Page 17 of Black Velvet

"It is," he agrees. "In a way, it's no different, just less transparent for most people."

"And you knew how to play."

The words come out before I can censor myself. Fortunately, he doesn't seem fazed by them. He nods in agreement.

"Exactly. I cashed out at the right time, just before things started becoming more difficult."

He fixates on me with his eyes, leaning on the counter top of the bar when he turns to me.

"Wasthatthe answer you wanted to hear?"

I take in a breath, shaking my head. "What makes you think I wanted to hear anything in particular?"

"Women always do," he states. "I could read it on your face. You didn't like the first part of my story, the part where it sounded like all I did was inherit my wealth."

I want to protest, but he stops me by lifting his hand.

"It doesn't matter," he says. "I know who I am, and I know that a lot of it does boil down to me being a trust fund child. I've been given an opportunity that others don't have. But trust me, none of it came without a price."

He clears his throat. "To be honest, it bugged me too, for a while."

"But not anymore?"

He shakes his head. "Not anymore. I used to content myself with living off the money I made. Long-term investments in safe stocks and some real estate. The interest I'm earning off this is more than enough to live like a king. But I grew tired of it. That's why I decided to return to playing. You know, since I'm apparently so good at it. I invested in The Velvet Rooms, among other things."

He winks at me, and I retort with a demure chuckle.

"You must have great trust in this," I presume.

"Yes," he replies. "I wanted to be a part of this and not just a visitor. Besides..."

I flinch in surprise when he leans forward and rests his hand on my knee, his eyes never leaving mine as he tries to read my reaction.

"You told me a little secret," he adds in a low voice. "Care to hear one of mine?"

I nod, my eyes widening with suspense as I try to ignore the electric heat that his touch is sending coursing through my body.

"I needed to see you again," he says, his eyes dark and intense. "I saw you that day at the agency. You came out of Miss Barry's office and walked right by me, looking like a fucking princess. I couldn't get you out of my head."

What?

I’m overwhelmed by a sudden and unfamiliar crushing feeling nesting inside my chest, clinging to my heart and pressing down on my lungs, forcing my breathing to become erratic.

What is he talking about? What day? When did we ever meet at the agency? Why don’t I remember?

"I... I... can't remember," I stutter. "When? Did we talk?"

He shakes his head. "No, angel, we didn't exchange a single word. But the image of you has been burned inside my head ever since. I can’t stop thinking about you."

I'm blushing. I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks, and it's so strong that I'm sure he must see it, dim lights or not.

He must be lying. I don’t remember any of this, and there's no chance in hell that a man like him would walk by me without me noticing. There's no chance that he would remember, and I don’t. No chance in hell.

Is he toying with me? Has someone put him up to this?

I manage to defer my eyes away from his intense gaze, only in time to see the madam walking by. She's striding past us with prudent steps, her eyes catching the movement of his hand on my knee. Her eyebrows crease in a warning.

No touching. No playing. I'm clearly taking things too far if I have let him get this close to me.

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