But she became fascinated by his body.The warmth of his flesh.The curves of his muscles.The subtle pulse of his veins.She explored it all with her hands, molding her fingers along each plane, smoothing and soothing his skin as if she sculpted him from clay.
Why the contact should affect her so, she didn’t know.But soon she felt the eagerness in her fingers spread to a longing deep within her.The same longing she’d had when they’d kissed.A tightening in her breasts.A tingling in her nether parts.A fierce urge to be closer.
Her hands contacted the bandage then, and she picked up the vial to start on the other shoulder.His eyes were still closed.She wondered if he’d lied about the pain.
“Are ye sure it doesn’t hurt?”Her voice came out on a rough whisper.
To her surprise, he replied with a self-mocking, rueful chuckle.“My arms?Nay,theydon’t hurt.”
She smoothed the oil down his other arm.Her mind wandered, imagining his bulky arms, as unyielding as oak, enfolding her.Holding her.Protecting her.How safe she would feel in his embrace.
She slid her hand up along the inside of his arm, lightening her touch where the flesh was more delicate.As she reached the top, her fingers brushed the hollow under his arm, where a soft tuft of hair grew.Intrigued by the texture, she didn’t pull away at once.She ran her thumb back and forth along the fringe.
Suddenly, he jerked and clamped his arm against his chest, trapping her hand.
She gasped.“I’m sorry.I didn’t mean to hurt ye.”She tried to slide her hand down.
He grunted and clamped harder.
She tried to wriggle her fingers out.
“Stop it,” he bit out between his teeth.
Then she realized he wasn’t in pain.
Sir Hew du Lac, powerful Viking warrior, was ticklish.
A slow grin found its way to her lips.
A grin he instantly understood.
“Nay,” he warned.
But she wasn’t about to heed his warning.She wiggled her fingers again.
“Wench,” he hissed, squeezing harder.
“I’m tryin’ to get them out,” she told him with false earnestness, “but I just can’t seem to…” She fluttered her fingers ferociously.
He grimaced.Squirmed.Chuckled.But he was helpless to pull her fingers away with his bandaged hand.
“Oh dear,” she said, “I’m quite trapped under your arm.Perhaps if I try with my other fingers…”
“Nay!”he burst out.
“But I’m afraid I’m caught,” she protested, edging her other hand closer.
He narrowed threatening eyes at her.“Don’t.You.Dare.”
Yet how could she resist?
“If ye lift your arm a wee bit,” she offered, “perhaps I could withdraw my hand.”
“Willyou withdraw your hand?”
“Of course.”
But there was still a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.She could feel it.
