Winter's Woman (The Wicked Winters #9) - Scarlett Scott Page 0,20

to ignore it.

Mayhap it was that he was so handsome, so tall and strong and different from the gentlemen she knew. Or that he was there, within her reach. She felt connected to him in a way she could not explain. She felt safe with him, it was true. But she also felt…curious. Was it Romeo and Juliet that had her heart leaping and the rest of her feeling fluttery? Or was it Mr. Devil Winter?

Evie met his gaze, holding it. “What if I do not wish to learn how to whittle today? What if there is another sort of lesson I want instead?”

He stilled. The air hung heavy, rife with a poignant note. “What other lesson, milady?”

There was a dangerous note in his voice. His jaw tensed. The blue of his eyes deepened. His stare dipped to her mouth. The hunger between them was palpable, stealing her breath.

What was she saying? What was she doing?

She needed to cease this madness at once. She was treading on dangerous ground. Dreadfully unstable, rotten floorboards that could give out at any moment, sending her hurtling to the floor below.

She did not care. In the past few days, everything had changed. Every facet of her life had altered. The desire to feel this man’s lips on hers surpassed every other need or thought.

She held his gaze. “Kissing.”

Devil Winter said nothing. For a moment, she wondered if she had spoken that lone, forbidden word aloud, giving voice to the temptation.

But then, at last, he spoke, his voice deep and strong. “Kissing.”

Her heart was pounding so loudly she feared he could hear it where he stood.

“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper of sound as it left her.

“I cannot give you that sort of lesson, Lady Evangeline.”

Stinging humiliation swept over her, chasing the heat, the awareness. She had made a grievous mistake. What had she been thinking to suggest he teach her how to kiss? She was engaged to Lord Denton.

But she had never felt a modicum of what she felt in Mr. Winter’s presence for her betrothed. There was no comparison. How could she feel the way she did with a man who was not the man she was marrying? Indeed, with a man who was not a gentleman at all?

She swallowed down a knot rising in her throat. “Of course, Mr. Winter. I…do not know what came over me. Forgive me.”

How mortifying.

This time, she was the one who was fleeing. She swept past him.

But before she could make good on her retreat, he growled, “Wait.”

She turned back to him, staving off a rush of tears pricking her eyes. “I have already apologized, Mr. Winter. What more do you—”

The remainder of her words were silenced beneath his lips.

Devil Winter was kissing her.

Chapter Six

Devil had committed many sins in his life.

Kissing Lady Evangeline Saltisford was but one.

But none had ever been this bloody satisfying.

Her mouth was soft and ripe beneath his. For a moment, she did not move. She simply held herself still, her lips compressed. Her lack of response nettled. He tugged her closer, until their bodies were aligned. Her breasts crushed into his chest. The fullness which had been taunting him ever since their lessons had begun, unspeakably erotic. His cockstand, which had been raging throughout their interactions as well, rose to ruder prominence, pressing against her belly.

Her hands fluttered to his shoulders. Her lips parted. A sweet, husky sigh emerged from her into their kiss, and he swallowed it down. Greedily took it as his. He planted one hand on her waist and lifted the other to cup her cheek. Silken. Her skin was sleek as velvet. Everything about her was fine, dainty, elegant.

Fire raged through him. Need roared.

But he forced himself to go slowly. He had believed gentleness was not in him. His hands were massive paws, and he had inherited his worthless sire’s broad shoulders and impressive height. He had never felt more like a hulking beast than he did as he held Lady Evangeline to him and kissed her. She felt delicate and rare. And he was undeserving. Nothing but a rat from the seediest rookery in East London.

But still, he kissed her. Because he could not stop.

And even had he wanted to cease this madness—which of course he did not—her arms crept around his neck, holding him where he was. Anchoring him to her. Belatedly, it occurred to him that he had not kissed a woman since Cora. There had been others after her—nameless, faceless means of slaking his