A Deal With the Devil

by Louisa George

  She looked up at him through impossibly dark lashes. “That bad, eh?”

  “Terrible. So what’s the deal? Are you just working here for the money? Sleeping with me to get more?” But that didn’t add up. She’d said money wasn’t important to her. Maybe that had been a lie too? Before she blew up in his face he jumped in, “No—that was a very poor joke. That’s not you, Kate. I know what happened between us wasn’t calculated.” She’d felt the shock, the awe, had been just as blown away by the unexpected force between them; that much had been obvious to him.

  “I’m a writer.” Hands fluttered to her face as her cheeks pinked, that little muscle under her eye working frantically. “I’m so sorry.”

  A writer? That was all? No big deal. “Oh I get it—you’re undercover?” Amateur in every way … if he hadn’t been so pissed he would have laughed.

  The pinked cheeks turned crimson and he could have sworn her hands began to shake. “How the hell did you know …?”

  “All the questions. Finding you in the management suite … it’s all falling into place now. You’re not the first. We get quite a few people asking if they can come and interview us for a crime thriller or heist story or something. Casinos are great story material. What do you need to know? Just ask.”

  “I think I’ve learnt enough already.” The shaky hands stilled against his chest as she breathed slowly out. “I was here to do some research, but I don’t think I want to do it any more. I have to think … I don’t know … it’s all become too complicated. I’m sorry I lied to you. Truly I am. But I do really have to go.”

  “And tomorrow?”

  She pulled on her skirt. Fastened the buttons on her blouse. “What about it?”

  He got the feeling she was still holding back, that there was even more to Kate than she was letting on. And he intended to find out exactly what it was, because until he did he wouldn’t be able to get her out of his head. “Seven o’clock in the VIP lounge. We have a date with Chin to finalise the deal.”

  “We? I didn’t think you’d want me there after this?”

  “Are you kidding? We’re practically engaged, you have to come. Besides, I’d say you owe me.”

  The look she flashed him was one of surprise. “One time hardly constitutes an engagement.”

  “I meant in Chin’s eyes. But we could make it twice … three times …”

  Smoothing her hair down with her palm and then taming it into a low ponytail she shook her head. “But I lied to you.”

  “Yes, you did.” As if that was okay. It wasn’t. It was far from okay. But who was he kidding? He didn’t want to get her out of his head. He wanted her in it. He wanted to know who she was deep down. Despite his easy clean-edged life right now he craved something messy and complicated with Kate. Something he could handle—maybe something he couldn’t—a challenge, something that made everything else he did worthwhile.

  And with that realisation he should have ended it right there. Closed it down. Stopped it. But he didn’t. Instead, he dug himself deeper. “We’ll do the business stuff first. He’ll expect you to be there for that, and if it’s good news he’ll want to celebrate. Hell, so will I.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “So you want me to lie for you again? Double standards, much?”

  “Lie for me one last time, just don’t lie to me, Kate. Ever. Again.” Rey stood and wrapped her in his arms. Kissed her again, felt an initial hesitation, then the softening into him that he’d come to enjoy so much. Too much.

  Chapter Seven

  He didn’t like lies. Who did?

  But was there any point in telling him everything? What good would it do if Rey knew she’d been hell-bent on bringing him down by exposing the fight club and tarnishing his reputation? When things had changed for her to the extent that she didn’t know what angle to take for her article? For that matter, if she was going to write the damned article at all.

  Before she’d started all of this she’d had offers from a couple of prominent newspapers for an exposé, so they were expecting something and willing to pay a high price. She needed that money for extra tuition for Jake, for all the lessons he’d missed while in hospital—because of Rey.

  She also needed Jake on side if she was going to parent him through this difficult time, and he was proving more than tetchy these days.

  And she was desperately confused about Rey. One time might not make an engagement, but it had certainly put a whole new spin on things.

  Plus, the craving him night and day hadn’t stopped. If anything it was worse.

  The VIP lounge was, once again, quiet the next night. Deliberately so, she assumed, on Rey’s orders; it was hard to hold an informal meeting in a busy bar. She nodded to Carlos as she walked in, this time not in work uniform but wearing a carefully chosen midnight-blue cocktail dress from her admittedly sparse wardrobe. But she’d paid for it, no one else.

  The pretence was over—she wasn’t a gangster’s moll, a pampered princess or a gaudy whore. She was Kate, take her or leave her. Rey didn’t need to know who she’d been only a few days ago, because she’d changed already. She’d realised that nothing really made sense the way it was supposed to, that life was murky at times, that shit happened to good people—to Jake, to her mum and, yes, to the bad guys too. To Rey.

  He was standing at the bar, on his own, drinking a shot of whisky. He smiled as she walked towards him, the pale blue open-necked shirt and charcoal pants covered a body she ached to touch. Would she ever stop having this immediate urgent reaction to him? It made no sense. “Where’s Chin?”

  Rey took her elbow, gave her a kiss on her cheek, sending instantaneous whispers of desire through her. “He left. He had to take an earlier flight back to Macau for an unexpected meeting, but he sends his good wishes and apologies. Good news is, he’s going to recommend Doyle’s for a license. Seeing as he’s the chair of the licensing committee he doesn’t think there’ll be a hitch.”

  “So you don’t need me then?”

  His eyes glinted in the subdued light. “I want to thank you for helping me to land the biggest deal this century. We’re going out to celebrate.”

  She looked down at his hand on her elbow, back to those intense grey eyes. “Does everyone always do what you say?”

  And he looked right back at her as if she was completely mad. “Of course they do.”

  Maybe she would this time. “Don’t get used to it. So where are we going?” Suddenly she was excited at the prospect of having him to herself for the evening. It was like a date.

  Was that what she wanted? Before she had time to think it through he steered her towards the lift. “You told Chin you liked dancing.”

  “Oh, yes, you remembered? It was an off-the-cuff remark. I didn’t realise you were listening.”

  “You underestimate me, Kate. Never ever underestimate me.” But this wasn’t a warning, it was a promise. He smiled, more relaxed tonight although there was still that dark edge, but it was diminished a little. She imagined it was because one of his problems had been solved. Almost. He took her hand in his. “You look very beautiful, those shoes are … outstanding.”

  She looked down at the silver nineteen-fifties shoes she’d picked up for a song in Camden market. “Gorgeous, eh? And cheap.”

  “Nothing about you is cheap. Nothing at all. That dress suits you.”

  “Thank you. Another one I managed to choose all by myself.”

  He gave her a wry sideways smile. “Was my offering to choose one overkill?”

  “What? Choosing what a woman wears without canvassing her opinion? Bordering on weird in my book. Would you like me to choose your suits? Pants?”

  The Gallic shrug. “Lots of women seem to like it.”

  “This woman doesn’t.”

  Cocking his head to one side he regarded her as if she was some kind of puzzle he needed to work out. “Noted. No shopping without consent.”

  “Unless it’s diamonds, obviously. Then you can choose what the hell
you want, I’m all in. The more the merrier, I say.” There was something very sexy about a grouchy man who could laugh at himself. She laughed along.

  “Says the woman who isn’t interested in money.”

  “I’m not.” She truly wasn’t. But it was fun to watch his bewilderment morph into guffawing. “Just diamonds.”

  A roll of the eyes. “Now who has the double standards?”

  She tiptoed up and pecked a kiss on his cheek, feeling, for the first time since she’d met him, that she was being truly and openly herself. “Takes one to know one.”

  “You are unlike any woman I’ve ever met.”

  “I damn well hope so.” Then she curled into his arms and kissed him like no other woman kissed too.

  * * *

  The Roxborough Club was just off Wardour Street in the heart of Soho—a short walk from the casino—behind a heavy panelled door that simply bore the letters RC and gave no indication as to what lay behind.

  “What on earth …?” Kate’s smile grew as they were greeted by a woman in a dark red basque, black fishnets and heels that defied any laws of physics. Surely no one could possibly keep upright in them?

  The woman grinned at Rey. “Good evening, Mr Doyle.”

  He gave her a kiss on both cheeks and handed over a wad of notes. “Rosie, this is Kate. We’re here to have a bit of a celebration. See that we’re not interrupted.”

  “Right you are.” She led them to a table at the back of a room decked out in nineteen-twenties decor. An old-fashioned gramophone sat on a card table next to the bar, dark wood round tables dressed with plumes of huge white feathers, blood-red plush-velvet chaises-lounge. The servers all wore claret-coloured basques or drop-waisted dresses, hair neatly bobbed and pinned down with bands of jewels and feathers. The men had slicked hair and collarless shirts, braces and pleat-waisted trousers, spats on their feet. Kate had never been anywhere so eclectic. Up on a tiny stage, a band played ragtime.

  Rey ordered champagne and surveyed the room. “You like it?”

  “Oh yes.” She couldn’t stop smiling. “This is wild. How come I’ve lived in London all my life yet I’ve never been here?”

  One corner of his mouth kicked up. “One of our best-kept secrets. Members only.”

  “I’ve heard about gentlemen’s clubs, but I imagined them to be stuffy and dull, not like this.”

  “Why would we want stuffy and dull?”

  “Good point, this is much more fun than dark green reading lamps and butlers. And you get … interrupted?”

  Rey’s eyebrows rose. “On occasion. There are private rooms out back that we can use for meetings and a few of the less scrupulous journalists try to get in and sniff around, see what we’re all up to.”

  Her eyes widened as her brain worked overtime. “Why? What are you up to?”

  A shrug. “Nothing particularly underhand. But a real assortment of people come here: actors, MPs, lawyers, judges … we talk. We chat about things. Boring usually, but useful.”

  “Useful?”

  “Deals are forged, business partnerships are made, things get … overlooked … gambling debts get written off in exchange for … things.”

  “Things?”

  “Deals. Law amendments, statutes …”

  So this was where the real action occurred. It was indeed a journalist’s haven for gossip. A real coup to be in the inner circle. Immediately she was on alert. To her left she recognised Lord something-or-other making out with a woman who definitely wasn’t his wife; in the far corner was an actor she’d seen in a West End high-brow play with what appeared to be identical twins on his knees—of the male variety. How much could she be paid for pictures of that? Add in some decent copy and she’d be made for a month or two. Or six. If she was the kind of journalist who was in it for titillation and a quick buck. She wasn’t.

  The article. Her stomach contracted at the thought of it. Her livelihood versus Rey. Jake versus Rey. Loyalties pulled her in different directions. What the hell should she do? What would her mum think if she knew her daughter was doing this? For that matter, what would Rey’s mum think? Sometimes Kate felt as if Rey’s guardian angel was watching over her too—and she was found decidedly wanting.

  Chaos swirled in her chest. He was a good man underneath it all. It had been so, so long since anyone had taken care of her, years since someone had put her first. She’d moved through adolescence as a nurse for a sick parent, and now was little more than a mum to her teenage brother. But Rey didn’t see her like that, as a carer; he saw her as a sensual woman. He wanted Kate the woman. And it was so wonderful to be wanted by such a man. She realised she could easily fall for him. Hard and irrevocably. She could love him. Too much. Such a strange turnaround from a week ago when all she’d wanted was revenge.

  She was getting in too deep, because she knew those emotions must be shining there in her eyes for him to see. And whatever happened next, whether she wrote the damned article or not, whether she broke the code or broke his trust, she could not let herself fall in love with him. He was too dangerous. Too tightly wound. Rey Doyle was the kind of man who played with his prey before he killed them.

  The champagne arrived and Rey handed her a glass, a small frown settled over his forehead. “Are you okay? Do you need anything else?”

  And even though she knew she was taking a risk, she said, “Actually, I was just thinking about your mum.”

  * * *

  All Rey’s muscles seized up at the mention of his mother. No way was he talking about this. Here. “Why?”

  “I don’t know, to be honest. I was thinking about you, this place and how quirky it is and yet how you fit in so perfectly considering where you’ve come from. My brain played mental hopscotch until I found myself wondering what happened to your mum. How did she die?”

  “This is a very inappropriate place to talk about this.”

  “It’s as good as any.” Shrugging, she wound her fingers into his as he controlled his thoughts, damped down the irritation stalking up his spine. But why not here? If Kate was to have any part in his life, however fleeting, she might as well know the darkness that tainted him. That way she’d know what to expect, what he could not give her, and why. He owed her that much. “She got in the way of my dad’s fist.”

  “Oh my God.” She dropped his hand and covered her mouth. “You were there? You saw it happen? How bloody awful.”

  He looked around at all the other people here, laughing and smiling, oblivious to the torment in his gut. At Kate’s anguished face. “Do you think I would have stood by and watched it? I’d gone out to see a friend, first time in weeks I’d left her on her own. She’d made me go, said she’d be okay.”

  “This happened a lot?”

  “It was situation normal.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Why didn’t she leave him? Take you with her?”

  How many times had he urged her to do exactly that? How many times had they packed, only for her to cave at the last minute? “Because she loved him. Because she thought love was about giving everything. Standing by the choices you make.”

  “Ah, the quote on your tattoo?”

  Rey’s throat was dry and scratched. He gulped some champagne. “When I came home he was crying with her limp in his arms, moaning. She was dead an hour later. He told them she’d fallen and hit her head. Nothing I said or did would make them believe me. Truth was, I hadn’t witnessed anything, I just knew. And he knew that I knew.” And Rey had lived with the guilt ever since. He shouldn’t have left her. Shouldn’t.

  Kate’s hand grasped the champagne flute so tightly he could see the whites of her knuckles. “They should have heard you out at least? Why didn’t they listen?”

  “He was a policeman and they all stuck together. Beyond reproach. Who would believe me against him? That was when I knew I had to leave, because it would be me next.”

  Wide eyes. “And what happened? He got away with it?”

  “He died a few months later.�
� Brutal bare facts. Suicide they’d reported. Guilt, Rey hoped, and that he’d rot in whatever hell he’d believed in. His father had died and the only thing Rey had felt was absolutely nothing. Surely he should have felt something?

  That relief he was always chasing? Had his father’s name on it. He cleared his throat, shook his head firmly. Waved his hand at their surroundings. “That’s enough. Not here. Not now, Kate. Come dance with me. It’s a slow one, I can just about manage that.”

  She lifted her head, looked as if she was gathering her composure. “In a minute, maybe. I don’t think I can manage a dance right now. What I don’t understand is why, if your dad’s way hurt you so much, did you carry it on? Why all the fighting, the boxing? Why didn’t you just give it up?”

  “What? And take up fishing instead? Tiddlywinks? Meditation?”

  “Or football? Rugby—that’s pretty hard-core.”

  The champagne fizzed as he poured more into the flutes. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me?” Her voice was a little forced, as if she was trying hard to be light.

  He didn’t want to analyse the damned minutiae of his life, but this was Kate’s night. They were supposed to be celebrating. Just great—a walk through his murky past was hardly a celebration, but she seemed hell-bent on asking questions. “Truth is, I’m a Doyle. There’s a part of me that searches for the same release as him. I love it. I love the way it makes me feel. And that sickens me.”

  “The boxing?”

  “It’s in me … deep in me.” How to explain something so base and pure it was as instinctive as hunger? It was hunger. “It’s real—it’s life, it’s raw, it’s grit. It’s the most basic we get. Fist against bone. Winning. Power. Control.”

  She shook her head, almost spitting the words, “I have other words for it: Neanderthal, stupid, dangerous. It’s just barbaric.”

  “Then you’ve never seen a decent fight. There are rules. Strict guidelines. Strategy. It’s a lot of training and a lot of work. I told you about the PADS … It makes me feel something, Kate.”