were meeting with Hatcher when you were shot?”
“I was.”
She exhaled slowly. “And now he’s reconsidering the venture?”
He pressed his lips to the top of her head. Smart, this woman. “Correct. He says my association makes the entire thing too risky.”
“You can hardly fault him. Poor man’s probably still in shock. He’s a notorious recluse and seeing you shot in front of his eyes undoubtedly had a lasting impression on him.”
“None of it is my fault, either. Not to mention that I’m the one who was shot, not him.”
“I would say some of it is your fault. You lead the life of your own choosing—and it’s a dangerous one. You’ve never made any excuses for it, but you have to know the risks.”
He did, all too well. The proof was the burning ache in his side at present.
“I am not asking him to share office space with me. We don’t even need to see one another in person again. There’s no risk to his physical person.”
“True, but there is risk to your physical person. What happens to this beer business if you’re killed? I’m assuming, as it is your idea, that you are doing the hard labor in the distribution and transportation of the beer. Hatcher could hire someone to replace you, but would they have your ambition or contacts? Your charm or business acumen? My guess is that Hatcher knows no one can pull off such a feat but you.”
Jack stared at the ceiling and considered this. Was this why the shooting had spooked Hatcher? If so, Jack could arrange for contingencies should something happen to one of the three partners. Doing so might ease Hatcher’s concerns enough to change his mind.
He squeezed her tight to his side. “You might be right. Consequently, I really need to kiss you right now. Come up here.”
“Absolutely not. You need to rest, not get all worked up.”
“I promise not to get worked up. All I want is a kiss.”
Carefully, she leaned up on her elbow and met his lips with her own. She tried to keep it chaste, but he dragged his mouth over hers, his arm clamped around her back to prevent an instant retreat. He was starving for her, a bone-deep lust that not even a terrible injury could prevent. Thrusting his tongue past her lips, he tasted her, swirling and stroking, until they were both out of breath.
He pressed his face into the silken strands of her hair. “I would beg to fuck you if I thought you wouldn’t worry about my injury.”
“No begging would be required if you were healed.”
“Then I guess I’d better heal damn quickly.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Though it was the afternoon, the club buzzed with activity. Justine hadn’t been here since before Jack’s injury nearly a week ago. Jack had insisted on returning to his duties the day after receiving Hatcher’s cable, determined to make the national brewery happen. The incision was healing, becoming what would end up as another scar on his battered body.
She hoped to see that body again soon. Perhaps tonight.
Her sisters had dropped the issue of Jack, thankfully. Remaining home each night must have reassured them that nothing was going on between their youngest sister and Jack Mulligan. Florence was in the house more often of late, coming into Justine’s room at odd hours to “ask a question.” Everyone thought Florence was a terrific liar, but Justine knew what her sister was doing. Merely ensuring that Justine was in the house, not sneaking off to see Jack.
Justine felt slightly guilty about deceiving them. As a rule she didn’t care for lying. However, this was different. The matter was none of their business—especially when both sisters had done the exact same thing recently. Justine had never interfered with their romantic lives, never forbidding them to see a man from a different background.
And Jack was a good man. Perhaps a bit rough around the edges, but he was decent and kind.
Surprisingly, he’d asked her to come to the club today instead of Bond Street. She had no idea what this was about. He hadn’t mentioned a thing yesterday during their time together.
Climbing the stairs, she passed Cooper. “Hello. Are you well today, Cooper?”
“Fine, thank you, miss. He said to send you right in.”
Justine didn’t bother knocking on Jack’s door. She turned the knob and stepped inside. Jack saw her and rose from behind his desk, and the man seated across from him turned around.
It was Keller, the Tammany Hall man who’d refused her request for the