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flared.
    Desire. Thick. Throbbing.
    “I
read a lot of historical romances,” she continued, her voice less steady now.
“My sister adores them, and you know I think it makes sense.”
    “How
so?” he asked.
    “They
were poor and they had no way to earn a living for themselves. Women weren’t
allowed to work after all, or if they were the jobs were pretty grim. So they
would spend time with the man, until he tired of her—men always do in the end
don’t they?—and then when the affair ended he would give her a parting gift.”
    “Such
as?”
    The money I need for The Point , Lyra thought, but of course did
not say so. There would be time and enough for that. “A house. Jewelry.
Sometimes even a pension. It ensured that the woman would be able to look after
herself in the future.”
    “But
women are more than capable of supporting themselves in today’s world. A number
of my directors are women.”
    “True,
though some more than others.” Lyra shrugged. “A lot depends on the start you
have in life, I think. Look around the room. How many of the women here came
from dire circumstances? Not many I bet.”
    “Why
are you telling me this?” Andros asked.
    Why?
Because she wanted to be open and honest, because she wanted more than just the
end mission. She wanted to be desired, properly desired. To have something that
wasn’t simply a quick fling with a guy from the estate, but an experience with
a real man. One who was commanding and… alpha …
    Her
mind supplied the word and it fit. There could be no doubt that Andros was
alpha through and through. Of course, Lyra did not, could not, say any of that,
so instead she reached for her glass, took a small sip of wine and caught his
eye. Her gaze was steady as she spoke, wanting to make it all very clear.
    “Why?
Because it always made sense in my mind. A beautiful woman using what God gave
her. Perfect sense.”
    “And
would you call yourself beautiful, Lyra?”
    Another
shrug, but it was clear between them now, he knew what she was suggesting and
he was not saying no. “I know what I look like, Andros. I know what men think
when they see me.”
    “And
that is?”
    She
rolled her eyes. “Oh, I should rephrase. They don’t think; the blood goes other
places than the brain.”
      “Some might call you arrogant.”
    “People
call you that all the time. But no, it is not conceited to be aware of your
strengths. Mine happen to be the way I look. That has nothing to do with me,
just genetic lottery, but still.”
    “You are a very beautiful woman,” he
agreed. “Not classically beautiful perhaps, there’s too much fire in you for
that.”
    “Fire?
Because of my red hair?”
    “No,
that’s not where it is. It’s here.” He reached out across the table and ran the
back of his hand down her cheekbone. The contact made her shiver and she had to
clench her fists, her nails digging into her skin. Only the pain did nothing to
bring her to her senses.
    Lyra
was falling and fast.
    “The
face,” he added. “The eyes particularly. You’re brimming with it.”
    “I
take that as a compliment,” she said, and she had to work to keep her voice
steady.
    “As
you should.”
    He
pulled his hand back, leaving her cheek feeling like it was aflame. More than
just her cheek though, she felt hot everywhere. She wanted to feel Andros’
tanned hands on her. She imagined him running his fingers down her chest,
tracing a trail to her nipples. God, they were hard, she could feel them
scraping against the fabric of her dress.
    “The
question I now have to ask myself is why you sought me out specifically, Lyra,”
Andros said slowly. “Why, somehow, you managed to fix the system at Club
Belmont, and yourself, to attract my attention.”
    “You
assume it was all for you?”
    He
shrugged, the gesture so male, so assuming. “I know it was. I am asking you a
question I already know the answer to, but like you I want an answer just as
you wanted one from me.”
    “You
see