words she felt guilt ripple through her.

  No. That was so not going to happen. She would not feel any kind of guilt for exposing him, whatever it took. And yet, trust … she’d used the word twice already. Would she be as bad as him if she did something that she knew was fundamentally wrong? Like lie and cheat and pretend she was someone she wasn’t.