Because he had followed her. Though he moved with surprising stealth for a man of his size, there was no mistaking his presence. She took in the pictures on his walls—turbulent watercolors and intricate engravings—before turning to find him near enough to touch. The heat from his big body radiated into hers.
He was staring at her in that bold fashion he possessed, the one which made her feel as if he could see her in a way no other man before him had. In a way that made her pulse pound and something deep within her quicken. Between her thighs, awareness throbbed to life.
She cleared her throat, reminding herself she was here for a reason. She had a debt to pay. A brother’s safety to secure.
“What would you have me do?” she asked him at last, hoping he would not suspect the reason behind her question.
She was a novice, and not at all the dedicated, experienced mistress she pretended to be. What would a mistress do?
He trailed his forefinger over the bow of her lips in a touch that was so light, it may have never happened save for the sparks he left in his wake. “Seduce me.”
Adele’s pulse pounded. His finger had lingered at the corner of her mouth, so she acted on instinct, turning her head without breaking the connection of their gazes, and pressing a kiss to the roughened pad. His command filled her with a confused rush of longing.
He dragged his finger slowly over her lower lip and then slipped it inside her mouth. The invasion was unexpected and yet, somehow thrilling. She tasted the salt of his skin. Once more, impulse guided her as she sucked.
His gaze settled upon her mouth, darkening as he withdrew his finger, then slid it over her lips, moistening them. “What other tricks have you, love?”
Tricks? Angels in heaven.
She had none. She had never even kissed a gentleman. But she did not dare confess that. If he discovered she was not who she pretended to be, there was every possibility he would renege upon his word to keep Max from further harm. And Adele could not bear that.
Tentatively, she settled her hands upon Dominic Winter’s shoulders. He was solid beneath her questing fingertips. Wonderfully solid. And male. And warm. She was touching him, this dangerous stranger who ruled over an empire of criminals. She ought to be terrified, but all she felt was intrigued instead.
“You are hesitant,” he observed. “Do not be afraid. I shan’t bite.” He paused, sending her a wicked grin that made her feel as if her insides were melting. “Unless you wish it.”
Bite her? The notion should have been repellent. And yet, issued in his deep, seductive voice, the words made heat slide through her.
What would a mistress do?
She would kiss him. Yes, that was what she would do. Adele licked her lips, imagining the proper way it ought to be done. Easy enough, yes? She would rise on her toes, press her mouth to his, and then…
She had no notion of what came next. Never mind that. She would figure it out.
Adele closed her eyes and blindly moved toward him, seeking his lips with hers. But his cupped hands framing her face stayed her progress. Her eyelids fluttered open to find him watching her.
“Eyes open, angel,” he commanded softly. “I want you to see the man you are kissing. I do not want you to pretend I am another.”
There was no one else she would rather have him be, though she dared not say so aloud. His dark, starkly handsome countenance stole her breath and made her heart pound wildly. He was everything she should fear and everything she had never dreamed she had wanted. The man before her bore no resemblance to the uninspiring dandies and lords who inhabited London’s finest ballrooms and assembly rooms.
She rose on her toes, eyes fastened upon his mouth. Then, she pressed her lips to his.
And caught flame.
Sodding hell, her mouth was so soft. So supple and warm. There was nothing particularly skilled in the way she kissed him. And maybe that was what made it so damned special. She kissed him as if she wanted to learn him. As if his were the first lips she had ever kissed. As if such unspoiled innocence existed.
It did not, neither in Dom nor in the beautiful woman in his arms. But something made him want to pretend it did, even if for the night. He wanted to pretend she was here with him because she wanted to be here, and not because she wanted to protect her lover.
Not so difficult to do with her lips moving over his. With each hesitant movement, she undid him more and more. Ever since she had first stormed into his private office, she had bewitched him. This moment was no different than all those which had preceded it.
Her kiss was almost tender. Sweeter than any kiss he had ever known. It was seductive and innocent all at once. Almost as if she did not know how to kiss. Her lips moved over his in whispers. She was good, this woman. Better than the other women he had known. Was this feeling why fancy coves kept ladies like her?
Dom had never understood the practice until now. He had simply taken his pleasure with women he could trust not to sink a blade between his ribs. He had never wanted another woman to the point that he would gladly give his left arm for more of her.
This one was different. He had not been wrong in his name for her. She was an angel. His angel.
For tonight only.
Unless he could manage to persuade her to give him one night more. And after that another. Then another…
Damn it all.
Dom had to rein himself in, keep the demons within him under control before they consumed him. She made a soft, whimpering sound. Almost kittenish. Her fingers curled around his neck, finding their way into his hair, which he knew he kept too long. Desire shot through him, sharp as a blade.
But he did not want to go too quickly. He wanted to savor this moment, this woman.
He was still holding her smooth cheeks, cupping her face, trapping her in the angle he wanted. Dom decided to take advantage. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth. She tasted of the decadence of dessert. Luscious.
Her tongue moved against his. Again, it was not the bold invasion some of the women he had known preferred but rather a timid courting instead. There was no overt carnality in her response. There was only a delicious, measured surrender. As if she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her yet did not dare show it.
Did she fancy herself better than him because she spoke like a lady and bedded a lord? Or was her hesitation part of her allure, a part of her elaborate act?
He had to know.
Dom sucked on her tongue.
She moaned, and there had never been a more beautiful sensation than this woman’s fingers tightening in his hair and tugging. He had grown up in the deepest, darkest corners of the rookeries. He was a bastard, a man who had fought with his fists, his weapons, and his wits for everything he possessed. Roughness pleased him. There was comfort in pain. Almost as much as there was to be found in pleasure.
He nipped her lower lip, then soothed the sting with his tongue.
Her tongue chased his, sliding wetly into his mouth. There was nothing demure about her kiss now. She was claiming him, owning him, her lips moving with firmer pressure. Good God, had this been her plan all along? If so, she could happily seduce him whenever the bloody hell she pleased.
He would fuck her all night long.
Hades, what was she doing to him?
He was Dominic Winter. Ruthless, cold, and hard. He was never weak. Not for a woman. Not for any woman. And yet, this one, with her dark hair and eyes and her throaty sounds and her delicate kisses that turned into an all-consuming melding of mouths that demanded his complete and utter surrender…
Nay. That was all wrong. Dominic Winter was not the one who surrendered. Not even in matters of the fairer sex. He had to do better. To remember who he was and how he had fought to obtain the power he now possessed.
He was going to make her come. Again and again.
Dom broke the kiss and stared down at her, his heart pounding, his cock more rigid than he could recall it ever being. The pale-blue muslin of her
gown, trimmed with golden embroidery, enhanced the undeniable beauty of her dark hair and eyes. He thought about taking her for the first time with her dress around her waist, because it was so fine. The fantasy of spending all over the expensive frock made his ballocks pulse and tighten.
But no, he decided. He would have her naked first. Mayhap he would even have her disrobe for him. Aye. A slow, thorough fucking. That was what he needed from this angel who had fallen into his devil’s den.
“Your gown,” he said, trailing his fingers over the embellishment that edged her decolletage. Her bubbies were perfect handfuls, her skin there so soft. And when he dragged his caress across her flesh, she shivered. “Take it off.”
Her eyes were wide, almost innocent. He could believe, for a moment, she had never lived a life of sin. Those long, sooty lashes swept over her eyes.
“I require your assistance,” she said softly, and then spun, presenting him with her back.
When had he ever spent the time to admire a woman’s neck and shoulders?
Never.
Why not? He had to wonder now. Either this particular one had an exceptional back—would hardly be a surprise, that—or he had been missing a prime opportunity to admire a lady all this time.
He would make amends now, beginning with her.
His hands found her waist, and they molded to her curves as if they belonged. Nothing—not even a series of knocks from Devil that told him the Suttons were burning down the whole goddamn club—could keep him from setting his lips upon her nape. He bent his head and kissed her there.
Her skin was warm and smooth. He kissed a path to the place where her neck and shoulder met, then nibbled there while he found the tapes at the top of her gown and undid them. He kissed to her ear before catching the delicate shell in his teeth and tugging, then licked the rim.
“You…I…”
She was breathless. He liked that she was struggling to form a proper sentence, and he did not think it was because she feared him. Most of the people in his world—females included—were afraid of him. He had built his empire upon it. But for reasons he would not consider now, he did not want this woman to be anxious in his presence. Rather, he wanted her to know she was safe. That within these four walls, she would only know the height of pleasure.
“Me,” he repeated, finding the second pair of tapes on her gown and undoing those as well before he pressed another kiss over her rapidly beating pulse. “You?”
He flicked his tongue over her skin.
She gasped, her head falling backward to rest upon his chest. Dom took this as surrender and nuzzled her silken cheek. A stinging rush of an emotion he refused to countenance rose within him like a tide.
Surely not tenderness.
Nor affection.
Nay. This was a woman he scarcely knew, and he was a man who took what he wanted without compunction. They had settled upon a bargain, and he was collecting his due.
That was all.
“I cannot remain here all evening,” she told him. “We had best…proceed.”
Not what he wanted to hear.
He dragged his lips from her throat. “Yes, you can. And you will. Our bargain is clear, angel. You are mine for the night.”
And he intended to prove it to her.
Again and again.
He rubbed the coarseness of his whiskers over her throat, hoping to hell he would mark her flesh. That by morning, she would see the evidence all over her body of what she had done and who had brought her pleasure. That her protector would see it as well, whether or not the bastard had sanctioned this visit.
Hades. He would not think of Sundenbury now.
“Surely this—our bargain—will not require all evening,” she protested, turning her head toward him, her gaze searching, as her body rested, compliant and so tempting, against his.
He smiled at her. “Sweet angel. Who do you think you have come to, begging for your protector’s safety? I am not a cosseted lord. Everything you see around you, I have earned through blood and determination.”
In other words, he wasn’t a damned thing like the coves she was accustomed to. He was going to take what he wanted tonight, and she was going to give it to him. Not because he forced her into it—he had committed many sins in his life, but he would never bed a woman against her will. No, indeed. It would be because by the time he was through with her, she would be so desperate for him, she would be begging.
She would forget she had ever lain with a foppish lord.
He vowed it.
She stared at him now, her beautiful face a cipher. “I know who you are, Dominic Winter.”
“You know my name, of course.” His smile deepened into a grin. “How amusing you are, love. Everyone knows who I am.”
Mayhap not everyone.
But the East End and a great deal of the West—the fancy coves like her protector—knew who he was as well. Because they gamed in his clubs, they drank his liquor, they fucked his lightskirts, and they were robbed by his street urchins. He owned everyone in this part of London. By design and by force.
He spun her around to face him then. Floating hell, she was pretty. Desirable. Delicate and ethereal and gorgeous and everything he could never have beyond the time he would have her this evening. Sod it, when had he ever been jealous of a cove? Never. Not once before now. He coveted this woman. He hated Sundenbury for having this precious gem as his own.
Dom had to have her mouth once more. He lowered his head and took it, this time controlling the meeting of their lips. He caressed up her spine, abandoning the loosened tapes at her waist, not stopping until he had her nape beneath his palm and his fingers sank into her coiffure. He tilted her head, angling her so he could deepen the kiss.
Her arms twined around his neck. Her soft breasts crushed against his chest. She made a purring sound in her throat. He kissed her and kissed her, until they were both breathless. Until his lips tingled from the divine sensation of hers beneath his.
He knew then that he was going to do everything in his power to keep her. One night would never be enough. He did not give a goddamn how much it cost him, the ramifications for his plans. He would buy her fancy gowns and a fine house and worship her body every night.
All this pent-up need, all this soul-starving lust, and he had yet to remove her gown. He had not even seen the cream and pink of one bubby. Somehow, that did not matter. Nothing did matter but the angel turning to fire in his arms.
He told himself she was paid to drive men to distraction. That she was well-versed in the art of seduction. That nothing between them was real. Likely even the sweet sounds of her pleasure were feigned.
But they did not sound feigned. They sounded real. And they made his prick twitch. It was time to diminish the layers keeping him from what he wanted. He ended the kiss, cursing himself for his reaction to her. He was more breathless than a randy lad about to touch his first cunny.
He caught the delicate fabric of her skirts and began lifting. Hesitantly, she joined in, helping him to remove her gown. She stood before him in stays, a chemise, and a thin frill of petticoats.
Was his mouth watering?
He spun her about once more, working on the laces of her stays and petticoats. Never had he been more desperate to have a woman naked. He wanted to kiss and lick every bit of her gorgeous skin he could find. He wanted to suck on her pearl until she bucked and cried out and came all over his tongue.
Fabric dropped to the floor in a heap. He attacked the pins in her hair next, plucking until a sleek waterfall of mahogany curls cascaded down her back. Dom could not resist running his fingers gently through her sweetly scented tresses.
He released her with great reluctance, tamping down his steadily rising lust. “Turn.”
Slowly, she did as he asked, until she faced him. The linen of her chemise was so thin, the pink circles on the peaks of her breasts and the shadow between her thighs were visible.
Floating, burning, sinking hell. Her nipples were hard.
“Take off your chemise,” he ordered softly.
She swallowed, her eyes going wide. “Is that necessary?”
He would have laughed, was he not plagued by such mad longing. “More than air, angel. Will you do it, or shall I?”
Her pink tongue flicked over her lower lip, wetting it and leaving it glossy. “I will.”
Damnation.
Having her remove her last undergarment before him would be delectable. “Excellent. I want you in nothing save your stockings, on your back in my bed.”
A becoming tinge of pink colored her cheekbones as she grasped her chemise in her small, fine-boned hands. He had failed to notice how dainty they were previously, how perfect. They were not rough and reddened from work like most females of his acquaintance. The thought of those hands upon him, touching him, filled him with wild yearning.
He realized belatedly that she was flushing. Was her embarrassment an act as well, or was she new to being a mistress? Whatever the reason, Dom was entranced. He had never known a woman like her. Instinctively, he knew he never would.
She lifted the chemise over her head in the next moment, and all coherent thought fled him. He drank in the sight of her—lush, womanly curves, wide hips, generous breasts…
He moved without realizing he was in control of his body. His hands spanned her waist. Her bare skin was warm and smooth, and it stoked the flames inside him higher. Dom scooped her into his arms and carried her to his bed, then lowered her to it.
Dom had never been so single-minded about the pursuit of something since he had come to power over the East End. He ignored his clothing—it could be shed later. He knelt on the bed, still fully dressed. Mayhap it was just as well. Surely he would shock her with his markings and his scars. Some women had been repulsed. Others had not given a damn after he had made them spend. This delicate siren, he had no doubt, who had only shared a bed with pampered lords, who blushed like a virgin, would be shocked.
Her thighs were clamped together. This would not do.
He caressed her calves. “Have none of your other lovers ever given you pleasure, angel?”
Winter’s Wallflower Page 4