Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night Read Online Free Page B

but the way she was reacting to his scent, his mesmerizing eyes, and his hard body between her thighs belied the words.
    There was an aura about him that was staggering to her, making it difficult to think. It wasn’t mere male heat and sensuality. It was raw sexuality, animalistic in its intensity—and she was starving for it.
    Ah, gods, she did want him to kiss her. Wanted it with everything that she was and willed him to do so. Want me as fiercely as I want you . . . desire me as you’ve never desired another.
    He cupped the back of her neck, staring down at her. Asshe gazed up in fascination, the amber of his eyes turned to ice blue. He seemed desperate to recognize something in her, and when he clearly didn’t find it, his hand on her began to shake. “Damn you, witch, I doona want another.”
    She suddenly knew two things: He was about to kiss her so fiercely she would never be the same again.
    And he would hate himself for it afterward and despise her forever. . . .

2

    T he witch seethed with power. Spells and magicks swirled about her. Bowe could sense them, could perceive them tangling around him, binding him to her—because she was beckoning him to kiss her. . . .
    No, he couldn’t get distracted from his aim! He wouldn’t. So much was at stake with this competition. His past, his future. He knew this—knew what he was fighting for—so why couldn’t he drag his eyes away from the witch’s face?
    As she gazed up at him, her features seemed to shift. Her irises briefly flickered from an ordinary blue to a stormy, intense gray. She licked her lips, and right before him they turned from pink to the deepest, most enticing red. His shaft throbbed harder, straining against his pants.
    Yes, he had to taste her. To walk away without knowing what those glistening lips promised . . . ? Impossible. Not after beholding the body she’d concealed beneath her cloak. She was lush, surprisingly curvy with high, plump breasts. And in that tunnel, when he’d gazed upon her crawling in front of him, the allure of her generous hips and arse had been as strong as a siren’s call to him. He’d have followed her for miles, hard as rock, heart thundering in anticipation.
    Then to be wedged against her in that position? Hell, he’d just stopped himself from thrusting uncontrollably against her—
    â€œ Bowen  . . .” she whispered, an edge of need in her voice.
    The witch wanted; he was helpless not to give.
    His first kiss in nearly two centuries.
    Pulling her closer with his hand at her nape, he leaned down and took her mouth with his. The merest contact rocked him. From the first touch, he felt how giving her lips were, parting in welcome. She gave a cry against him, and her palms traced up his chest to rest at his neck, her fingers twining in his hair.
    He slipped his tongue into her mouth, and she met it with her own, with slow, wicked laps that made him inhale sharply to groan against her. His free hand grasped her waist to hold her as he deepened the kiss, and she moaned her approval, going soft against him.
    She was the one enthralling him, so why did she seem to be going out of her head with desire? She seemed . . . lost for him. When would she pull back? Surely he couldn’t be expected to. She would tell him to stop, and he would somehow manage to relinquish what he desired, as he had hundreds of times before.
    But she didn’t tell him. Between licks, she whispered, “ Yes, Bowen, yes .” Instead of checking his lust, she urged him on, as if she wanted him, a Lykae, to lose control.
    He clutched her neck hard. For over a thousand years, he’d unwaveringly scorned witches. Yet now he was savoring the wanton, drugging kiss of one—a soft, ruby-lipped witch who, he feared, could make all his sexual dreams come true. Having been without sex for so long, Bowe dreamed about it