When he reached for the hem of her shift, her breath hitched. He peeled the wet fabric away, and she felt a flare of acute, stinging vulnerability. Being naked before him now didn't feel like the soft, mutual surrender of the night before. She felt painfully exposed.
Every bruise from the rocks, every shudder of her skin was laid bare to the man who had every right to despise her. And yet, the way his eyes darkened as they swept over her body made her skin tingle with a desperate, shameful electricity.
The air in the room was cold, but where his gaze lingered, she felt scorched. Her nipples peaked, reacting to the draft and the intensity of his stare, and a sharp, sweet ache blossomed between her thighs.
She wanted to cover herself, but more than that, she wanted to be pulled against the damp, hard heat of his chest.
The air hit her skin for a fleeting second, making her feel fragile and dangerously needy under his heavy, dark gaze, before he lifted her carefully and lowered her into the steaming water.
The heat was an assault. Enya let out a small, choked gasp as the warmth bit into her frozen skin, a sensation so sharp it bordered on pain.
She immediately wrapped her arms around her chest, pulling her knees up and sinking as deep as the copper tub would allow. She wanted to hide, to disappear beneath the surface, away from the way her body was traitorously waking up under his gaze.
Harald took up a cloth and a bowl of soap, kneeling beside the tub with a heavy thud of his knees and began to wash the salt and grit from her shoulders.
His touch was a confusing contradiction. His hands were rough and calloused, moving with a forceful, rhythmic friction that spoke of his lingering fury, yet he was careful not to hurt her. He didn't miss a single patch of salt-crusted skin. The friction of the cloth against her damp, sensitized skin sent a jolt of heat straight to her core.
Enya watched his hands, her throat tight.
"I can wash meself, Harald," she whispered, her voice trembling as she looked at the water. "Ye dinnae have tae... ye dinnae have tae touch me."
"Be quiet, Enya," he growled, though the edge of his voice had softened into something closer to exhaustion than rage.
He moved the cloth to the nape of her neck, his thumb brushing against her skin in a way that made her whole body ache. When his knuckles grazed the slope of her shoulder, her breath hitched, and she felt a heavy, honeyed thrumming start between her thighs. It was agonizing, being this close to him while the air was still thick with his resentment.
"Ye are a stubborn, foolish woman," he muttered, his voice less of a roar now and more of a pained growl. "Ye think if ye die, it pays some debt?"
Enya looked at him then, warmth flaring in her chest as she saw the way his hands were shaking. The vulnerability in him was more intoxicating than any wine.
"I didnae dae it fer a debt, Harald," she said softly, her voice regaining its steady, sharp clarity despite the steam curling around them. "I did it because it was a child. I may be a liar in yer eyes... but I’m nae a monster."
Harald stopped. The cloth stayed pressed against the curve of her shoulder, the heat of it seeping into her skin.
He finally looked at her, his dark eyes searching hers with a raw, bleeding intensity that made her heart pound. The mask of fury he had been clinging to since he had pulled her out suddenly began to crack.
"I thought ye were gone," he whispered, the anger finally breaking. "I saw that cloak on the rocks and I... I thought the sea had taken the only thing that made this keep feel like a home."
He dropped the cloth. It hit the water with a soft splash, forgotten. His hand moved instead to the side of her neck, his large, calloused palm cupping the damp skin of her throat. His thumb brushed the hollow where her pulse jumped like a trapped bird, a frantic rhythm that mirrored his own.
The air between them thickened, charged with the scent of salt, iron, and the sudden, electric pull of their bodies. Enya leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut. The water lapped against her breasts, the surface shimmering in the firelight, and she felt a sharp, liquid heat blossom inside her. She wanted him to stop talking. She wanted him to stop being the laird and start being the man who had claimed her the night before.
His gaze dropped to her lips, and the sheer weight of his stare felt like a physical touch. He looked at her as a man starving, and Enya felt her own hunger rise to meet it, fierce and unyielding.
He leaned in closer, his shadow looming over the tub, his face just inches from hers. She could feel the heat radiating from him, a stark contrast to the water that was starting to cool. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then tracked lower, to where thewater lapped against the tops of her breasts, shimmering in the firelight.
"Dae ye have any idea?" he asked, his voice breaking into a low, carnal growl. He was vibrating with a tension that was no longer just about the cold or the rescue. "Dae ye have any idea what it’s like tae hate what ye’ve done, and still want ye more than me next breath?”
Harald let out a ragged, guttural sound—half-sob, half-growl—and his fingers tangled in the wet, salt-crusted hair at the nape of her neck.
He pulled her forward with a blunt force that spoke of an internal war finally lost. Their breaths mingled in the heavy, humid steam, tasting of salt and desperation.
"Ye drive me mad, Enya," he rasped against her lips, his voice thick with a dark, terrifying heat. "Mad."
He stood up, not looking away from her eyes for a second as he stripped. He moved in a blur of violent motion—fingers fumbling with laces, leather hitting the floorboards with a wet thud. He stepped into the copper tub, the water surging over the rim as his massive frame displaced it.
The tub was small for two, forcing them into a brutal, beautiful proximity. Harald cupped her face, his large hands framing her jaw, and then his mouth was on hers.
It was forceful and hot, his mouth a desperate demand. Enya’s let out a muffled whimper from the sheer, overwhelming relief of his weight against her.
