“Are you certain, my lady?” He stopped before her, near enough to touch.
Near enough, her exotic scent invaded his senses.
Her lips parted, her tongue gliding over them. “You are a scoundrel to remind me of my folly.”
He grinned. “Not a scoundrel, love. A scoundrel would have taken what you offered three nights ago.”
She inhaled sharply. “Mr. Winter, you are insolent.”
“You like it,” he dared.
And he did not think he was wrong about this, about the connection sparking between them, like flint ready to produce a flame.
“I…” She paused, faltering.
He had flustered her. Her throat had gone pink. So too, the tops of her breasts. That was when he noted the smattering of freckles on her skin. Charming little flecks adorning her like gems, more noticeable given the flush spreading over her.
“You were saying,” he prompted, tempted to trace the pattern. Somehow, he maintained his restraint.
“I came to return Davy,” she said suddenly.
Disappointing change of subject, that. Demon did not want to think of the lad, not when desire was hanging hot and heavy in the air. Not when he was about to touch her. Kiss her. Pleasure her.
Damn.
“That did not last long.” His observation was laced with humor, for he had expected Davy’s swift return.
“You know he is a thief,” she charged.
He inclined his head. “Aye. The lad has quick fingers.”
“You knew he stole my ring.”
Guilty.
“I suspected it.” As they exchanged words, she began a slow retreat. And he followed. Step by step. Until she backed into the wall. He braced his palms on the plaster beside her head. “No one asked you to take the scamp under your wing, as I recall. That was all your idea.”
“I thought you were mistreating him.” The ice had melted from her voice.
He shook his head. “I ain’t in the business of abusing children, madam. Davy is part of the family here, and we are doing our best to keep him from thieving.”
“Yet you allowed me to take him.”
“Aye. Because I knew he’d be back.”
She said nothing, simply stared.
Mother of all saints, her eyes were not just blue. They were gray too, with hints of violet, and her lashes were long and coppery beneath that cursed mask.
“Nothing to say,number one hundred four?” he taunted.
“Mirabel.”
Demon leaned nearer. “Begging your pardon?”
Out came that tongue again, wetting her lips, making him mad. “My name. It is Mirabel.”
“Mira.” He tried the name, liking the way it sounded, the way it felt, the intimacy humming between them.
