He hadn’t lied; she was exactly as he’d thought she would be, only so much more. An impossibly responsive, cinnamon-tinged angel. And Damien couldn’t imagine having her worked out of his system in a mere month.

She slept curled in the fetal position, tucked into him, and while he’d love nothing more than to hold her all night, that way lay disaster.

He slipped slowly away, making sure not to wake her, but he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her brow gently before getting up and stepping into his pants, leaving his shirt off as he stepped from her room. It occurred to him that he hadn’t fed her; he hadn’t exactly planned for things to work out this way. All her righteous outrage had a tendency to get under his skin, riling his beast, making him want to strip her in more ways than one. He knew that under all her inhibitions, she was a passionate, hedonistic soul just like he was. Everyone was. He’d proven it tonight.

Never, ever, would he forget her flying apart underneath him that first time, milking a gloriously desperate release from him. It had been all he could manage not to follow suit. She was pure fire when she came, incinerating all that touched her.

He was nowhere near sleepy himself, energized rather than depleted by what had just happened. The pleasant, heavy ache in his cock wasn’t exactly satiation. If she hadn’t been so tired, he might have tried to go for another round. All in good time.

There were a dozen texts waiting on his cell phone when he found it in the kitchen: Zane and Mike in the running group chat they maintained, their jokes and bullshit seeming inane after what he’d just experienced; questions from employees—he could put most of them off for later. It was the messages from Stacia that he paid attention to, because she knew better than anyone when to bother him and when to handle something herself.

That Benjamin guy has been here asking for you, looking for his sister. I managed to get rid of him without the whole room hearing.

Damien ground his teeth together. He knew men like Benjamin—petty, bitter, jealous, volatile. He knew what they were capable of. He also knew how to handle them, but with Emma in the mix, that complicated things considerably.

Emma would never forgive him if she knew that Stacia was aware of their arrangement. There simply hadn’t been any way to keep it from his right hand, but what she didn’t understand was that Stacia was a vault. Once something went in that vault, it would never come out again. He didn’t have to swear her to secrecy about anything; it was understood. He doubted there was an affair he’d had that she wasn’t aware of.

What did he say? he asked her.

Nothing much. He was drunk. Just wanted to talk to her, he said, but he was definitely pissed about something.

If Emma was worried about their secret getting out, she need look no further than her idiot brother. It would spread like wildfire from his mouth alone.

Tell Jake he’s no longer allowed on the premises, he said, referring to their mammoth-size head of security.

Already done, she replied. And that’s why he had full confidence in her.

Is everything ready for Vegas?

A series of checkmarks was the answer. Only once business was handled did he go back and read more thoroughly through some of his brothers’ messages. Mike and Savannah, Zane and Rowan . . . he couldn’t be happier for Mike and Zane for finding love, but what they had wasn’t in the stars for him. He’d walled himself off, and he wasn’t even quite sure why, except that not a single person in his life aside from his brothers had stuck around. He took what he needed from the people he knew and he moved on. It was the best way to survive. Give them too much and they would try to destroy you with the very weapons you’d handed them, even if the only shot they ever fired was walking out the door.

That’s why his arrangement with Emma was so advantageous for him. He could take what he needed and walk away. Never mind that it had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed even to walk away from her bed tonight.

It was rare for Damien to call Mike; usually it was Mike pestering the shit out of him to be more communicative, but tonight he was missing his big brother more than usual. Maybe because he knew Mike would be all over his ass if he knew about what was going on here. Or maybe not—Mike had his big title defense coming up in a couple of weeks, and Damien knew things had been rough for him in the cage since Tommy Dugas’s death.

“It scares the shit out of me when your name pops up,” Mike said in place of a greeting when he answered the phone. “Are you all right?”

Damien laughed. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Even though Mike wasn’t above swinging by the club and playing some poker with him, he lived with the fear that the place was going to get busted. “Just thought I’d see how you’re doing.”

“Good. Training my ass off. Getting too old for this shit.”

Yeah, right. Mike would still be kicking ass well into his forties. “Is Savannah all right with everything?” Damien asked, knowing that Tommy’s sister had an even rougher time with Mike being in the cage than Mike himself.

“Scared to death,” his brother said solemnly, “as usual. But she’s hanging in. She’s stronger than I ever will be. By the way, she said you sent a cute redhead her way yesterday. Anything I ought to know about?”

Damien should’ve known Savannah wouldn’t keep that from Mike, but then he hadn’t thought to ask her to. “Nope,” he said, and Mike laughed.

“How did I know you were going to say that?”

“Because you know me.”

“And it’s because I know you that I know something must be going on with you. You don’t call me out of the sheer blue.”

Sadness gnawed at him at those words. The two of them, along with Zane, had been as close as three brothers could possibly be—they’d spent most of their young lives crammed in a single bedroom to escape beatings and drunken rages and sounds from their mother’s bedroom that still haunted Damien’s nightmares. Once they’d busted out of that house, that life, Damien had vowed to never be confined that way again. Sometimes, as much as he loved his brothers, seeing them put him right back there.

“I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “Just in a funk tonight, I guess.”

“Better snap out of it, little brother. We both have to be at the top of our games in a couple of weeks.”

Damien barely gave consideration to the tournament. While his brother trained at the gym, he trained every night at his own tables, and his game was always sharp. He didn’t have any reason to believe things would be different this time. Some of the best players in the world would be there, and many of them he’d beaten at one time or another.

“I’m really looking forward to all of us getting together,” Mike said. “You’d better be there, man. I mean it.”

“I will. And, well, I might as well go ahead and tell you, I’ll have the cute redhead Savannah mentioned with me. But don’t get too excited.” Better to get the hopeful ribbing over and done with as soon as possible.

“Hey, this is great news, why can’t I get excited?”

“Because you shouldn’t read too much into it. She’s a friend.”

“They all start out that way.”

“She’s also my accountant at the club.”

“Better be careful mixing business with pleasure.”

“I know. That’s why I said not to read too much into it.” He figured it was an easy way to deflect Mike’s prying. Let his big brother think he was doing the honorable thing . . . even though he was fooling himself if he didn’t think Mike probably knew better.

They talked more about Damien’s business and the fight and Zane’s tour and, even though it was good to catch up, he was left feeling melancholy by the time they said goodbye. His brothers had found their places in the world, and Damien had a beautiful, sweet, genuinely good woman upstairs that he couldn’t let himself get close to. And it was his own doing.

* * *

Emma found consciousness little by little, her still fractured reality slowly stitching itself together. A burning ache between her legs. Light streaming through her window. A familiar scent. An empty bed.

She lifted her head and glanced around, then snuggled back into her pillow and winced as she shifted positions. He was gone. It would’ve been nice to wake up to her new world with her guide there beside her, but that wasn’t what this was about, was it? She had to keep reminding herself of that. Damien wanted a month of sex, free of strings. After last night, Emma feared her strings were dangling in the wind, seeking something to attach to, and nothing was there.

The scent that had teased her nostrils was the unmistakable smell of coffee. And bacon. Her stomach rumbled. She slipped naked from the bed, grimacing again as all the blood in her body seemed to rush to the rawness between her thighs. Never, ever had she been fucked like that and, as much as she wanted more, he would have to be merciful for a couple of days. She performed something of a penguin walk to the bathroom.

She brushed her teeth and showered, washing his remnants from her, and wrapped herself in a heavy, silky robe. She found Damien in the kitchen with Bentley sitting at his feet staring adoringly up at him. The sight of him sipping coffee at the granite island as he eyed what looked like stock reports on his phone stole her breath for a moment. His black hair was damp, and he wore long gray athletic shorts and a black sleeveless T-shirt that showed off his sparsely tattooed biceps—she’d never expected him to have ink. The spice from his aftershave reached her nose even where she stood. She’d never seen him dressed so casually.

“Good morning,” she said, proud of how nonchalant she sounded.

He turned his dark head and actually smiled. Not a predatory smirk, but a genuine smile as if he was glad to see her. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Like the dead.” She couldn’t even remember dreaming. “Bentley Bear, come on, let’s go outside.” Her little dog finally jaunted over to her.

“I already took him,” Damien said.

“Oh.” She bent over and scooped up the black mop of fur, dropping her face to the top of his head and breathing in his comforting doggy smell as he licked her nose. “Glad to see you two getting along.”

“There’s coffee, if you want. I didn’t know what you like for breakfast, and I felt bad that you never ate dinner last night, so I made a little of everything.”

“You cooked?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Just figured you’d have someone for that, I guess.”

“No need.”

If he’d been raised from nothing by an older brother, it stood to reason he’d learned at a young age to fend for himself, she supposed. But not only had he cooked, but the eggs, bacon, and waffles were all fabulous and perfectly seasoned. They sat in his breakfast nook eating in companionable silence, and there was no dimming the inward glow when she caught him stealing glances at her over his coffee mug.

“What are you doing today?” she finally ventured when she didn’t think she could eat another bite. “You don’t look ready to go to work.”

“I’m heading to the gym and the rec center for a couple hours. There are some kids there I coach.”

If she’d been taking a bite or a sip, she might have choked. “You? What do you do, teach them poker?”

He gave her a long-suffering look, then laughed. “No, Emma. It would seem I’m pretty good at basketball, too.”

Her eyebrows raised. She’d love nothing more than to see this gorgeous, reserved specimen in action on a basketball court. “So, you . . . coach basketball. Did you play in high school?”

“Yeah. Mike tried his damnedest to keep us in a sport, and that was my favorite.”

“You must really love it to keep wanting to be involved.” She remembered what he’d said to her about kids in the system. That seemed like years ago. “Or is it that you like being around the kids?”

“Both. I’ve been doing it for a couple years now.”

“What made you decide to do something like that?”

“Because growing up I always had someone on my ass, pushing me to do better, be better, and I think that was exactly what I needed.”

“And here you are . . . running an illegal poker room.”

Now the wicked grin resurfaced. “You like to focus on the bad, don’t you?”

“Well, it’s hypocritical, Damien. If you get raided one day, those kids will see your name in all the papers, I’m sure. They’ll think everything you ever told them about life and doing better was bullshit. Don’t you ever feel guilty?”

“Guilt is about the most useless emotion we’re subjected to. I learned that a long time ago. I’ll gladly pass along that piece of advice.”

“That’s ridiculous. It’s pretty useful for keeping us accountable.”

“To who?”

“Ourselves,” she said, exasperated. “Guilt, conscience, whatever you call it . . . it keeps us from being horrible people.”

He crossed his forearms on the tabletop and gave her the full power of his dark eyes, which seemed to devour the light in the sunny nook. “No, it’s only there to torment people who are already basically good. Horrible people don’t feel a fucking shred of guilt. Or else it’s inconsequential to them.”

“But since you don’t feel guilt, are you saying you’re a horrible person?”

“I didn’t say I don’t feel it. I just said it’s useless and I don’t let it dictate my decisions.”

She wanted to smack him, but she rather enjoyed calling him on his bullshit. “So it’s inconsequential.”

“There are worse things I could be doing, Emma. I assume this is about running an establishment that feeds addictions like your brother’s. Do you also hold me accountable for running a nightclub that serves alcohol to alcoholics?”

“But that’s legal.”

“So if the state laws changed, I’d be in the clear with you? Even though I’m doing the exact same thing I was before?”

“I just don’t want you—or any of us—to get into trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it. There are safeguards in place.”

“Infallible?”

“As I can make them.” She didn’t doubt that he had connections everywhere. Maybe it would be enough. She could only hope. “But let me ask you this,” he went on. “You work for me. You know what’s going on. Yet you stick around. You can always deny knowledge of the gambling, sure, but how’s guilt working out for you?”

“I do my job and go home. I know that’s no explanation, but . . . I need this job.”

“There are others.”

“They don’t pay as well.”

He sat back with a smugness that indicated to her she’d just proven his point, damn him. “Ah. Money. The root of all evil. You can sleep at night because I compensate you well enough for it.”

She seethed, because he was right. He was absolutely fucking right. But she couldn’t let him know that. “The love of money is the root of all evil. The desperate need of money is different. Besides, we’re not talking about me.”

“I’m talking about you.”

“Fine. Then my resignation stands. Once this month is over, I’m out. I’ll go somewhere else.”

“I don’t think you will,” he challenged.

“I suppose you feel a bet coming on again, but I am not betting on anything.”

“I just doubled your salary, Emma.”

The breath left her lungs in a rush, her eyes dropping to her empty plate. It blurred in her vision. Even without looking at him, she felt his scrutiny. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“I can and I will.”

The things she could do for her sweet parents with that kind of money . . . “Damien . . .”

“Yes?”

She glared at him. “I hate you.”

The bastard laughed. “You didn’t hate me last night.”

It was too much. She sprang from her chair and bolted for the arched doorway into the living room, unsure of even where she was going. But his hands caught her before she could make it halfway to wherever that was. Before she knew what was happening, she was pressed against his solid warmth, the blackness of his T-shirt filling her swimming vision, her tears soaking into the fabric. His arms were an unbreakable band around her, squeezing her tight to him.

“Emma,” he said, as gently as she’d ever heard him speak. “I don’t mean to make you cry, or make you doubt that you’re one of the best people I know. If not the best.” His mouth dropped to the top of her head. Despite herself, she shuddered against him. “I just think at our core we’re all the same and need the same things, that’s all. Even you and I.”

“I’m nothing like you,” she said miserably, but even as she said it, she didn’t want him to let her go. Because she needed this. His comfort. She’d needed it since last night, she’d needed it upon waking this morning to find him gone. That need confused and frightened her. It shouldn’t be. What in God’s name was wrong with her?

Damien’s hands cupped her face and tilted it up for his kiss. She should have pushed him away, but she couldn’t make herself do it. Her mouth opened in wanton invitation when he quested for it; his tongue flickered inside, teasing, tasting, as his hands traveled down to her ass and squeezed hard enough to bruise the tender flesh. Emma’s blood seemed to thicken as her knees weakened. She leaned into him as the only solid thing in the rushing vortex of sensation he sparked in her.

He lifted her against him and carried her over to the kitchen island, setting her on top of it. Her robe fell open below the belt, and he jerked it apart to lavish her taut nipples with his mouth’s devastating attention, leaving them wet and aching. “Lie back,” he said when he’d lifted his head to look her in the eyes. The hunger in his expression set her heart to jerking almost painfully in her chest.

“But—”

“Lie back, Emma, and let me make you come.”

There in his kitchen, where the sun streamed in through the eastern windows and hid absolutely nothing, she spread her trembling thighs and let him drop his head between them, wanting his mouth there more than anything she’d ever wanted before. When his hot tongue slid over her flesh, she nearly arched off the countertop, but his hands held her fast to his ministrations. “Damien!”

“Are you sore?” he asked against her, and even as embarrassment roared high in her face, she couldn’t not answer.

“Yes.”

With long, leisurely licks he soothed her, from her pussy to her clit and over again, until she writhed and mewled and finally grasped his silky hair. He lifted his head, his eyes burning a hole through her.

“No,” he said, and the stern command made her release him immediately. “Play with your nipples.”

Anything to get him to keep going. Emma cupped her breasts, caressing them, teasing him a bit before she finally did as he told her and let her fingers slide over her hardened nipples, still damp from his kisses. She brought one finger to her lips and sucked it to taste him, then lowered it again, arching against her own touch. He seemed to like that. He lowered his head and swirled the stiffened tip of his tongue over her clit while she moaned his name, her thigh muscles tightening.

He pulled her lips apart, first one and then the other, baring her mercilessly to his eyes, his mouth. Emma was beyond caring any longer, poised on the edge of something wonderful. When he slipped his tongue inside her, tasting her tender passage deeply, her hands clenched on her breasts and squeezed to the point of pain—anything to offset the almost unbearable pleasure. She pulsed and clenched under the mastery of his mouth. Her belly began to tighten.

“Oh God!” Oh no . . . if he thought she was close he might stop . . . “Damien, please, let me come.”

“Come, doll. Come in my mouth.” The roughly spoken words set her off and he devoured her as she rode his mouth, his sudden sucking at her clit only pitching her higher and higher as she wailed her release at the ceiling.

“You’re fucking exquisite,” he murmured against her. She floated slowly back to him, panting with the exertions of pleasure. To her surprise, she found that their fingers had interlaced at some point, maybe the only thing anchoring her from shooting off into space. His free hand slowly stroked her thigh, moving to her stomach, her breast, soothing in that way he had that she thought was completely involuntary. It was simply his effect on her.

And then reality seeped in: she was spread eagle on a kitchen island in broad, unforgiving daylight. Damien straightened from between her legs, reaching for her arm to help her to a sitting position. The world swam dizzily around her as he pulled her up, but it was he who pulled her robe closed and then took her into his arms. She buried her face in his neck, still shaking, holding on to him tightly. This man could ruin her. He could crush her. He could take and take from her for this entire month, and at the end of it, he could laugh in her face and give her nothing in return.

“I need you to do what you say you’re going to do,” she said, hating how small she sounded.

She felt him turn his face toward her, felt his grip on her tighten. “I always do what I say I’m going to do.”