Winter's Whispers (The Wicked Winters #10) - Scarlett Scott Page 0,39

a bit more in love with him in that moment.

Blade paced the length of his chamber, clad in nothing more than a banyan, cursing himself for a fool. Lady Felicity was not going to accept his offer. And yet, he could not sleep. Because whilst the smallest chance remained and there were hours left in the night, he could not settle for slumber. Not until he knew for certain she had made her decision.

He ought to have filched a brandy bottle to keep him company this evening. If he could not have her, at least he could have tamed the wild yearning for her that had seized him relentlessly in its grasp. Giving the bottle a black eye would have gone a long way toward quelling his restlessness.

He was Blade bloody Winter, curse her. Since when did he find himself so enamored with any woman—and an innocent lady, at that—that he had to go chasing after her?

Stupid sod.

He had learned to dance for her.

His hands fisted at his sides as he paced.

Had twirled about and strutted like a goddamn peacock for her.

He ground his molars.

He had dared her to be bold and reckless, had invited her to his bed, and she had denied him.

A knock sounded at his door. So low and quiet, he would not have heard it had he been standing at the opposite end of the chamber. Everything inside him tensed and froze. Three strides and he was at the portal, yanking it open.

The hall outside was dark, but the lights shining from his brace of candles illuminated her beautiful face.

She had come.

Thank the Lord.

Need thundered through him.

Wordlessly, he stepped back, allowing her to gain entrance.

Her hazel eyes clung to his as she crossed the threshold. He closed the door at her back. “Why are you here, Lady Felicity?”

“You know why.”

“Say it.”

He needed to hear the words. Blade took a step toward her, drawn to her heat. To the desire he saw burning in her gaze.

“I…”

The rest of what she had been about to say trailed off as he reached her. Her full lips were parted. An invitation to sin he would gladly accept. Though she wore a dressing gown that was buttoned to her throat, he had never seen a more seductive sight than Lady Felicity Hughes, barefoot and in his chamber past midnight.

“You,” he prompted, running his knuckles along the pale curve of her jaw.

Soft skin. Silken and warm.

“I want to experience passion,” she murmured. “I want…you.”

He should not have asked. Because when she phrased it thus in her throaty voice, his cockstand was instant. And there was nothing he could do with it at the moment. Torture. That was what this was.

“You want me,” he repeated, noting the huskiness in his own voice.

Her pink tongue darted over her lips, wetting them and making them glisten in the low, amber light. “Yes.”

Mayhap not torture. A gift instead. She was giving herself to him. There was no question of it.

He was going to enjoy this gift. Very much indeed.

“Take off your dressing gown.”

He wanted to see her in her night rail. Hell, he wanted to see her naked, too. But he had restraint. He could go slowly. Part of him feared that if he pushed her too far, she would flee. And now that he had her where he wanted her, he had no wish to lose her.

Though lose her he inevitably would.

Just not yet.

Silently, she watched him, her fingers working on the line of buttons. He would have believed himself dreaming were it not for the pounding of his heart. She was the most breathtakingly lovely woman he had ever beheld. And she was here. In his chamber.

He was going to do everything in his power to make certain she did not regret a second of her decision. To pleasure her completely, fully. To give her everything he could.

“You are sure about this?” he asked, wanting to kick himself in the arse for whatever impulse toward being a gentleman had chosen that moment to rear its stupid head.

She reached the last button on her dressing gown and shrugged it from her shoulders. The fine fabric fell to the floor in a whisper of sound. “Certain.”

Hell yes.

He was upon her in an instant, his arms going around her waist and hauling her into his chest. His cock was hard enough to rival a fire poker. The exotic notes of jasmine washed over him. Her hair was unbound, the dark curls falling down her shoulders and back.

For