Winter's Woman (The Wicked Winters #9) - Scarlett Scott Page 0,27

would be best spoken before your lady’s maid,” he rasped, hating the huskiness in his voice, giving him away.

A river of lust was flowing through him. Threatening to carry him away.

“I want to resume our lessons,” said the cursed woman.

The lust river turned into an ocean. He was drowning.

Devil closed his eyes and counted to ten. But when he opened them, she was still standing in his chamber, her brown-gold eyes fastened upon him, her face unutterably lovely.

Wearing a night rail.

And that was when he noticed her nipples were hard. Tempting, stiff buds calling to him from beneath that linen.

He jerked his gaze back up to her eyes, where it was far safer to look. “No.”

The persistent wench did not flinch. “Why not?”

“Get out of my chamber.”

If he was going to have to toss her over his shoulder to bodily remove her, he would. She could not bloody well remain standing here, with her nipples taunting him. He was not fashioned of stone, although he had no intention of bedding her.

“Mr. Winter,” she began.

“No,” he interrupted, not interested in hearing anything else she had to say.

“Theo,” she tried again.

She had not just called him Theo, damn her. No one called him that.

“Devil.” He was moving forward now, propelled by his ire and his increasingly waning ability to restrain himself.

Her eyes widened, but she did not retreat. Instead, the impossible woman remained where she was, bare feet firmly planted on Devereaux Winter’s expensive Aubusson.

Even her dainty feet were alluring, curse her. Devil had never noticed a woman’s feet, for God’s sake.

She smiled. “I prefer Theo.”

So did he when she said it in her sweet voice. Hell. That smile of hers did indecent things to him. He reached her, folded his considerable height in half, and settled his shoulder into the softness of her belly as he wrapped his arm around her legs. There. He straightened, and she was light as a bird, slung over him.

“Mr. Winter!” she shrieked.

Too loudly, by God.

He swatted her rump. “Quiet or you’ll bring the house down upon us.”

“That stung, you brute.”

A brute, was he? Good. Mayhap if she thought ill of him, she would do a better job of keeping her distance.

Devil turned on his heel and retraced his steps, saying nothing.

“Put me down! I want to speak with you. Why are you carting me out of your chamber? Theo! Mr. Winter!”

The more he ignored her, the louder her protests became. He swatted her bottom again. A bit harder this time. Damn, her arse was an excellent handful.

“Devil!” she spat just as he reached the door.

He stopped. “Curse you, lower your voice.”

“Fine. Put me down and I will speak in a quieter tone.”

“It is not my reputation I seek to protect, milady.”

“Why are you so eager to have me removed from your chamber?” she demanded, sounding outraged.

“If you looked in the shiner, you would know,” he told her grimly.

“Shiner?”

“Looking glass,” he bit out. She had him so distressed, he had failed to realize he was using cant.

“You object to my night rail? I do suppose I ought to have worn a dressing gown atop for modesty’s sake, but I was in a hurry.”

For modesty’s sake.

Was the woman a Bedlamite or just incredibly innocent?

“Quiet now,” he ordered her. “We are about to go into the hall.”

“I shall shriek as loudly as I can if you do not put me down this instant.”

The manipulative minx.

Devil thought about giving her rump another swat before ultimately deciding to settle her on her feet once more. He glowered down at her, keeping his gaze trained upon hers. He was not going to look at her damned nipples poking through the fine fabric of her night rail, begging to be sucked…

Fuck.

He looked at them. How could he not?

His cock went harder than a fire poker. He stalked past her to his bed and snatched the counterpane from it before wrapping it around her shoulders. “There. Now you may speak, milady.”

For good measure, he took two steps in retreat. She was no longer within reach. Excellent.

“I am not cold,” she pronounced, milady in full force.

He ground his molars. “Say your piece before I toss you over my shoulder again.”

“There is no need to be a bully, Theo.”

Was she trying to make him tear out his hair? Did the woman take pleasure in his torment?

“Devil,” he bit out, moving nearer in spite of himself.

“You are certainly behaving the part.” She pursed her lips, and the urge to cover them with his rose, impossible to