Her chin notched up a degree. “I don’t like games.”
“Yet here you are.” He lowered his voice to a private level, a grin tugging at his lips. “Even if you don’t want to admit it to me, I think you enjoy taking risks.”
Something sharp, shrewd, glinted in her eyes. “I’m certainly not afraid of it.”
“No,” he said, chuckling. “I can see that you’re not.”
Fuck, she was an enticing female. He’d noticed that plainly enough on first glance from the balcony earlier tonight, and again in the gallery promenade.
Now that he was alone with her, close enough to touch, close enough to breathe in the sweet, warm scent of her skin, Sorin couldn’t tear his eyes from her. He’d already considered a hundred different ways he wanted to have her.
All he had to do was convince her that she wanted him too.
“How about a private round, Asha of New York?” He indicated the roulette wheel and the croupier, waiting for instructions. “Care to take me on at the table, just the two of us?”
She considered, then gave a small shake of her head. “I don’t have any money. I spent everything I had just to get here.”
Sorin was undeterred. “I’ll extend House credit to you. No strings attached.”
At his silent signal, the croupier gathered several tall stacks of chips and slid them in front of Asha. Her brows lifted, but when she looked at Sorin, her eyes were full of wariness. “Why would you do this?”
“Because you intrigue me, and I’m not ready to let you go just yet.”
“I intrigue you,” she said, cautious now. Suspicious. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“You arouse me.” Sorin leaned toward her, leaving bare inches between his mouth and hers. “I want you, lovely Asha, and I’m trying to decide how best to seduce you. Is that exact enough for you?”
Some of her defiance fled at his bold candor. She was no timid mouse, but she didn’t seem able to hold his gaze now. She glanced away from him, down at the small fortune in front of her. “And if I say I want to leave?”
“Then go now. Take the chips with you and cash them in. No one will stop you.”
She gaped at him. “You’d actually let me walk out of here right now with more than twenty thousand euros?”
“I would, yes.”
She shook her head and exhaled a short laugh. “Then apparently you’re the one who likes taking risks.”
“No, Asha.” He reached out and stroked his fingers down her silky cheek, unable to resist touching her. “I like to win.”
He gave the croupier a nod and the wheel started to spin. Asha didn’t move. Hell, as far as he could tell, she barely breathed beside him as Sorin waited for her to either accept his challenge or reject him outright.
An unspoken but palpable tension crackled between them, ratcheted up even tighter with each rotation of the wheel. Without taking his eyes off her, Sorin placed his bet.
“Your turn,” he prompted her softly. “Last chance to run away.”
She swallowed, her gaze locked on his. A torrent of emotions roiled in her dark blue eyes. Uncertainty. Mistrust. Outrage. Contempt.
And yes, desire.
Sorin had made his share of wagers during his life, had learned to read people on a glance. And yet this woman mystified him. He wanted her to stay right now the way he needed air to breathe. Yet he prepared himself to watch her gather up her chips and glide out of his life as mysteriously as she’d appeared.
But she didn’t leave.
Asha reached for a large handful of chips, then hesitated, her slender fingers hovering over the stacks. The look she swung on him was pensive, as though she were calculating odds of her own. Then she gave a small shake of her pale blond head. “I’ve come too far to run away now. I’m in.”
Sorin grinned, more than pleased. “Good.”
The Nephilim blew out a quiet curse and called her number. Then, to his surprise, she took her hands away from her chips. “I’m in, but I’m not interested in your money.”
CHAPTER FOUR
If the sexual heat pouring off Sorin Ebarron had been powerful before, the moment those words left her mouth the air turned instantly electric. Erotic energy surged off the Incubus, vibrating somewhere deep inside Asha’s core.
As Sorin stared at her, a low, predatory sound curled up from his throat. His topaz eyes flared with avid interest.
“Do tell,” he said, that unnerving gaze sharpening, penetrating her. “What do I have that might interest you more than my money, delectable Asha Messenger from New York?”
Hearing him speak her name like that—a name that was mostly a lie, given to Korda Marakel as a small bit of self-protection—helped jostle her out of the spell of Sorin’s innate allure.