that his mouth dried out. “America doesn’t have kings.”
“Just wait.” The entire country would know him when he took the brewery nationwide. The only two things Americans cared about were alcohol and money. He would soon have a lot of both.
Then Justine sobered, as she looked around at the cavernous entry and the darkened rooms. “Do you have servants?”
“No. Maids come in once a week but that’s it. Are you scared to be alone with me?”
“Should I be?”
“Ma belle, I would never hurt you or ask you to do anything that frightens you. Rye will come in after seeing to the horses. However, if you want to leave, he will drive you home.”
“But I won’t get to see your house.”
“That’s true. You also won’t get to bowl with me.”
“You have a bowling alley here?” He nodded, and she continued, “You actually bowl?”
“Indeed—and if you tell anyone I’ll deny it until my dying breath.”
That caused her to giggle and he’d never seen her look happier. Heart pounding, he was utterly charmed. Dazzled. Unable to take his eyes off her. The young boy he’d never been wished to pick posies for her or dip her hair in ink.
The man he was now longed to drop to his knees and suck on her clitoris until her eyes rolled back in her head.
Fuck, he had to stop. He needed to remain distant, keep his urges under control. Not scare her or intimidate her. This was no widow or barmaid. Justine was an uptown princess with an altruistic streak. He couldn’t forget that.
“So, what’s it going to be?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She bit her bottom lip in that adorable way she had of doing. “I should return home. It’s getting late.”
“Not so late. Besides, I thought your parents were away.”
“Yes, they are in Europe. But my sister . . .” He shot her a disbelieving look and she smiled. “You’re right. No doubt Florence is out, too, and Granny had other plans.”
“Then there’s no reason to leave.” She still didn’t appear convinced, so he turned the screws. “When was the last time you did something hedonistic? Something just for yourself?”
Stay here.
Join me.
Let me show you how much fun we can have together.
“Fine. One game, then I’ll go.”
A dark thrill shot through his veins, the sweet taste of victory like a drug in his system. “One game and then you’ll go. Follow me.”
The house was dark but he knew the corridors well. He threw switches to illuminate their way as they twisted and turned toward the stairs that led to the basement. Once downstairs, he flipped on the lights surrounding the two bowling lanes.
They were beauties, with glossy oak floors and white wooden pins at the opposite end. A groove flanked each lane. A high bench allowed a place for a pin boy to cool his heels between throws. Jack used the lanes every few weeks, bowling by himself to relax.
“This is stunning,” she said. “What fun.”
“I thought you might like it. Do you remember how to play?”
“Roll the ball and knock pins over, correct?”
“Basically, yes. Let’s get started.” He shrugged out of his topcoat and tossed it onto the back of a chair. She examined him through her lashes, as if she didn’t wish to stare but couldn’t look away. Interesting. He took full advantage—how could he resist?—by removing his cufflinks, slipping them in his pocket and slowly rolling his shirtsleeves up his arms. Look your fill, little do-gooder.
She suddenly presented him with her back, then unpinned and removed her small hat. Now it was his turn to gawk. Light glinted off the strands, and he noted a fascinating mix of colors, from honey to wheat, chestnut to auburn. Was it a trick of the lighting, or was her hair as complicated as the woman herself?
More importantly, what would all that glory look like swirling about her creamy shoulders?
She smoothed her skirts and avoided his gaze. “What’s first?”
“Choose your ball.” There were eight to decide between, all in varying degrees of heaviness. “One you can lift easily.”
She took her time. He dropped into the chair behind the scoring table and enjoyed watching her, here in his home. Another person in his space should have made him nervous. Hundreds of people in this city would pay good money to learn where Jack slept. Yet, he wasn’t worried about his secret in Justine’s capable hands. The woman always did the right thing. Nobler than a nun. If he asked her not to inform anyone of his