Bitter Spirits (Roaring Twenties #1)(64)

“Are you sure? What if Sook-Yin is upset that you haven’t been seeing her? What if Ju takes your rejection of her as a rejection of him? And at that lunch, he did make a point about how successful you’ve become—warned you people would be jealous of that success.”

As much as he hated to admit it, things had been more relaxed between him and Ju back when he was still visiting Sook-Yin. “I don’t know. Ju isn’t a big tong leader, but he’s not stupid, either. Besides, if he wanted me dead, he’s had plenty of opportunities to kill me. Why all the hocus-pocus with the magical poison and the hauntings? Doesn’t add up.”

“Maybe you’re right.” She gave him a thoughtful look. “The hotel we’re in now wasn’t raided. Were they one of St. Laurent’s customers?”

“They were raided.”

“Why aren’t they shut down like the Palace?”

“Prohis didn’t find any booze. I talked to the manager this morning. Apparently St. Laurent was behind on shipments. Regardless, they are now without a supplier, and in light of everything I just told you, I think it’s possible whoever ratted out St. Laurent did so because they either wanted him out of business, or they want his business.”

Intelligent eyes squinted up at him; he liked the way her nostrils flared when she did that. “Is that why you got this room? You waiting to see if anyone shows up to offer the hotel booze?”

“Believe me, I was thinking about you when I checked in.”

She hooked her leg around his while her fingers toyed with the line of hair that bisected his stomach. Christ, she was just as bad as he was—they couldn’t stop touching each other. “But . . .” she prompted.

“But I might’ve taken last night’s events into consideration when I choose the Fairmont specifically. So I’m going to be nice to the hotel manager, and wait and see what transpires.”

Her fingers walked up his breastbone. “And if you can discover who ratted out St. Laurent while helping out the Fairmont with deliveries in their time of need, all the better, yes?”

“Just being a good neighbor.”

She laughed, and the sound made his balls tighten. “Winter Magnusson: friendliest man in the city.”

“You should’ve seen the concierge. Nearly pissed his pants when I walked up. I’m nothing if not recognizable,” he said, winking his bad eye.

She craned her neck and kissed him there—right on his eyelid—and trailed two more kisses over his scar, then fell back against the pillow, grinning at him prettily. Jesus. Did she know what that did to him? It felt as if she’d poked a hole inside his chest. If she didn’t stop, he’d be telling her how he rode around last night in a daze, thinking of the way she trembled beneath his tongue. How much he’d hated leaving her, and how he had to stop himself from calling her at three in the morning when he’d finished his work.

How he couldn’t get enough of her, even now. Even after he’d just had her twice, he was getting hard. And not because she was trying to seduce him. Not because she’d been trained for pleasure, like Sook-Yin, and knew exactly what to do to turn him on. But because she was so easy to talk to. Because she laughed and smiled at him without wanting anything in return. Because she made the past disappear.

And because she accepted him freely, scars and all.

“Only one left, huh?” she said, running tiny fingers up the ridge of his cock. “And, let’s see . . . four hours before I have to leave. This is very unfair. If you’re going to insist on using those things, you better bring more next time.”

He laughed and pulled her close, until he felt the peaks of her nipples against his chest. “Let’s be creative and see what we can do without using the last one just yet.”

“Creative.” She stroked him leisurely, up and down. “Like this?”

He groaned in pleasure. “Exactly like that.”

“What about this?” Her fingers strayed lower to his balls, sending soothing shivers through his groin.

“Christ alive, cheetah. That feels nice.”

“It does?” She cupped him. “Like this?”

“God, yes. Be gentle, though. Whatever you do, for the love of God, don’t squeeze.”

“How do you walk around with all this?”

“The same way you walk around with these,” he said, massaging one breast.

She made a little moan, then whispered dreamily, “I’m so glad we’re having an affair.”

“Best idea I ever had,” he agreed, and inhaled the scent of violets in her hair.

• • •

Aida’s performance at Gris-Gris later that night was one of her finest—dramatic, emotional, and enthusiastically applauded. When she left the stage, she wondered if her confidence had been increased since her afternoon with Winter. The sinful burn of well-used flesh lingered as she strolled to her dressing room, and this gave her a puzzling sort of satisfaction.

What was even more puzzling was how happy it made her. Not just the sex, but the experience of being so close to him when his guard was down. What would it be like to have a man like that all the time? Someone to confide in? It seemed like an impossible luxury, to know someone for more than a handful of months. Best to be sensible about things and just enjoy what she had in the moment, not worry about things she couldn’t control.