He wanted to like it. He wanted to harden in her hand. He wanted to lie back, close his eyes, and let her stroke some of the lust and anger from his body.
He sure as hell wasn’t the untried lad he’d been three years ago. He’d stopped waiting for Elizabeth the moment he’d left Douglas. None of which explained why he gently unfurled the serving girl’s hand from around him and shook his head. “Just the bath, lass. I think I’ve had too much of the cook’s spirits.”
The lass didn’t concede defeat easily, but when it became clear she wasn’t going to change his mind, she helped him wash his hair, and then fetched the linen drying cloth to wrap around his waist as he stepped out of the tub.
The drink had been helped along by the warm water, and she had to steady him when he nearly slipped by putting her hands around him.
At first he thought she was the one who’d gasped. It wasn’t until he’d peeled her now damp chest (and impressively hard nipples) from his that he looked over and saw they were no longer alone.
Elizabeth stood in the entryway, blocking the view of the rest of the kitchens, staring at him.
Stricken was the best description of her expression. From her quickness of breath, the hooded cloak, and rosy cheeks, he guessed she’d just run in from outside, but her eyes were wide and glassy, and her skin underneath the chill was pale.
He wasn’t doing anything wrong, damn it—though in that one look she managed to make him feel as if he were.
How long had she been standing there? Had she seen him emerge from the tub? And why did the idea of her eyes on his body suddenly make the part of him that had been indifferent to the serving maid’s attention suddenly feel very heavy and very thick?
The dangerous tempest of emotions simmering inside him came roaring back. Rage, resentment, and something else. Something far more dangerous right now. Lust.
“What do you want?” he said sharply. “As you can see, I’m busy.”
He kept his arm around the serving woman. She was blocking his mostly naked body from Elizabeth’s view. The now damp drying cloth didn’t hide much. One glance of those big blue eyes on his cock, and he’d be hard as a rock.
But he was just angry enough—egged on by the drink—to actually think about setting the woman aside. He wanted to shock her. Wanted her unbalanced. Wanted her to see a man’s lust—a man’s desire.Hislust, damn it.Hisdesire.
“I-I,” she stuttered. “I need to speak with you. It’s important and cannot wait. Please...”
He should have sent her away right then. He should have realized that he was playing with fire.
But he didn’t.
8
ELIZABETH WAS REELING.The relief she’d felt on learning from Carrick’s squire where Thom was fled the moment she entered the kitchens and saw...
Everything. Her mouth went dry. Heat flooded her cheeks and spread over her skin in a prickly swath. He’d been naked. For one mind-numbing, breath-stealing, blood-heating moment she’d seen every inch of his body, and it had been incredible. The rock-hard muscles of his arms and chest had continued down past his narrow waist to his flanks and legs. There didn’t seem to be a spare ounce of flesh on him; he was lean, chiseled, and honed to a razor-sharp blade of masculine power and strength.
Good gracious, how could he have been hiding allthisfrom her? For a moment she felt a spark of anger, feeling as if she’d been duped.
And then there had been that other part of masculine strength and power. The long, thick proof of his manhood that she’d glimpsed for only an instant before the drying cloth had been wrapped around his waist.
She’d felt something strange low in her belly. A flutter of awareness. A tiny contraction that made her body quiver.
With little privacy in a castle, she’d seen a number of backsides and male parts and never given it much thought. But she was thinking now, and she didn’t think she’d ever forget the sight of him. Just as she would never forget the lash of pain that had splayed through her chest when she saw the woman plastered to his chest and realized what she’d interrupted.
Were they...?
Panic rose in her chest. Panic that put to shame the fear she’d felt on thinking that she wouldn’t be able to find him before Jamie did.
But her brother was still in the Hall eating; she still had time to convince Thom to help before he was ordered to do so. Trying to ignore the arm he had looped around the woman’s waist, she repeated, “Please, Thom.”
She stared into his eyes and felt a strange shiver run through her. There was something different about him. Something dangerous. Something hot and edgy that she didn’t understand. He wasn’t calm and indifferent anymore.
Their eyes held, and she almost backed away. Something wasn’t right. There was a strange energy crackling between them that instinctively she knew she could not handle. It was like trying to harness a maelstrom, trying to capture lightning, or trying to silence thunder.
“Very well,” he said.
She detected a slight slur in his voice and frowned. Was he drunk? Thom didn’t drink to excess. At least the Thom she’d known didn’t, but how much did she know about the man before her?
