Evie nodded. “I shall.” She dipped into a perfunctory curtsy. “If you will excuse me?”
Dom bowed. Their stares met and held.
She had seen how much he was in love with her twin, and she had also come to respect him a great deal. She appreciated his guidance in this matter. And if it led to her winning Theo, then she was all the more thankful.
She hastened off in the direction of Theo’s chamber without exchanging another word. Over the last two days, she had become so familiar with the inner layout of the private quarters of The Devil’s Spawn that she could have lived there from birth. The rooms were surprisingly spacious, on a level above the gaming and club floors, quite secluded.
When she reached Theo’s door, she knocked hesitantly. Once, then twice. No answer. She knocked harder.
At long last, his low, beloved baritone answered from within. “Come.”
With a trembling hand, she let herself into his private domain. Unlike the countless other times she had crossed the threshold into his territory, this time was different. He was not out of his mind with fever or desperately ill. Instead, he was recovering.
“Milady.”
His voice was not particularly welcoming. Nor was his expression.
She went inside anyway. “You called me Evie not so long ago.”
“You are still here,” he said instead of responding to her prod.
“Yes.” She seated herself primly at his side, every part of her longing to throw herself into his arms.
Gently, of course.
Her hungry gaze traveled over him. His color was already much improved. He looked…alive, vibrant. And handsome, in spite of the fading bruises and gauntness of his face.
“Why?”
“Because I belong here.” She reached for his right hand, settling hers gently atop it. “I belong where you are.”
“You belong in Mayfair,” he growled.
“No.” She took a deep breath, summoning her daring. “I belong with the man I love.”
He stilled, his expression changing at last. Softening. “Evie.”
“I love you, Theo.” Telling him felt right. She should have done so before now, but fear had kept her from making the revelation.
She would not allow it to stop her this time.
“You are not meant for this life,” he said quietly.
Not the words of love she had been hoping for.
“I am meant for a life with you,” she countered.
He closed his eyes, his countenance turning pained. “Do not say something you will later regret.”
She laced her fingers through his, gratified he had not withdrawn from her touch. “I will never regret telling you I love you and belong at your side. Stop pushing me away. Let me into your heart.”
“Fucking hell.”
His bitter oath told her he was fighting a losing battle.
“Please, Theo,” she said.
His eyes opened, vivid blue burning into her. “You are the daughter of a duke.”
“I am the woman who loves you,” she countered. “That is what matters most.”
“Damn it, Evie.” He glared at her, rolling his lips inward as if he were attempting to suppress words.
She brought his hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to it, then to the inking of the blade on his inner wrist. “You can say the words.”
He grunted.
But his stern demeanor was fading. She kissed his hand again, holding his gaze. “Theo?”
“I love you, too,” he admitted on a rush.
Her heart suddenly felt too big for her body. “You do?”
He glowered. “Aye. I do.”
Relief and joy—profound, deep, overwhelming, blossomed. He loved her.
“You do not still want to send me away?” she pressed.
“I’ll not have you regret this decision,” he said. “I want you to be sure.”
“I am sure.” She shook her head, smiling at him through a sudden rush of tears. “I have never been surer of anything or anyone.”
His gaze searched hers. “What of Dullerton?”
She knew a brief pang of guilt at the manner in which she had defected. Mayhap there would be scandal. Her reputation could be ruined if she married Theo. She did not care. Lord Denton could find solace in the arms of Mrs. Hale.
She squeezed Theo’s fingers. “I wrote him a letter. I’ve cried off. There is only one man I want to marry.”
He brought their entwined hands to his lips for a reverent kiss. “It had damn well better be me.”
“Then you had better ask me, Mr. Theodore Winter,” she countered lightly, trying to keep her tears of happiness at bay.
“Lady Evangeline Saltisford,” he said formally, kissing each one of her fingers, then her upturned palm.
She swallowed. “Yes?”
“Marry me?”
All the hope and love and elation burst open inside her, like a tightly furled bud blossoming in the sun. “I thought you would never ask.”
He tugged her. “Come here.”
She crawled on the bed, nestling beside him, taking care not to jostle him too much. He curved his good arm around her, holding her to his side as he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. She embraced him, resting her palm over the promising thud of his heart.
“Was that a yes?” he asked.
She tipped her head back, smiling into his brilliant eyes. “Of course it was.”
Chapter Fifteen
Devil was not certain which three words he preferred more, Mrs. Theodore Winter or I love you.
Looking at the woman who had just become his wife, he decided he didn’t need to choose. They were all excellent. Perfect, in fact. As perfect as she was, dressed in a night rail that had surely been crafted to make him fall to his knees with crazed lust.
It was successful.
His knees wanted to buckle, just looking at her.
“My God, Evie.”
She cast him a shy smile. Her golden curls were unbound, cascading over her shoulders. Her nipples were hard temptations prodding the fine fabric of her gown. The sight of her standing there in her chamber at the townhome he had managed to secure next door to Dom and Lady Adele’s stole his breath. They had waited months to marry, and the delay had been excruciating.
But he had been determined to win her father’s approval and to heal and regain the use of his arm. He had also set about creating a life for himself beyond The Devil’s Spawn. A life that would be worthy of his wife. None of it had been easy. But he had done it, damn it. For Evie.
“Shall I wrap a counterpane about me like a shawl?” she teased him.
Reminding him of that long-ago night when he had been desperately tempted to take her. But that had been before she was his.
She was his now.
“No counterpane needed tonight, love,” he answered, stopping before her and running his knuckle down her jaw.
Her skin was softer than silk. Her scent twined itself around him. Her brown-gold eyes shimmered up at him with love. He could not stop touching her. He trailed his fingers down her throat next.
She swallowed. “Theo?”
He buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply. “Yes?”
“I love you.”
He would never grow tired of hearing that. Or of touching her. Her warmth burned him through the banyan he had donned. He pressed nearer to her, seeking the connection of their bodies. Her curves melted into his hard frame. He kissed her pounding pulse.
“And I love you.” He kissed his way to her ear, nibbling on the shell.
She shivered. He had missed her responsiveness. Had missed everything about being alone with her. Her skin, her scent, her lips. Licking her until she came on his tongue.
“The last few months of playing the gentleman were fucking awful,” he grumbled, and then he could not prolong the torture any longer. He took her lips with his.
She made a sound of surrender, sighing and clutching his shoulders as her lips moved ag
ainst his, opening. He slid his tongue inside her mouth, and she sucked on it, as if she were ravenous for him. He groaned, deepening the kiss, his fingers trailing over every expanse of her luscious body they could find. He wanted to touch her everywhere, to imprint the memory of her curves upon his fingertips. He wanted to lick her and taste her and kiss her. To fuck her and fill her.
He caressed her waist, took handfuls of her rump and ground her against his cock, allowing her to feel how much he wanted her. No more gentleman tonight. Heat flared up his spine. He was a starving man, and she was his feast.
He moved them, kissing her as he went, intending to guide them to the bed. In the newness of his surroundings and the daze of his passion, he missed the mark. He realized his error too late when Evie’s back collided with the wall.
Too damn bad. He would just have her here first. He broke the kiss, taking a moment to gaze down at her, to drink in the sight of her. He ran his hands through her tresses, lightly tugging at the ends so she allowed her head to fall against the wall, revealing more of her neck to him.
He kissed and sucked, rasping the prickle of his whiskers—freshly shaven that morning and already returning—over her delicate skin. He was ferocious now. His fingers left her hair to work on the row of buttons on the bodice of her night gown. But there were too many of the bloody things, and he lost his patience.
He took his mouth off her long enough to grasp handfuls of the fabric and pull it over her head. “You’ve gotten more beautiful in the months we’ve waited.”
He drank in the sight of her. The flare of her hips, her luscious thighs, full, high breasts tipped with jutting pink nipples. Devil sucked the peak of one into his mouth. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts forward, the breathy moan emerging from her telling him everything he needed to know. He cupped her other breast, thumb working over her nipple.
And then he could not resist dropping to his knees. He hooked her leg over his shoulder and licked her. She was soaked, the scent of her need perfuming the air in a way that made his cock twitch.
“So perfect,” he murmured against her folds. “You have the prettiest cunny.”
Her fingers tunneled through his hair. He liked the dance of them on his scalp, the way her nails gently raked over him. He sank his tongue inside her, filling her the way he would soon with another part of him. God, she tasted good. Like summer. Like her.
Like his.
He thrust into her again and again before turning his attention to the pouting bud of her pearl. He sucked hard, then nipped, slipping a finger inside her channel at the same time. Her panting breaths were music. He was attuned to her, becoming one with her, and despite the pulsing in his ballocks, he thought he could stay like this forever, pinning her to the wall, making love to her until she could no longer stand. She tightened on his finger, and he worked her harder. Merciless, relentless, alternating between sucks and licks until she cried out, her body stiffening, her cunny clamping on his finger.
He withdrew from her and rose to his feet, blood roaring through him. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted. Devil traced over their lush fullness, painting her lips with her own dew and then sliding the fleshy pad into her mouth.
“See how sweet you taste,” he told her.
She sucked, and he thought his head might explode.
He removed the digit and replaced it with his mouth, kissing her frantically, feverishly. The taste of her mingled on their lips and tongues. It was hot, wet, feral. She moaned into the kiss. His fingers found their way between her thighs, dipping past her soaked curls to tease her nub once more.
She writhed against him, pressing her hard nipples into his chest, reminding him he was still wearing a banyan. To hell with this barrier between them. He wanted to be naked now. Wanted his skin on Evie’s at last. Wanted her to sear him from head to toe. Devil clawed at the belt, shucked his robe.
Breaking the kiss, he took her in his arms.
A twinge of pain went through his healed shoulder, but it was worth it to hold her like this again. Not long ago, he had been unsure of whether or not he ever could again.
“Theo!” She was breathless, arms flying around his neck for purchase. “You will hurt yourself.”
“You’re light as a bird, love,” he assured her, stalking with her to the bed.
He had worked hard to regain his strength after he had been wounded. Fortunately, he had the constitution of a mule.
“Theo,” she protested again.
“Hush, Mrs. Winter.” He dropped a kiss on her lips, then placed her on the bed with gentle care. “I worked hard for this moment, and I intend to enjoy it—and you—to the hilt.”
He settled between her legs on the bed, starting where he had left off, his fingers parting her slick folds. He licked her nipple, leveraged himself on his left forearm, pleased when the lingering pain was eclipsed by desire. She was wet, so wet. And hot. Her body undulated against him, seeking more, urging him on with her hips.
Devil sucked the peak of her other breast, then grazed it with his teeth.
“Oh,” she said.
She liked him a little rough, his Evie. Good, because he was wild for her. And the hold he had on his restraint was growing slippery. He suckled her and played with her and she came beautifully, body bowing from the bed. She was so wet by now that the sound of his fingers sliding through her folds echoed in the chamber.
He had to be inside her.
Soon.
But Evie had other intentions, it seemed. In the aftermath of her second crisis, she flattened her palms on his shoulders, guiding him to his back. He did as she wanted, lying there with awareness humming through him. The sheets were cool and soft on his back. His cock was hard, ballocks drawn tight with need. She straddled him, those creamy thighs on either side of his hips.
Good God, he had a perfect view of the tempting folds of her sex, parting. Of the swollen pearl peeking from her curls. His mouth watered for another taste of her. The sinner in him wondered if he could convince her to sit on his face so he could thrust his tongue deep inside her until she came again.
But then he forced himself to remember she was a virgin. Although they had made good use of their fleeting moments alone over the past few months, he had refused to bed her until she was his wife. He reached for her breasts, weighing them in his palms. They were perfect handfuls.
“I want to worship you,” she told him shyly.
He felt like an ungainly, massive creature trapped beneath a goddess. He was aware of his scars, his every mark of ink. On his chest, on his upper arm, the puckered, pink flesh from the most recent bullet.
“I am nothing to worship,” he rasped.
She shook her head, a beautiful smile curving her lips. “How wrong you are, Theodore Winter. You are perfect.”
“Flawed.”
She dipped her head and pressed a kiss to his healed wound. “Perfect.”
Ah, fuck. Tenderness warred with desire.
“A beast,” he ground out. “Covered in ink and scars.”
“My beast.” She kissed across his chest, her mouth anointing every mark, every wound, all the pieces of his past. “I love your scars. I love your ink.” Those tormenting lips traveled to his throat. “I love you.”
He was damned glad she did, because he loved her too. More every day. More than he thought possible.
She kissed his other shoulder, then made her way to his jaw, kissing to his lips with slow, maddening precision. Devil could not wait another moment. He caught her chin and angled her head, sealing their mouths. They kissed long and deep, an exchange of emotion too profound for mere words.
Then she broke the kiss and changed her position, settling between his legs on her knees as she kissed down his chest, following the thin trail of dark hair that led directly to his straining cockstand.
“Evie,” he ground out, not wanting her to take him in her mouth. And also desperately wanting her to take him in her mouth.
She kissed the tip, and when her
tongue flicked out to taste him, he could not suppress a moan. Damn, but it was glorious. Until she licked a circle around him before sucking his cock into her pretty mouth. And then it was more than glorious. Wet heat engulfed him. He was in heaven. Bliss. He had died and this was Elysium. He never wanted it to end.
He could not keep still. His hips pumped, sending him deeper into her mouth.
Fuck. If it didn’t end soon, he was going to spill before he was inside her.
Devil reached for her, hauling her up his body before rolling her onto her back once again.
Evie was on her back, Theo a welcome, muscular weight wedged between her thighs. His mouth was on hers, feasting, feeding. Love and desire swirled through her, making her almost dizzied with the force of it. She trembled beneath his questing hands, beneath his supple lips and fierce kisses.
All the months they had waited to be married had been worth it for this.
For him.
She would have waited forever, if she’d had to. Evie was quite glad she hadn’t had to.
She held Theo to her, wrapping her legs around his hips. His familiar, beloved scent washed over her. Leather, bay, man. Theo. Her fingertips trailed over his broad shoulders, seeking anywhere she could touch him. His manhood was rigid and thick and tempting, prodding her throbbing flesh where she wanted him most.
It was almost impossible to believe he was hers at last.
That they were married, the promise of their life together before them, bright as the morning sun. She was still the daughter of a duke, but now she was Mrs. Theodore Winter, and that was the title she wore with the most pride. Their tongues tangled. Heat pooled between her thighs. She ached for him to touch her there.
His lips moved, enchanting her everywhere they traveled. He dropped kisses all over her without pattern or reason. Collarbone, shoulder, nipple. The inside of her elbow. Her hip. Lower, to her knee. Her ankle. He kissed the arch of her foot, his gaze hot and dark-blue, arresting in its intensity. He kissed her in places she had never dreamt she would long to be kissed. But this was Theo, and everywhere his lips found her, the fires of passion raged. She writhed on the bed, desperate for more.
Winter's Woman (The Wicked Winters Book 9) Page 15
