Page 63 of The Devil of Downtown

“Yes,” I say carefully.

“Interesting,” Chase says, a small, knowing smile forming. “He’s... a unique investment.”

Violet nudges him gently. “Don’t scare her off.”

Chase smirks but says nothing more, just lets his thumb drift absently over Violet’s shoulder.

I startle when I feel firm hands on my waist from behind.

“Don’t listen to a word this man says...” Dane’s voice rumbles at my ear. “Violet did, and look what happened to her.” Daneextends his arm to Chase, shaking it warmly, mutual respect clear in the gesture.

Violet’s cheeks flush as she pats her stomach. It’s only then I notice the beautiful swell in her belly.

“Oh, congratulations,” I say, while Chase beams proudly at her side.

“I was just telling Ivy how you love to knit in your spare time, Dane.” Chase’s eyes sparkle as Violet snorts into her drink. “He’s even kindly offered to make us some baby booties.”

I can’t help the laugh that breaks free with the image he’s planted.

“The only needles I’ll be going anywhere near,” Dane fires back with the same spark. “Is the one I’ll be shoving up your ass.”

“Promises, promises...” Chase raises a brow, lips twitching.

Violet shakes her head with amusement, reaching for Chase’s hand as she slides off the stool.

“Anyway, as much as I’d love to stay and discuss baby booties,” Violet says. “My body can’t seem to stay awake past nine pm, so enjoy the rest of the night.”

“It was great to meet you, and congratulations again,” I say as they drift back into the crowd, Chase’s arm protectively around her waist.

Dane’s hand finds my back again, and immediately, electric tingles ripple across my skin.

“It’s dinner now, are you hungry?” Dane says, his eyes darkening, like he feels this pull between us as strongly as I do.

We move to a long table where servers glide between guests carrying plates that look more like art than food—seared scallops, truffle risotto, and something delicate involving edible gold.

The orchestra swells softly in the background as Dane chats with a gentleman to his right. I’m sitting next to an older lady who barely takes a breath as she gossips about everyone inattendance. Who has just splashed out one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars on a 'Kris Jenner' facelift. How so-and-so is screwing her personal trainer. How Miles got caught with his pants down at the Serpent. It would be fascinating if I knew who any of these people are.

Halfway through the first course, Dane’s hand slides beneath the tablecloth and settles on my thigh, his thumb brushing once, lightly, as if testing my response.

I draw a slow breath, schooling my expression as I keep my gaze fixed on the server pouring wine.

“You’re tense,” he murmurs, close enough that I feel the words more than hear them.

“Well, billionaires aren’t my usual crowd.” My breath catches as his thumb slips beneath the silk of my dress, tracing a slow path along my thigh.

“You don’t need to worry about them. Only me.”

His thumb drifts higher, warm against my skin.

“Dane—” I stiffen as his hand moves again, bolder now. He smirks, fingers closing around my thighs, before spreading them wider as if we’re alone. Heat floods me as his thumb slips between my legs, finding me slick already, gliding up the seam before circling my clit in lazy, maddening strokes.

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t tease. He strokes me like he knows exactly what he’s doing—slow, sure, devastating.

I bite my lip, fighting the sound building in my chest.

The woman to my left takes this inconvenient moment to strike up another conversation, as Dane begins a slow torture with his thumb while he continues the conversation with the gentleman to his right, as if he isn’t undoing me in plain sight.

I seize my champagne and drain it in one swallow, my hands shaking as his finger slips inside me. The pressure builds fast; my body aching to tip over the edge.