The grandfather clock in the hallway struck midnight, its deep resonance echoing through Carter Manor's shadowy corridors. Evelyn sat curled in the window seat of her suite, a forgotten novel resting in her lap as she watched lightning illuminate the storm-darkened gardens. Sleep eluded her, her mind too full of the evening's events to find rest.
Dinner had been an exercise in elegant tension. Ben had been the perfect host, discussing art and literature with surprising depth, yet maintaining that careful distance that seemed as much a part of him as his striking grey eyes. They'd shared a bottle of vintage wine in his study afterward, and Evelyn had caught glimpses of something deeper beneath his controlled exterior – moments when his mask slipped, revealing flashes of unexpected warmth.
A particularly bright flash of lightning illuminated the rain-slicked gardens, followed almost immediately by a thunderclap that shook the windows. In that brief, brilliant moment, Evelyn caught sight of a figure moving through the maze-like hedges below – Ben, wearing only a white shirt and dark pants, walking barefoot through the storm as if immune to the elements.
Without stopping to question her impulse, Evelyn slipped on a silk robe over her nightgown and made her way downstairs. The marble floors were cool beneath her bare feet as she followed the path she'd memorized earlier, finding the French doors that led to the garden. Rain immediately plastered her honey-blonde hair to her skin as she stepped outside, but she barely noticed.
She found him in the center of the maze, standing before an ancient fountain that featured a warrior locked in eternal battle with a serpentine creature. Ben's white shirt had turned transparent in the rain, clinging to the muscled contours of his back. Scars she hadn't known existed stood out against his skin – old battle marks that spoke of a violent past.
"Couldn't sleep?" His voice carried clearly despite the storm, though he didn't turn to face her.
"I saw you from my window," Evelyn answered, moving closer. "Walking in the rain like a man trying to wash away his ghosts."
Now he did turn, and the raw vulnerability in his storm-grey eyes stole her breath. "Some ghosts don't wash away so easily." His gaze traveled over her rain-soaked form, lingering on the way her silk nightgown clung to her curves. "You'll catch your death out here."
"So will you," she countered, closing the distance between them. "What haunts you, Ben? What brings you out here in the middle of the night?"
Lightning flashed again, illuminating the harsh planes of his face. "Bad dreams. Old memories. The usual demons that visit men with blood on their hands."
Evelyn reached up, touching the scar she'd noticed earlier near his temple. This time, he didn't pull away. "Tell me," she whispered.
For a long moment, only the sound of rain filled the space between them. Then Ben caught her hand, pressing it more firmly against his face. "Before I built my empire, I fought for survival in underground rings. Not the polished boxing matches rich men bet on – real fights, where the only rule was to win or die trying. This scar?" He turned his head slightly, letting her fingers trace its length. "From my first fight. I was seventeen, desperate for money to eat. The other guy had a knife."
"What happened to him?"
Ben's laugh held no humor. "I took his knife and his money. Left him breathing, barely. That was the night I learned that survival means being willing to do whatever it takes." His eyes locked with hers. "Still want to know all my secrets, Mrs. Carter?"
Instead of answering, Evelyn lifted her other hand to his face, framing it between her palms. Rain streamed down their faces like tears neither would shed. "Show me the rest," she said softly.
Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. Then his hands found her waist, lifting her onto the fountain's wide edge so their faces were level. The stone was cold against her legs, but Ben's hands were fever-hot as they guided hers to the buttons of his shirt.
Slowly, she undid each one, revealing more of his scarred skin to the storm. Each mark told a story of survival, of battles fought and won at terrible cost. A long slash across his ribs, a starburst pattern over his heart, countless smaller marks that had faded with time but never fully healed.
"The papers call you the Devil of Wall Street," she murmured, tracing a particularly vicious scar that curved around his side. "But you earned that name long before you entered the business world, didn't you?"
"Does it frighten you?" His voice was rough, his hands tightening on her waist. "Learning that your husband is more devil than man?"
Evelyn leaned forward, pressing her lips to the scar near his heart. She felt his sharp intake of breath, the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch. "You forget," she whispered against his skin, "I chose this. I chose you."
His control snapped. One hand tangled in her wet hair, tilting her face up as his mouth claimed hers with brutal intensity. This was nothing like their careful kiss for the cameras – this was raw need and dark passion, a claiming and a surrender all at once. Evelyn wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing closer as his tongue swept into her mouth, tasting of rain and expensive wine and something uniquely him.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Ben rested his forehead against hers. "You should run from me," he murmured. "Before I drag you too deep into my darkness."
"Maybe I'm tired of living in the light," she answered, her fingers tracing patterns on his bare chest. "Maybe I've been waiting my whole life to step into the shadows."
He pulled back slightly, studying her face with an intensity that saw straight through to her soul. Whatever he found there made him smile – that rare, genuine smile that transformed his harsh features into something beautiful. "You're dangerous," he said softly, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. "More dangerous than any opponent I've ever faced."
"Why?"
"Because you make me want things I swore never to reach for again." His thumb traced her lower lip, still swollen from his kiss. "Things like trust. Hope. Love."
The last word hung between them, heavy with possibility. Before Evelyn could respond, a distant roll of thunder broke the spell. Ben stepped back, helping her down from the fountain with gentle hands that belied the passion of moments before.
"We should go in," he said, though his eyes still burned with unspoken desires. "Before we both catch pneumonia."
They walked back to the house in silence, but something had shifted between them. As they reached the French doors, Ben caught her hand, pulling her close one last time. His kiss was gentler now, but no less potent – a promise of things to come.
"Sweet dreams, Mrs. Carter," he murmured against her lips before releasing her.
Evelyn watched him disappear up the stairs toward his suite, his wet footprints marking his path on the marble floor. She touched her lips, still feeling the imprint of his kiss, the weight of his confessions, the trust he'd shown in sharing his scars – both physical and emotional.
The storm continued to rage outside, but inside Carter Manor, something else entirely was brewing. Something that felt dangerously like falling in love with the devil himself.
And Evelyn wasn't sure she wanted to stop it.