“You have the morals of…of…”
“Sea slime?” he asked politely.
“Of a gutter rat!”
“We cannot all play the grand hypocrite, milady. Be a love, will you? Yell out to Robert. This soap will not do at all.”
“I will not call out to Robert!” Skye protested.
“But then,” he said indignantly, “I shall smell like a French whorehouse. Oh, that will not do! It will not do at all. Come now, Lady Kinsdale, lend a hand here.”
“You’re out of your mind!” she said, staring at the paneling and shelves. Damn him! His sigh had been highly irritating. He was enjoying her bath.
“Will you call the man for me, or not?”
She didn’t hear that his tone had changed. “No!”
“Then I shall have to call him myself!”
She heard the water roll and sluice as he stood. Despite herself, she twisted slightly. Whipping up the massive cotton towel that Robert had left for her use, the Hawk strode to the doors and pulled them open. “Mr. Arrowsmith! I need you, please!”
Robert must have been accustomed to running quickly to his master’s call, for he appeared momentarily and listened to the Hawk’s command for a more gentlemanly soap. Then the Hawk waited at the doors, tapping his foot.
Robert returned and gave him the soap. The Hawk then returned to his bath, humming. He had closed the doors, Skye realized, but he had not bolted them.
“You don’t need to peek, Lady Kinsdale. I am here for the asking, you know. Alas, awaiting your gentle promise.”
“You will rot in an unmarked grave, you know,” she said sweetly.
“Perhaps, but until then…oh, this is frustrating. Come here, will you? I need help with my back.”
“You will die of a horrible case of insanity,” she assured him, “and then rot in an unmarked grave.”
“I don’t think so. I think that you will come over here and give me the small comfort of your sweet assistance.”
“Sir, I would not spit your way if you died of thirst.”
“You press Lady Luck, mam’selle.”
“Do I?” she murmured uneasily. She did not like having her back to him, but she did not intend to move, and she was not going to rise to any of his taunts or obey a single command.
The doors, she recalled, were open.
Perhaps she just might pretend to obey a command.…
“Lady Kinsdale—” he began, but broke off when she spun around. She stared hard at him. He looked absurdly comfortable in the tub, the steam matching the mist of his eyes, his long legs drawn up beneath him, his arms draped comfortably over the sides. A pleased smile curved his mouth as he watched her. “How nice, mam’selle! If you just soap and scrub the upper shoulder?”
She smiled sweetly in return. She strode toward the tub, and then straight by it. She just caught sight of his smile as it faded, then she reached the doors.
But just as she cast them open and started to flee, she felt a tug upon her gown and then heard the awful rending sound as it split down her back. She cried out, swinging around. Naked and dripping, he stood behind her, a large part of her gown in his hands. A strangled sound escaped her as she realized that her lower body was bared to the wind. “Oh!” she railed.
She nearly ran anyway, to jump into the sea if need be. But he was quick. He dropped the fabric in his hands and caught hold of her arm, wrenching her back into the cabin. He slammed the doors shut with a vengeance. And this time he slid the bolt.
He turned around, staring at her. Her gaze fell against his body, then her eyes jerked back to his with growing alarm. He smiled. Like a hawk with a field mouse within its claws. Then his smile faded and he stared at her somberly. His voice was deep, menacing in its very quiet. “End of play time, my love. There is one serious thing here that you have failed to realize. It is imperative that you follow my orders. And from now on, Skye, I promise that you will.”
Her lower lip was trembling despite her staunchest efforts to remain calm. She clutched the remnants of her gown to her, gritted her teeth, and backed away, vowing to herself that she would not falter. But her resolve fled from her when he took his first step toward her. She panicked, shrieked, and leaped away. He caught her arm, pulling her back to face him. He wrenched the gown from her, his eyes so dark they were like burning coals upon hers. A breath of air and no more separated their bodies. She could feel him with the length of her. A whisper of space and she would be crushed against him…she would know all the hard-muscled coils and planes of his body, she would know the feel of the dark hair that curled over his chest, just as she knew the searing pulse that protruded from him and did touch her body, brushing like a living flame against her belly.
She could not swallow, she could not breathe. His lips were close, so close. He was wet and sleek and all the more menacing for it, the bulge of his shoulders and arm and chest muscles glistening in the sunlight that streamed in from the open window. She wanted to scream, but she could not, for she still couldn’t even draw breath. The world would fade. She would fail, she would sink to the floor in a dead faint and he would surely know nothing of mercy.…
