Page 17 of A Raven Reborn

Finch shrugged. “There’s not much to tell, really. We happened across one another at a time when we were both in need. I followed him home like a lost puppy and tried to make myself useful.”

Somehow Rosalyn doubted that was the whole story, but she didn’t press for more. “So, tell me about The Raven’s Den.”

“I don’t really know that much about it, if I’m honest. I’ve never been there.”

That seemed strange. “How long have you worked for Patrick?”

“Oh,” He let out a long sigh. “Many years now.”

“And you’ve never been to his club?”

“The patrons of his club aren’t people like me, Rosie. The people who come to his club have plenty of money. I know that much, at least.”

Rosalyn nodded. That made sense.

“I should probably get back to work.” Finch swallowed the last of his tea. “Ella will have my head if I don’t finish that necklace soon.”

* * *

For the first time ever, Patrick found himself longing to be at home more than at The Raven’s Den. His club was the only thing that gave him any purpose or meaning. Or, at least, it always had been. But suddenly, he had a reason to go home. Someone he longed to see, which seemed ridiculous. She shouldn’t even be there. She should be at Raven House, but he didn’t want her to go. Another day wouldn’t make any difference. As soon as the doors were locked up tight, he practically jogged the short distance to his flat, taking the stairs leading up to his door two at a time.

It was only a few minutes before she appeared in his doorway, an enchanting smile on her face. He felt indebted to whatever power had brought her into his life. She was funny, kind, beautiful, and an excellent cook. Perhaps he could just keep her on as his cook rather than delivering her to Raven House. It was a stupid thought, though. He was far too drawn to her for that. Probably too drawn to her for either of those options, but what was the alternative?

A short time later, she laid down the winning card.

“Have I won?” Excitement fairly vibrated from her as she perched on the edge of her seat and waited expectantly for his confirmation. At his nod, Rosie jumped to her feet, her hands shot into the air, and she twirled in a circle. Laughter floated up from Patrick’s chest.

How could such a small action bring him so much joy? How couldshebring him so much joy?

“Apologies,” she said as she clasped her hands in front of her and lowered herself back into the chair. A wide grin still spread from ear to ear across her face. “I’ve never won anything before. I’m not sure of the appropriate response.”

“I believe that was the perfect response.” His heart began to warm, and warning bells sounded in his head. The only people he’d ever been able to laugh as much with were Michael and Ash. They certainly didn’t stir in him the desires that Rosie did, though. A need to wrap her in his arms and press his lips to hers. To feel her soft curves pressed against him.

Before his lustful thoughts turned into actions, it was time to send her to bed. With a reluctant sigh, he got to his feet. “This is probably a good time to turn in for the night. Thank you for a thoroughly entertaining game of Battle. Get some sleep, Rosie.”

Rosie simply shook her head. “You have done too much for me already,” she explained. “I’ll not sleep in your bed while you sleep,”—she stood and looked around his study—“wherever it is you sleep in here.”

“That one, if you must know.” He pointed to a large leather chair near the fireplace.

“Very well.” She walked over to the chair and sat in it.

Patrick chuckled. “What are you doing?”

Rosie leaned back into the corner of the chair and tucked her feet up underneath her. “I’m going to bed.”

Patrick let out a sigh. “No, Rosie, I will not have you sleeping in a chair. Now go.” This time he pointed toward the door to emphasize his command, but she still didn’t budge.

“But why?” She lifted her head to look at him. “If it’s good enough for his lordship, surely it’s good enough for me.”

Laughter erupted from him. It would seem she was quickly learning just how to ruffle his feathers. When he’d composed himself, he came around to stand in front of the chair and folded his arms across his chest.

“Don’t make me carry you, Rosie.”

She burrowed more tightly into the corner of the chair. She was calling his bluff, but he wasn’t bluffing.

His lips curled in a leering grin. “Never bet against the owner of a gaming hell, Rosie. You will always lose.” He slid his arms beneath her knees and back and pulled her tightly against him. Fire seared through his shoulder, but he would endure it in exchange for her warm body against his. She gave a gasp of surprise as he strode for the door, but he simply chuckled and kept moving.

As he carried her down the hall, her smile quickly vanished and she became panic-stricken.

---