La femme de ménage voit tout

Freida McFadden

Description

It was a game of risk and desire. I lost—and he intends to collect.

Ashley:

Las Vegas was supposed to be a new beginning. I arrived with dreams tucked into a suitcase and pointe shoes I'd bled in for years. But before I could even find my footing, the ballet company folded. Just like that—gone.

Bills don't care about broken dreams, though. So I did what any desperate girl with a sharp mind and a busted heart would do: I played cards. High stakes poker. Fast money, if you're good. Dangerous, if you're not.

Then he sat across the table. Patrick O'Lachlan. The name alone carries weight, but it's the man who unsettled me. Irish, arrogant, devastatingly composed—he watched me with a kind of amused intensity that made my skin flush. Every glance from him felt like a caress I hadn't consented to but couldn't resist.

He wore his tux like it was part of his skin. Broad shoulders, a chest made for sin, and the kind of thighs a dancer dreams about—for balance, for power, for pressing you against the wall while your world tilts sideways.

And yes, I saw it.

Yes, that.

The outline beneath tailored black wool, enough to make my breath catch mid-play.

I was distracted. Almost undone.

But I didn't walk away. Because maybe I didn't want to win.

Maybe I wanted to lose—if it meant surrendering to him, breathless and aching, as he claims his prize.

Patrick:

She walked into the room like she owned it. Confidence worn like lipstick, subtle but unmistakable. Ashley Finnegan. All long limbs, lush curves, and a defiance that sparked like flint on steel.

She couldn't have been more than twenty, but she held herself with a grace most women twice her age never learned. There was something tragic in her smile—something that told me she wasn't just playing poker for fun. No, she needed this. And that only made me more intrigued.

I have a taste for dangerous games. And Ashley? She was playing one she didn't fully understand. Betting her body on a hand she couldn't win. But I let her try.

Because I knew the moment our eyes locked—she was mine. Her mouth might say no, but her body was already whispering yes.

I warned her.

Never wager what you're not prepared to lose.

Now I own her curves.

And I'm going to take what belongs to me—inch by inch, moan by moan, until she forgets she was ever playing a game at all.

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