She could put a safe distance between them.
But she didn’t.
Because at this moment, standing here with him, hands entwined over a simple bar of soap and a basin of water, a part of her needed to hold on.
Even if just for a little while longer.
Without stopping to think, she dropped her head and rested it on his shoulder, relishing in the simple physical contact.
It wasn’t that Gilbert never allowed her a short embrace or a playful ruffle of his hair, but this was different. It was man to woman, and with each second that passed, reassuring warmth spread through her.
“Thank you,” he whispered from above her head. “Thank you for saving my life.”
She wanted to protest, but he shushed her before she could do so. “You are a compassionate and courageous woman. Not everyone would do what you did. In fact, I think most would be inclined to look the other way.”
“I couldn’t.” For some reason, Daisy felt like crying. She sniffled a little and then reluctantly pulled away until he had no choice but to drop his arms. “I would do it again.”
“I know,” he said.
They stared into one another’s eyes, and she swallowed hard.
“Now.” She cleared her throat. “Why don’t you sit down, and we’ll see about civilizing you again.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind? I could likely make do myself.”
Without a mirror, the only thing he’d be likely to do was maim himself.
“I am sure.” Daisy poured warm water from the kettle into the basin, soaked a clean cloth, and lathered the soap. Already, the scent had transformed the mood of the room. She inhaled. “Do you smell that?” she asked.
“Cedar?”
“And a combination of rosewood and roses. If you concentrate, you’ll notice something else.”
“Smoke?” Alastair tilted his head. “I like it.” He tucked his feet under the stool and sat waiting while she arranged the tools. “It’s not too flowery.”
“No.” She willed herself not to shake and then turned to face him. “That’s the idea. To keep the scents subtle and low and clean. There’s nothing worse than a man who smells like he’s been doused in perfume.” Was she rambling?
“Wouldn’t want that,” he agreed.
In the days she’d nursed him, she’d touched him intimately—she hadn’t had a choice, really. Bathing his fevered body, tending his wounds, pressing cool cloths to his skin.
And yet, she’d never felt the connection she did now.
Not like this. Not with him watching her. Not with her hands steadying his face as though he belonged to her.
“Here we are…”
Her voice barely rose above a whisper as she dipped the cloth into the warm water and soaked his beard. This was the easy part. The impersonal part.
But then, scooping up a bit of soap with her fingers, she lifted her hands to his jaw.
His gaze caught hers, dark and hooded, and as she smoothed the lather over his whiskers, something shifted in the air between them. Heat flared behind his eyes, coiling tension in her belly, sending an ache through her limbs.
Being the object of his close attention shook her. It also thrilled her. It made her stomach flutter, her skin hum, her pulse trip over itself.
Ignore all of it, Daisy.
Her grip tightened slightly on the razor. She was about to touch a blade to his face and neck, and any misstep could hurt or scar him permanently. She had to focus.
