Winter's Night by Sherrilyn Kenyon Read Free Book Online Page A

but she had such a sweet little mouth that tasted like honey and felt like hot silk as it slid over his flesh.
    It really was true a body couldn’t feel pain and pleasure simultaneously. Because when she teased his flesh with her tongue and teeth, all his pain evaporated like dew on a hot July morning.
    Catherine returned to the kitchen, carrying a small wicker basket in her hand. She placed it on the table beside his hat, then leaned over to examine his foot. A stern frown drew her brows together. “Did I do all that?”
    â€œYes, you did,” he said petulantly.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said. “I’d best get some butter for it.” As she reached for the porcelain butter jar on the table, she accidentally brushed the wicker basket off the side.
    It landed straight on his injured foot.
    O’Connell sucked his breath in between his teeth as pain exploded up his leg.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she repeated as she bent over to retrieve the basket.
    His gaze feasted hungrily on the site of her round bottom as she fished for the basket under the table. Oh, but she had such a nice, round bottom. One that felt incredible under his hands, or against his loins.
    He forgot all about his foot until she straightened, teetered ever so slightly, then grabbed his injured foot to steady herself.
    This time he cursed out loud.
    Color exploded across her face. “I’m—”
    â€œDon’t,” he snapped, cutting her off. “I know you didn’t mean to, just please give my foot time enough to recuperate before you do anything else to it.”
    Her cheeks darkened even more as she set the basket back on the table. “It’s your own fault, you know.”
    â€œHow is that?”
    â€œYou make me nervous,” she confessed.
    â€œI make you nervous?” he asked in disbelief. If anyone had a right to be nervous, it should be him, since he never knew what injury she might inflict on him next.
    â€œYes, you do. The way you sit there and stare at me like I’m some prime roast and you haven’t eaten anything in a week. It’s quite disconcerting, Mr. O’Callahan. If you must know.”
    He stopped fanning his foot and looked up at her. “Why did you never tell me that before?”
    â€œI used to not mind the way you looked at me.”
    â€œAnd now?”
    â€œI mind it and I wish you’d stop.”
    O’Connell locked his jaw at her words. There had to be some way to chisel away the ice around her.
    Of course, he’d never in his life had to practice chiseling ice away from a woman. Women had always melted in his presence. They had only shown a token resistance before lifting their skirts to him.
    Catherine had been the only one he’d ever courted. But then, she’d always been different in his book. Her shy innocence had been what captivated him. The way her smile carried all the warmth of the sun in it.
    Pete had mocked him for his love of her. “The woman’s as plain as yesterday’s bread.”
    But to him, she’d always been beautiful.
    Catherine leaned over him and gently spread the butter on his foot. Her light touch shook him to his core, and a thousand needles of pleasure tore through him.
    In spite of himself, he smiled. Her ministrations on his foot reminded him of how they first met.
    He’d just turned nineteen and had only been working for her father a few weeks. The main gate to her house had been damaged by a storm and he’d been trying to patch it when all of a sudden she had come riding up over the hill like the Devil himself was chasing her. He had barely ducked out of the way before her horse leapt over him.
    The post he’d been hammering into the ground slipped sideways and as he tried to grab it, the hammer had fallen from his hand and crashed down on his toes, breaking the little one. If that hadn’t been painful enough, the entire post had also fallen on him.
    She had