Page 32 of Rake

She finishes and opens her eyes. “I always wanted to believe that you could grow old with someone and still love them.”

I bet. The innocent vulnerability in her eyes right now is hard to stomach. I put my fork down. And when did Sasha find time to memorize poetry? What other mysteries does this woman hold?

“What about you?” she asks. “To a Louse, maybe?”

And then comes the fire.

That one’s about Robert Burns seeing a louse on a fancy lady’s bonnet at church and noting that lice don’t observe class distinctions. I can’t help but laugh.

“Will you be disappointed if I go withA Red, Red Rose?”

Her cheeks are red from the whisky. I could tell her that Salvador Dali said that the first person to compare the cheeks of a beautiful woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot. And which am I in this moment? Instead I watch her lovely face as I recite the love poem to her.

“That was my Grandma’s favorite,” she says, when I finish. “My mother would say it’s overdone, but I love it too.”

The dreamy look in her eyes is almost enough to make me forget why she’s here. Suddenly I wish she were here for another reason. The knot in my stomach rises and forms a lump in my throat as an image flashes unbidden into my mind: a warm summer day, a picnic, her head in my lap as I share my favorite stories with her. Something far too simple and far too beautiful for me.

It’s painful to let it go, though. I swallow the lump and smile.

“It’s a good one. I’d sing Auld Lang Syne, but you’ve been through enough.” I can’t stop myself from touching her hair. She giggles.

“I’ll do it if you promise not to laugh?”

“I would never laugh at something so serious,” I reply. God, I’m not even drunk. But I feel drunk right now.

She throws back more of the whisky and clears her throat before going into the song. Her voice is sweet. Not the refined perfection of Siobhan’s, but lovely and understated, like her. Fucking Christ I need to get a grip. This isn’t a date night. This woman could ruin everything I’ve worked so hard for.

But I’ll be damned if I don’t want to kiss her.

And what could that hurt, really? She finishes singing, and I lean across the table and press my lips to hers.

She freezes for a moment but then leans into me, opening her mouth with a little sigh. I slide my tongue inside, caressing hers. She lets out a soft moan and it goes right to my cock.

Fuck. I want her. I want to make her come again, this time around my cock. But she’s a little drunk, and I want her first time to be memorable. Still, doesn’t mean I have to stop just yet. I kiss her thoroughly, enjoying the warm, honeyed taste of the whisky on her tongue as I wrap my hands in her hair.

She lets out a small gasp and I pull away, reluctantly, caressing her cheek. I need to stop thinking with my dick. Seducing her is part of the plan. Feeling whatever it is I’m feeling right now is not.

“That was lovely,” I say. “Robert Burns would be very happy, I think.”

She licks her lips again, those innocent eyes asking a million questions. Ones I can’t answer. She won’t give them voice, though, and I’m grateful.

I start cleaning up the kitchen, and she comes over to help.

“I’ve got this,” I say. “I don’t want you walking on that ankle.” The swelling hasn’t gone down much. Tomorrow afternoon I’ll take her to my family’s doctor.

And then I’ll take her home.

If she hasn’t come around by then, I’ll try something different. Show her an alternative to her small, painful life. I have at least until the gala to convince her, one way or the other.

But in the end I need her to kill this union. Callan and I have plans in motion that rely on the casino succeeding and my father being content. I can’t let anyone, even someone like Sasha, get in the way of it.

9

Sasha

Another sleepless night. Even without nightmares, there’s no way I can quiet my brain tonight. I didn’t expect my plan to distract Finn with a fake petition card to fail so spectacularly, and I certainly didn’t expect to enjoy the predatory way those big hands of his touched me.

I wish I had someone I could talk to about it, but no way in hell I’m telling Jamilah this.

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