That smile of his she loved chased away her embarrassment. Just as he had promised, he helped her brush her teeth, and her heart picked up like the beat of a song.
With slow deliberation, August loosened her ties.
Cool air rushed across her back.
He slipped his fingers beneath the velvet puffed sleeves, easing the garment down.
Her body came alive—resurrected with every inch of skin he bared.
Yet he remained maddeningly deft of touch, greedy in his withholding—managing to touch her with nothing more than fleeting brushes.
Until he had stripped her bare.
How arousing.
How humbling.
August smoothed his palms along her arms.
Reflexively, she angled toward him, opening herself.
She longed for this.
He dipped his mouth near the hollow of her shoulder.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
When spoken like that, she could almost believe him.
“Liar.” Her protest trembled.
“Yes,” he murmured. “But not in the bedchamber.”
A gasp escaped as he scooped her up and carried her to the waiting bath.
He lowered her into the heated water.
Not a word did he speak.
He tended each part of her—the same tender touch a nurse might use on her charge.
He slicked the sudsy cloth over her arms, then down her back in strong circles that bathed and massaged at once.
A wave of disappointment washed over her.
Pathetic.
Here she lay, lusting, and he couldn’t be more detached.
Still, desiring him as she did, his careful hands set her afire.
She gnawed at her lip, fighting the urge to lift her hips.
Then he moved the cloth away.
Her hips sank, giving her away.
“Give me your leg, little kitten.”
