Phoebe considered the question ridiculously inadequate. The woman had lost a daughter and her former ‘almost’ son-in-law had moved on with his life.
“She is doing better than previous years. Perhaps coming to peace with what happened,” he said.
The flicker of sadness across his features made her wonder if he still loved Sylvia. But then the sadness was replaced with something else. Heat. “May I assist you in your bath?” he said.
Her mouth went completely dry.
She swallowed back the thickness of trepidation and intrigue. “Oh, ah … of course.”
Slade proceeded to roll up the cuffs of his sleeves, and her eyes fell on the veins of hard toned forearm muscles, fascinated with its sprinkling of dark hair.
He knelt down by the tub. Excitement and fear shot up her spine. She inhaled his masculine scent of leather and cloves as he picked up the soap and small square of linen, dipping them in the water before forming a lather all the while his eyes seared into hers.
Molten heat pooled at her core mingling with anxiousness and anticipation.
He clinically considered the entirety of her body’s position before speaking. “Please sit forward a bit.”
Her body shivered slightly at the smoothness of his tone; it couldn’t be from a chill because she was quite warm.
“May I?” he asked, indicating to the soapy square of linen in his hand.
She edged forward, her fingers digging into her palms beneath the water.
“Ah, yes,” she breathed.
Slade gently stroked the area of her back she offered in slow circles and lazy zigzags. His touch both calmed her and created chaos in her body. One second her heart forgot to beat and thenext it was speeding while the bedchamber’s temperature rose a notch or two. All the while her nails dug into her palms forming half-moons. The contracting of her core caused her to squeeze her knees together sending a shiver down her spine.
“Are you cold?” His voice rasped.
“Ah … no … no,” she breathed.
His hand lifted. “Lean back.”
His command was soft yet laced with steel.
Slade dipped the linen in a measured, almost calculated motion down the valley between her breasts, leaving trails of fire on her wet skin. Her areolas peaked as he rubbed the linen over each of her breasts in smooth gentle strokes. His outward appearance continued to be clinical, yet his breathing became audible.
Phoebe’s breath hitched when her gaze landed on the large bulge in his trousers. She breathed through the fear and her own arousal, determined not to panic.
His hand lingered at her stomach.
“Should I continue further down?” His voice was deceptively low, as his eyes speared hers.
Phoebe gulped. “Ahem … yes,” she whispered.
Good. God. This bath was deliciously destroying them both.
CHAPTER 52
Slade didn’t deserve Fifi. His little friend had grown up to be a warrior goddess among mere mortal women. She pushed against her fear. She met it head on and did battle. She didn’t cower. She didn’t hide. From the steely determination in her eyes now, he understood. When she’d yelledget off,she’d been bellowing at her fear. He was enthralled by her. Her soft, flaming hair, her smooth creamy skin and her seductive curves were wreaking havoc with his resolve to gently ease her into lovemaking. She was brave, bold and stunning. She had an astonishingly unbendable strength of will which he had never seen in any other woman before. He didn’t think she realized just how strong she was. He didn’t deserve her, but he was going to take her anyway. He was going to make use of this opportunity and do whatever he had to, to not fail this time. He had killed Sylvia. He deserved to burn in Hades. But he was going to live instead. Fifi was his redemption.
The maid didn’t know exactly what Ross had done to Fifi, but Slade had imagined the worst since last night. He’d been living a dark tortured nightmare since his suspicions. It was torment and agony of the acutest kind, when he imagined Ross hurting Fifi. And he imagined it all. Every single time it sent a gunshotthrough his heart, and iron nails down his back, shredding his soul. He wanted to gouge the images from the back of his eyes with his own rapier. And his fists had clenched so many times, he might have fractured a knuckle or two. Oh. But there would be the sweet pleasure from killing Ross. It was a certainty. The only question was, how long could he draw out the sweet pleasure of it.
And how would he make his wife feel secure in the bedchamber again? How would he help her to heal? His plan was to give her so much pleasure Ross would be a distant unintrusive thing. He may not be able to wipe the attack from her memory all together, but perhaps he could fill her head and body with enough pleasure that it overshadowed all else. The fact that she was letting him touch her after Ross was testament to her strength and willpower. Her fortitude, resolve, and determination took his breath away. She robbed him of breath, as only a goddess could. And she didn’t even know it.
His own disloyal body longed to kiss, lick and suck her wet, soft, satiny skin. He wanted to fill every part of her delectable body, her mind and soul, with only him. He wanted it so bad he was in pain, his body straining to be free of its confines. But not now. And mayhap not for a long time. Not until that fear and uncertainty in her eyes vanished. He would only take her when he was certain she was ready to let him have her fully.
The warm water had gone cloudy with soap bubbles. But the sweet red curls at the apex of her thighs, the fullness of her breasts and the curve of her hips were seared on his brain. They would add to his torment. This pleasurable torment he could bear, but the hell of his hatred for Ross he couldn’t. There was only one way to end Ross and make sure the demon didn’t hurt Phoebe or other women and Slade intended on seeing that to the lethal end.
