This was what she wanted. This was whathewanted. There was no sense fighting it.
Once the jacket and waistcoat had been tossed aside, she stepped from the tub. “Now your shirt.”
The cloud of white linen was up over his head and down onto the floor within seconds.
“You can’t get in the water with your boots on.” She knelt at his feet.
He yanked the closest footstool next to the tub and sat down hard.
She tugged off each boot, then each stocking, and pushed them toward the wall. “Stand up.”
He locked his hands behind his back to keep from reaching for her.
She unbuttoned his fall with the same care she’d given his jacket and waistcoat, in slow, unhurried movements. One button. Two buttons. Three.
Even before she’d begun, the evidence of his arousal was clearly delineated against his fall. Having it stiff and hot in her hands, however, was a different experience entirely. He groaned and tried not to thrust into her fingers when she gave it a tentative stroke.
“Bath,” he gasped and sank into the tub, hiding his lower half from view.
She knelt beside him, reaching in to inspect his wounded arm. Gently, she cleaned the broken skin with soap and a soft rag.
“See?” he managed. The arm was swollen and discolored, but not broken. He’d been very, very fortunate.
When she finished with his arm, she brought the soap and the warm cloth to the rest of his body. Neck, shoulders, chest, stomach, hips. When she reached her hand further beneath the water, he grabbed her wrist with his good hand before she made contact.
“Not yet,” he growled.
Her eyes widened, then sparkled in anticipation. “That’s a yes?”
“It was a yes the moment I walked through the door and saw you naked.” He didn’t bother making noises about her reputation. She had always lived two lives. The public one she admitted to, and the private one she kept to herself.
Today would be just another one of her secrets.
He handed her a towel and dried himself with another before crossing to his armoire.
He always kept fresh bandages handy in case of accidents. The silk had saved his arm from dirt and debris, but wrapping the injury would keep the scratches from infection and help calm the swelling.
Task complete, he turned to face Felicity. The towel he’d given her was twisted about her hair, rather than hiding her perfect body. What he wouldn’t give to start every morning just like this.
“This is the moment,” he said huskily, “when I ought to toss you over my shoulder and carry you over to that bed.”
“And you can’t? You poor dear.” She gave a wicked smile. “You’ll have to watch me walk to the bed on my own two feet and open my legs for you all by myself. We’re a team, remember?”
Before he could respond, she rose to her feet and sashayed to the bed, giving the swing of her hips an extra little sway.
He followed right behind her. “Minx.”
When she turned in surprise, he covered her mouth with his.
Thiswas the kiss he’d longed to give when she’d won the race. Wild and untamed, sweet and celebratory, possessive and demanding. A kiss that acknowledged the win but was not yet done conquering. A kiss that claimed her as his own.
It wasn’t enough. He lowered his mouth to her neck, to the curve of her shoulder, to her breast.
The gasp of pleasure that escaped her throat was nearly his undoing. As if her knees had weakened, and she seated herself unsteadily on the edge of the mattress and reached for him.
It was the welcome he’d been waiting for.
Without taking his mouth from her breast, his fingers found the wet heat between her thighs. A delicious rhythm unfurled: suckling, stroking, suckling, stroking, until she arched her spine and cried out as the spasms took her.
