“Then seeing me without a shirt shouldn’t prove a problem for you.”
He shucked the sodden linen. Christ, that felt good. During his days as a prizefighter, rumors had flown that he felt no pain. In fact, the opposite was true. He was a highly sensual man, and the only reason he’d fought on with broken ribs, knuckles ripped to the bone, and eyes swelled shut was because he’d willed himself to. Courtesy of the “lessons” forced upon him by Grimshaw, the headmaster of Creavey Hall, he could push himself past normal limits of endurance…but that didn’t mean he felt nothing.
Conrad felt intensely: pain, pleasure, and everything in between. It was why he enjoyed swiving—the sensual build-up and release, that fleeting sense of rightness in his own skin. On the other hand, the feel of wet fabric plastered to his chest had been torture. Shedding that layer was a physical relief. In fact, he was tempted to remove his trousers…but even he had limits when it came to toying with a virgin.
If he were honest, though, Gigi didn’t look as shocked as she ought to. He’d deliberately kept his back from her—he didn’t feel like explaining his scars—but he’d given her a good view of his chest. When she wasn’t pretending not to look, he saw the curiosity in her eyes…the same sparkle she’d had when peeping at him at the stream. A sparkle that somehow combined innocence with feminine hunger. It made him instantly hard. Or harder, rather.
Yet he was a man in control of himself and the situation. To prove it, he sauntered past her and settled on the wide stone platform. He lounged against the back, welcoming the feel of warm stone against his spine, and stretched out his arms and legs. With satisfaction, he noted that Gigi was avidly watching him while pretending not to.
“Might as well settle in.” He quirked a brow. “Care to join me? There is plenty of room here.”
“Not for you, me, and your arrogance.”
Despite his simmering lust, he had to stifle a smile at her cheekiness.
“Suit yourself.” Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes. “I’m getting a bit of shut-eye. We have a long night ahead of us.”
Eyeing the half-naked Adonis lounging in front of her, Gigi recalled her mama’s advice.
The mark of a lady is not the absence of impulses, dearest, but the ability to make wise choices despite them.
Given the urges currently swarming her, Gigi made the prudent choice to put as much distance between herself and Mr. Godwin as possible. She made a beeline for one of the alcoves. Dropping onto the bench, she crossed her arms and tried to unsee the sight of his bulging biceps and rippling torso. His body hair had formed an intriguing pattern, sprinkling across his wide upper chest before narrowing into a line between the stacked muscles of his stomach. It drew the eye to his waistband and the thick, unmistakable ridge just beneath.
Stop thinking about his you-know-what. You’re in enough trouble as it is.
The sweltering heat didn’t help. She was warm, damp, and sticky; unlike Godwin, however, she couldn’t just shuck off what made her uncomfortable. Hearing a snore from his direction, she blew out an annoyed breath and shifted on her hard seat. Perhaps she should try to rest; she would need energy to deal with this mess in the morning…
She must have dozed off, for a voice startled her awake.
“Don’t touch me, you bastard.”
Blinking groggily, Gigi sat up.
“No. No. Stop.”
The pain in Godwin’s voice propelled her from the alcove. She found him on the platform, still asleep, his head rocking back and forth against the stone headrest. Lines slashed across his brow and around his mouth. His jaw was tight, his eyes twitching behind closed lids.
“Stop,” he gritted out. “Going to kill you?—”
The sound that came from him was inhuman—an animal howl that made Gigi scramble onto the platform next to him. He thrashed his head against the unforgiving rock, not seeming to feel the impact, gripped in the greater agony of his nightmare. When another pained sound scraped from his throat, she could bear it no longer.
She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Godwin, wake up.”
Beneath her palm, his skin was hot, nearly feverish. The muscles of his shoulder bulged, but he did not awaken. Demons from his past held him fast; he was trapped by terror that time had not healed. Understanding squeezed her heart, for Owen suffered from a similar affliction. When Godwin gnashed his teeth, smashing his head against the rock, she cupped his jaw with both hands.
“It’s just a dream,” she said firmly. “Wake up.”
His eyelids flew open. The nightmare stared back at her, blowing his pupils wide, obscuring any hint of cocky green. A chill passed through her as she realized she was looking straight at his demons. Yet she’d never been one to back down when someone needed her.
“You’re awake,” she said gently. “It’s me, Gigi. We’re trapped in the caldarium, remember? You had a dream, but you’re safe. There is no one here to hurt you.”
The darkness slowly receded from his gaze. She saw the instant he came back to himself, his storm-filled eyes taking her in. He reached a hand to his jaw, trapping hers beneath his callused palm. She understood his need to anchor himself and didn’t pull away. Even though his grip was strong, it was his slight tremble that held her captive.
“You’re all right,” she murmured. “I’m here, and I have you.”
“You’re here,” he repeated. “And you have me.”
His eyes flashed with a different kind of need. One that her female instincts recognized and responded to. Her heart raced, her breath hitched, her skin prickled with awareness. Every nerve tingled when he cupped the back of her neck, dragging her close. She tumbled atop him and had an instant to brace her palms against his hard chest before he claimed her mouth.
