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“Wait!” she cried out.

In a fit of desperation, she dashed towards him, her hand outstretched. She managed to grab him by his arm.

When he looked at her as if she had just lost her wits, Evie wanted to sink to the floor in mortification for the third time that night.

“What do you want?”

His biting, icy tone nearly made her recoil, but she stood her ground.

“I think we should talk,” she replied, pleasantly surprised at how her voice did not quiver as much as her insides did.

Daniel had taken off his jacket and his cravat. The first top buttons of his shirt had been undone, allowing her to glimpse the muscular column of his throat. He was no less as imposing as he had been fully dressed at the ball. In fact, one might say that he looked even more forbidding, as if the wolf in him had shed all pretense and stood before her in all his wild, untamed glory.

Unfortunately, she did not feel the least bit scared of him. On the contrary, that strange warmth flooded her veins once more, and she felt something within her clench at the sight of him. A tingling sensation danced up her spine, and she was wholly, intrinsicallyawareof the man that stood before her.

“It was anaccident,” he enunciated, his voice as calm as a still lake. His eyes betrayed no emotion as he glanced coolly at her. “We were both frustrated. It will not happen again, I assure you.”

Instead of feeling relieved by that, she felt…disappointed. Annoyed even.

“Oh. An accident.”

He raised an eyebrow at her incensed tone. “Why? Did you think there would be something more?”

At that moment, she dearly wished she could wipe the icy nonchalance off his face. Instead, she managed to gather herself and smile pleasantly at him.

“I did not think so, no.”

“Good.”

Somehow, he did not sound as pleased as she thought he would be. After all, it was quite rare for her to be so agreeable to whatever he said.

“Since that is how it is”—she continued to smile at him—“then I shall leave you to visit your Marchioness or haunt whatever club you wish to head off to.”

She was not going to unravel before him. Not like she did when he kissed her in the Hortons’ gardens. She was going to walk away from this with her head held high and?—

She let out a slight shriek when he pulled her back and braced his arms on the wall on either side of her head, effectively caging her body with his. Even as she glared up at him, she could feel the tremor of excitement that ran through her, felt the liquid heat pooling low in her belly.

“Just what the hell do you mean by that, Evelyn?” he demanded, his voice a low growl that sent a thrill through her.

For so long, she had always been “little Evie” or “Colin’s little sister.” The way he said her name made her feel more like a woman. Like he had finally shed the illusion of her as a child and saw her for what she had now become.

She had to resist licking her lips, which had become dry so suddenly.

“Well, is that not what you wanted?” she replied, tilting her head back to meet his fierce glare. “Are you not a Wolf? Is that not what Wolves do?”

She saw it again—that flash of danger in his smile. That wickedness that hinted at sinful things.

Evie knew that she should run away. That this meant trouble and that conventional wisdom was screaming at her to get away.

Who could have known that her instincts of self-preservation would be lost in the face of that slight smirk?

He had leaned in close to her, so close that she felt as if he might kiss her again…

“You have no idea what you are saying, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hot breath tickling the side of her face. “And you should sincerely hope never to find out.”

As they stood there, Evie could feel the strain in his arms as he held himself away from her. She was not blind.

All it would take was for him to angle his head ever so slightly, and their lips would meet once more in an all-consuming kiss?—