Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4)(70)

“Oh, yes.” He smiled at her incredulity “In fact… Well, suffice it to say that the legend of the Ghost of St. Giles has been around for quite some time. Decades, at least. Perhaps even longer than that. Sir Stanley simply took the legend and made it real. His theatrical background gave him the idea for the costume. People see what they want to see, he always told me. If you present them with what looks like a spectral figure, supernatural and possessing powers beyond the earthly, they will believe that is what they see. It’s a great advantage in a fight. Sometimes one’s opponent is so frightened by the mask and costume that they simply run away.”

“Mmm,” she murmured as she traced a circle about his left nipple. He was aware that he was growing hard again and wondered if his randiness would dismay her. “And so by day you run the home and by night you run about St. Giles as the Ghost. Is that right?”

He frowned. Her tone was carefully neutral. “Not every night, naturally—”

“Oh, naturally,” she said, her voice almost a growl. “I suppose you must sleep some nights. At least one or two nights a week.”

He watched her, wondering what had aggrieved her.

She sighed and straddled his hips. He was immediately distracted, aware that her moist, feminine parts were very near his cock. “And will you always do this?”

“What?” He brought his attention back to her face. She was scowling down at him. “Run about St. Giles?”

“What happens if you’re wounded?” She leaned down, nearly nose to nose with him. Her breasts swung temptingly and he caught one in his palm, feeling the soft weight. “Winter! What happened after I brought you home wounded from St. Giles?”

He shrugged, stroking his thumb over her nipple. “I came back to the home and rested, like the other times.”

“The other times?” Belatedly, he realized he’d made a mistake. His admission only seemed to drive her ire higher. “How many times have you been wounded?”

“Not often,” he soothed. Oddly her anger did not dampen his ardor. Quite the reverse, in fact. But even as new to lovemaking as he was, he knew that he would have a greater chance of repeating their previous encounter if she were in a softer mood.

“How many?” she demanded, a nude fury.

“Three, perhaps four times,” he replied, hedging the answer a bit. In reality, he couldn’t count the number of times he’d been wounded as the Ghost.

“Winter!” She looked truly distressed. “You must find a way to quit this activity.”

He arched his brows mildly. “Why?”

She slapped her hand down on his chest rather painfully. “Can’t you see? Eventually you’ll be maimed or even killed!”

“Hush.” He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, caressing her palm. “I’m well trained and I’ve done this for years before I met you, Isabel.”

“Don’t brush my concern away like so much dust,” she said, her other hand coming down equally painfully.

“Isabel.” He caught that hand as well and thrust her hands out wide.

“Oof!” Overbalanced, she fell against him, her breasts pleasantly crushed to his chest. “Winter, you must—”

He was weary of this useless argument, so he pulled her closer and kissed her. For a split second she resisted. Then, with a sigh, she submitted to him, her mouth opening beneath his, giving him what he craved. He made a sound at the back of his throat, a deep groan that was almost a growl. She stripped him of civility—of reason and will. All he could do was feel and act. His beast came roaring to the forefront. His hips were already moving beneath hers, urging her closer. He was so hard he could feel the beat of his pulse in his cock, the ache of want, of sexual need.

He needed her.

As if she knew his extremity, she made a soothing sound. At some point he’d let go of her wrists. She petted him, like a child soothing a savage beast, and one part of him wanted to laugh at the thought.

Another only wanted to take what she offered.

Thankfully she lifted and grasped him then. He gritted his teeth at her touch and opened his eyes.

She was watching his face as she lowered herself to him. “Shhh. I have what you need.”

Did she mock him? It hardly mattered. He’d accept her if she did or not—he was too far gone to deny either her or his own need.

She engulfed the head of his cock and it was such bliss he nearly came at once. He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent the ignominy. To prevent this ending too soon.

He watched her through slitted lids. She seemed lost in her own pleasure, her head thrown back, her lovely hair cascading down her back. Something savage and unthinking awoke at the sight. This was his cock she took within herself. His body that brought her such ecstasy. She might think this was merely a physical joining, but he knew far better.

He was claiming her as his. He’d warned her once before what this physical act meant to him. This was a union. This was forever. But he had enough wits about him to know she didn’t yet see it as such. He must go slowly. Bide his time.

And in the meantime, if she wanted him only for the sex, then he would use it to bind her to him.

So he reached up with both hands and fondled her breasts in the way he now knew she liked, and when she gasped in answer, he knew a fierce joy. This woman. This woman was his.