A Deal With the Devil Read Online Free

this part of the casino at orientation. What’s down there?”
    “My office. Management suite. You ask a lot of questions.”
    “Like I said, I need to know things about you.” Something akin to uncertainty flickered across her features, but she recovered herself as they stepped into the lift. She leaned against the rail that ran around the walls. Her skirt had ridden up a little, showcasing her long tanned limbs, and heat shot through him.
    He ignored it, dragged his gaze away. “And what about you, Kate …? What’s your surname?”
    “Wilkinson. It’s all in my personnel file.”
    “I haven’t got time to read up about you; we have forty minutes and counting. Quick-fire round: marital status?” Odd question to ask but for some reason it suddenly seemed important.
    “Is none of your business.”
    “If you’re my girlfriend and I have a rival then I need to know who I’m up against. Theoretically.”
    “A rival? What century are we in?” Her mouth pursed, red lipstick shimmering in the fractured light. “I’m single.”
    “Lucky me.”
    “Yes, aren’t you. Theoretically.”
    He couldn’t help but watch her. Reflected in the mirrored walls were hundreds of Kates, effecting a nonchalant stance, which was belied by the illuminated tight grip on the handrail, white knuckles repeated over and over. Either he made her nervous or she really did not want to be here doing this with him. Money clearly spoke to her, regardless of what she said.
    “Age?”
    She turned again to look at him. “Twenty-six. You?”
    “Thirty-three. Where did we meet?”
    “You tell me. Where do you usually meet your girlfriends?”
    “I don’t know, wherever.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had one. Sex yes, but a relationship? Dating? Commitment? “Come on, make it up. Anything, anywhere. Where would you want to meet your dashing prince charming?”
    She frowned. “I have no delusions about fairy tales, Mr Doyle. I know life never serves up that kind of soppy romantic happy ever after.”
    “Ah, a fellow cynic. Then we at least agree on something. And yet we’re so desperately in love.” In an uncharacteristic roguish gesture he took her hand in his, trying to ignore a powerful surge of something that fired between them at the first touch of skin on skin. It threw him off balance a little. Kate threw him off balance.
    She pulled her hand away and wiped it down the latex skirt. So she’d felt it too, and wanted to be rid of it as quickly as possible; he had no argument there. She gave him a sarcastic lift of her lip. “In some strange parallel universe that I seem to have found myself in, yes, apparently I adore you.” Her eyes gleamed as she turned to him. “But don’t get used to the idea.”
    He tapped his chest. “And now you’ve broken my poor gentle heart.”
    “Oh, you tragic sweet thing who wouldn’t hurt a fly, ever. I’m so sorry to break this to you but, between you and me, you’re just not my type.”
    And then she laughed. Hearing that simple sound felt as if something in his chest had been liberated. Was this a glimpse of the real Kate Wilkinson? “You have a type? What? A compassionate doctor? A philosophy student—with wordy books and a head full of ideas?” Not a bruised and belligerent boxer. And who could blame her?
    “Not up for discussion.”
    “And why not?”
    “Because it has nothing to do with you. But trust me on this: a man who dedicates his life to hurting people either physically or through their wallets is definitely not the man for me.”
    Again he touched his heart. Seemed she was hell-bent on stomping on it. Strange way to start a relationship, pretend or otherwise. “Kate Wilkinson, I think you have the wrong impression of me.”
    “Oh no, I have the very right impression.” The doors swished open at the southernmost end of the ground floor, the grand gilt Victorian-era decor accenting Doyle’s executive casino experience. Kate flashed him a cool smile as