Bitter Spirits by Jenn Bennett Page A

didn’t mean to upset your lover, but maybe if you would’ve just explained the situation to me instead of having her summon me out here—”
    â€œWhoa! Florie and I are not lovers. Haven’t been since college. And it wasn’t as if we were sweethearts then, it was just . . .”
    She turned around and crossed her arms over her middle. “Just what?”
    â€œConvenient,” he finally said. “I’m sure that’s shocking.”
    â€œShocking?” Her laugh was mean and hard. “Like your silly postcard collection?”
    â€œI believe you called me a deviant and a pervert, not silly.”
    â€œYou are. That doesn’t mean I’m prudish. I may not be as loose and free as Mrs. Beecham, or however many other flappers with whom you’ve had ‘convenient’ affairs, but I’m no virgin.”
    Oh, she was a big talker, wasn’t she? Aida might be tough and independent, and she might not be a virgin, but Winter wasn’t convinced she was carefree and modern when it came to sex. He could tell by the nervous defensiveness in her speech—the way she blinked rapidly and wouldn’t look him in the eyes. The way she’d reacted when she’d discovered the postcards in his study, and how she’d acted in the dressing room. He’d been so worried about his own feelings that afternoon, he’d confused himself in regards to her motives.
    She wasn’t concerned with propriety—she was skittish.
    â€œHow old are you? Sixteen? Seventeen?” he teased.
    She narrowed her eyes. “Twenty-eight.”
    â€œPractically dead. And how many lovers have you had?”
    â€œThat’s none of your business.”
    He rested one foot on the bottom step. “You just accused me of being a promiscuous lout. I think it’s a fair question. How many? One?”
    â€œTwo,” she said, putting distance between them by ascending another step without turning around. “And both of them could barely manage a proper kiss, much less anything else, so I can’t say I was impressed. Like I said earlier, I can take care of myself.”
    Now it was Winter’s turn to be astonished. Was she saying what he thought she was saying?
    She bit the inside of her cheek and looked away.
    Well,
well
. No woman he’d known had ever admitted to pleasuring herself, and being curious, he’d asked plenty of times. Frankly, he’d started to believe females just didn’t engage in such depravity, though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. He was quite fond of the activity himself. He must be; he’d been doing it daily half his life.
    His mind conjured an image of her sprawled on a bed with her hand beneath her skirt. Big mistake. He tried to think of what she’d said before the taking-care-of-herself bit, and that didn’t help matters. She’d admitted to two lovers, and they weren’t any good. The sudden shift of blood from his brain to his cock made that sound like a challenge.
    â€œSo you’re saying that you can judge a man’s worth by his kiss?”
    â€œI . . . no, I don’t think that’s what I said.”
    â€œThat’s what you implied. Would you like me to kiss you, so you can judge my worth?”
    â€œJust because you look handsome in that tuxedo doesn’t mean I want you to kiss me.”
    Handsome? She thought he was handsome? Perhaps she was blind, because he knew from all the uneasy stares he tolerated every time he stepped out in public that this couldn’t possibly be true. But he used to be, once, and oh, how he wanted to believe she meant it, so he allowed himself to do so, just for a moment, and climbed one step.
    She made a small anxious noise and tried to do the same, but the top step was barricaded by a piece of timber, while his body blocked the descent. The freckled wildcat was trapped on the step above