"Some."
"It's the friction," he explained. "When I rub my hands together, it creates heat. The water's just as cold as it was, but the heat of my hands makes it seem warmer."
Esme didn't answer. At that moment she was feeling much warmer, indeed. Cleavis Rhy was sitting cross-legged beside her, draping her knee casually across his own. His hands so tenderly touched her foot, stroking and strong. The warmth of it was greater than friction and rushed right up her leg to a soft and secret place.
Esme took a deep breath. Cleav looked into her eyes. A fire burned there between them. Only Cleav sought to bank it. "It's time for the alum, I think," he told her, his words strangely gruff.
After pulling her injured foot into his lap, he removed the lid from the can he'd brought and sprinkled the white powder.
Esme flinched. "Save to graces! That hurts worse than the goat-head!" she complained.
Cleav nodded like a stern father. "It draws the wound up and burns the poison out," he told her. "It hurts a lot at first, but it's over soon. In an hour you'll forget all about that goat-head."
Esme wanted to tell him that she would never forget one moment she'd spent with him, but something in his eyes made her hold her tongue.
"Let me get your shoes," he said, rising to walk away from her.
"I'm sorry that Sophrona slapped you," she blurted out when his back was turned.
Cleav hesitated an instant but didn't turn around. He went on to gather up her stockings and shoes before walking back to her. Then he dropped her things on the ground beside her. His grin was wry and humorless.
"Why be sorry?" he answered stonily. "It was quite a show for you, I think."
Esme jerked up her skirts and began pulling on her stockings. Without being asked, Cleav hurriedly turned his back.
"Truthfully, I didn't understand why you wanted me to kiss her," he said. "I guess you knew what would happen."
"No!" Esme protested. "I didn't know what would happen. And I didn't want you to kiss her!"
"You were teasing me, Esme," he replied. "You aren't going to deny that."
"Well, yes ... I mean no," she sputtered as she hurried her shoes on.
"You suggested I wasn't a man if I didn't kiss her."
"I didn't want you to kiss her." Esme came to her feet and hurried to his side. Turning him toward her, she reached up and laid her palm against the strong masculine jaw that had felt the consequences of Miss Sophrona's wrath.
"I didn't want you to kiss her, Cleav," she whispered. "I wanted you to kiss me."
For a man who just minutes previous had been given a memorable lesson on kissing women, Cleav was remarkably unhesitant. Wrapping his arms around the small of her back, he pulled her tightly against him.
Esme breathed a startled little "oh" of surprise and then eagerly tried to press his lips with her own.
"Wait!" he whispered urgently. Esme quieted in his arms. "This time I want no question about it. I am kissing you."
With that he lowered his head, gently taking her mouth with his own. The kiss was brief, transient, merely a flutter of sensation, and as he drew away, Esme felt a rush of disappointment.
"Open your mouth, Esme," he whispered hotly against her ear. "Let me taste you."
The thrill of his words scattered gooseflesh across her skin, and she readily parted her lips for his. This time the kiss was neither quick nor teasing. A hot passion boiled between them as Cleav sought to ease the fire by the wet wonder of Esme's mouth.
Esme ran her fingers up the strong arms that held her, caressing his broad shoulders. Sighing against his mouth, she reveled in the illicit enticements of his lips, answering each improper liberty with accessibility.
Her knees trembled, and for a moment she feared she might drop to his feet. But Cleav held her firmly against him as his strong hands cupped her backside and raised her off the ground. Her long, slim legs seemed to wrap themselves naturally around him. She heard him groan as if in pain before he pressed her hot, feminine core against his hard, masculine counterpart.
Esme broke away from his lips with a cry, and she squirmed closer to him, aching with desire.
"Do you feel that, Esme," he whispered hoarsely against her neck.
