She stood where he’d left her, but she was staring at him, her gaze wide and fixed, no longer shivering at all. She hadn’t put on the nightshirt—of course she wouldn’t obey him—and the moment he faced her, he realized she was as aware of the charged atmosphere in the cabin as he was. She understood his desire, no matter her naiveté and innocence.
She slowly glanced at the long, hard ridge quivering visibly against the tight fabric of his britches. Then she looked up at his face again. She didn’t speak, but her cheeks were brilliantly pink.
“I’m a man,” he murmured. “And you are a woman. It’s quite simple, really.” How smoothly he lied.
She wet her lips. It was a long moment before she spoke. “Are you…” She faltered. “What are you going to do?”
“What do you want me to do?” he heard himself reply.
Her eyes widened with surprise. She whispered, “I don’t know.”
He heard himself laugh with disbelief. Virginia’s nipples remained tight and taut. He only had to glance down to know that she was swelling for him—and he hadn’t even touched her. “I think you lie, Miss Hughes. I think you burn for my touch today the way you burned for it yesterday.”
She stiffened. “I do not.”
“It doesn’t matter what you want.” He poured another Scotch, and now, beginning to enjoy himself despite the erotic pressure, he walked to her and handed her the glass. “You lost all your rights when you dared to defy me this one last time.”
“I never had any rights.”
“You had many rights, but you have been relinquishing them one by one. Drink. It will help warm you while we wait for your bathwater.”
“I’m not cold anymore.”
He almost inhaled harshly, because her words, spoken so innocently, further inflamed him. He tilted up her chin with his fingertips. “Drink,” he said softly, and then he decided to touch her.
He slowly explored her lower lip with the pad of his thumb.
She inhaled, and then began to breathe too quickly.
Impossibly, the heat and humidity thickened in the room.
Her lower lip was full, firm, damp. Her mouth had parted for him.
Red hazed his vision again. One kiss, he thought, one long, slow, deliberate kiss. How terrible would that be?
Instead, he closed his hand over hers, lifting it and the glass she held, until the rim reached her mouth. “Trust me on this one small point,” he murmured, aware that his voice had become as thick as the tension in the cabin.
She sipped, not once but several times.
“You are no stranger to Scotch,” he said, surprised.
She held the glass tightly against her chest between her small breasts, clearly unaware of what she was doing and how interesting it appeared. “My father was very fond of Scotch whiskey and he frequently let me take a sip or two, as long as Mother wasn’t watching.”
Something twisted inside of him like a knife.Gerald had shown him how to load a musket at the tender age of six, grinning and whispering, “Mama will murder me if she knows, so don’t breathe a word of this, you hear?”
“You loved your parents very much,” he heard himself remark, shoving the pain of the beast away.
“Yes,” she whispered, and she looked down at her drink. Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed as she realized her appearance. “Oh.” She looked up wildly, wide-eyed.
“I am enjoying myself immensely,” he remarked.
She gulped the Scotch, then shoved the half-empty glass at him, turning away.
“You know,” he remarked as casually, “you do not strike me as being the modest type, Virginia.”
She didn’t answer. But she slowly bent to retrieve his nightshirt.
He could feel her mind racing. What was she up to now? he wondered, and as he sipped her Scotch, he finally felt himself begin to relax. He looked forward to whatever it was that she intended and decided not to even try to guess.
