“There,” she said as she removed the last of the bandage.His palm was still raw and red, dotted with plump blisters.But the wound wasn’t infected.“’Tisn’t too bad, aye?”
He didn’t respond, and when she looked up at his face, she could see his mind was elsewhere.His eyes were glazed, like the diaphanous silk of a veil that barely concealed what was beneath.But she could see what was beneath.
Arousal.Desire.Yearning.
Her gaze lowered to his slightly parted lips.
Then his gaze lowered to her bosom.She realized, kneeling before him, her leine had gapped away enough to display the upper curve of her breasts.
She should have gasped in outrage.Adjusted her garment.Scolded him roundly for leering at her.
But she didn’t.Here, alone with him, she didn’t have to keep up pretenses.Though her own brashness made her blush, she had to admit she enjoyed having him look at her that way.As if he wanted to tear off her clothes and ravish her.
Of course that wasn’t going to happen.Shewasa responsible person, after all.
But she fully intended to kiss him again.After she finished bandaging his hand.
Pretending she didn’t notice his stare, she placed the crock of the honey-butter mixture on her lap.
“Give me your hand.”Her voice was breathy and alluring, even to her own ears.
He rested his hand atop hers, dwarfing it.How different from hers it looked.There was great strength in the sinews.The sun had weathered his skin.And calluses from wielding an axe thickened his fingers.She wondered how that hand would feel caressing the top of her breasts.
She took a deep, settling breath and tried to clear her mind.Then she dabbed her fingers in the honey-butter and began spreading it gently over his blisters.
He made no complaint.But she wasn’t sure if that was because it didn’t hurt or because he was distracted by the view.She didn’t dare look to see if his eyes were still fixed on her bosom.
The silence was becoming uncomfortable, so she explained, “The butter is to keep the moisture in.The honey helps to keep the wound clean.”
“To think I’ve been wasting it on oatcakes.”
She smiled and glanced up at him.
He was gazing out the window now.The light caught his face, making his eyes shine like silver and highlighting his chiseled jaw and supple lips.
She shivered with anticipation.She needed to finish the task of dressing his hand so she could begin the next task.Relieving some of her strain with a kiss as sweet as honey-butter.
Wrapping his hand again was a delicate operation.It was made even more difficult when she realized, kneeling before him, her eyes were at the level of his…
She gulped.She couldn’t even think the word.She certainly wasn’t going to stare at it.
Except she did.
There was nothing to see.Not really.He was fully clothed.His leine hung between his knees.And even if it hadn’t, his trews surely covered everything.
Still, there was something forbidden and thrilling about stealing glances without his knowledge.
Chapter 18
Carenza was staring at his crotch.
She probably assumed he couldn’t tell.But her gaze might as well have been a caress, the way it was affecting him.And her distraction became glaringly obvious, especially when she began wrapping the linen in a spiral up his wrist.
Part of him was amused.Nothing was more engaging than a woman interested in his body.Her curiosity was endearing and arousing.But part was afraid the change in him as he swelled with desire would show through his braies and trews and leine to horrify them both.
He had to distract her before he shamed himself and she wrapped the linen halfway up his arm.
“Are you planning to bury me?”he asked.
