She started to remove her clothing, eager to sink into the tub that had been filled with steaming hot water and sprinkled with dried lavender. The soft floral scent floated through the air, drowning out the stench of fulmar oil that had seemed permanently lodged in her nose.
Despite the apron she’d worn to protect her gown, the residue from the oil had penetrated the linen into the wool. She sighed, recognizing that it was her own fault. But it had been worth it, even if the skirt of her only gown smelled a bit. Perhaps Mary would be willing to lend her another?
Or maybe she should leave it be, in the hope that the smell would keep him away.
She’d driven his kiss from her mind while she worked, but the memories returned the moment she sank into the warm, soothing water. Her fingers went to her still tender lips.
Had he really kissed her like that?
And had she really responded so completely, melting against him in a soft pool of heat? That, of course, was the far more troubling question. Thank God she’d caught herself in time.
It was difficult to believe that the fierce warrior who’d abducted her could kiss her as if she were a fragile piece of porcelain. Evoking feelings she’d never experienced before. Deep feelings of longing and contentment. In his arms, she felt protected, cherished, cared for.
She tapped the water with her hand, scattering the dried leaves like dust to the wind. She was being ridiculous. It wasn’t like her to be so fanciful, though neither was it like her to fall into the embrace of a barbarian.
No,she corrected. He wasn’t a barbarian. If she’d learned anything since the night he’d upset her elopement, she’d learned that. There was an inherent streak of nobility and strength in him that could not be denied. He was hard and uncompromising, but he could also be thoughtful and considerate.
She slipped under the water to clear the soap from her hair, wishing it were as easy to erase the memory of his mouth on hers. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the feel of him or the rich masculine taste of him.
But it didn’t matter. She’d made a mistake in allowing him to kiss her; she would not make it again. She was his prisoner. And she’d do best not to forget it. To him, she was simply something to leverage over her brother. A means to an end. She could never care for a man who saw her as such. A kiss, no matter how sublime, wouldn’t change that. Flora knew her worth, not as a prize of marriage or to end a curse, but as a woman. And she would accept nothing less from a husband.
She’d thought Lord Murray different. Instead he’d served as a powerful lesson in trusting the wrong man. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
She stood up and stepped carefully from the tub, wrapping the drying cloth around her shivering body. Where was Morag? She’d promised to return to light the fire and help comb out her hair. Flora drifted to the small window, seeking the last amber rays of sun to warm the chill on her skin.
A soft knock at the door signaled the woman’s arrival. She bade her enter, thinking that if she did one thing before she left, it would be to make the humorless old woman smile—a laugh would undoubtedly be expecting too much.
She heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by a muffled curse. Slowly, she turned around.
The blood drained from her face. It wasn’t the maid.
Lachlan Maclean stood stone still in the doorway. His eyes bore into her with an intensity that made her every nerve ending stand on edge.
She couldn’t breathe.
For the first time in her life, Flora felt truly vulnerable. Not because she thought he would hurt her, but because of the undeniable intimacy of the moment. No man had ever seen her like this.
She was nearly naked. The thin piece of linen was wrapped around her and slung low over her breasts. She struggled to hide behind the damp piece of fabric, but it was useless. It clung to her, revealing every inch of her body to his smoldering gaze.
He looked impossibly handsome. His hair, still damp from bathing, slumped across his face and curled roguishly at his collar. He’d shaved, but the rough stubble of his beard still shadowed the hard lines of his jaw and chin. The thin scars that crossed his nose and cheek emphasized his rough warrior’s appeal. Rough, but not brutish. A fresh linen shirt stretched over the broad, powerful chest, and a silver brooch secured the plaid that he’d wrapped over his shoulder. He was tall and strong and unbearably masculine. But all she could think about was how he’d tasted and the seductive heat of his mouth on hers. A shiver swept over her.
She wanted to order him to leave, but her words strangled in her throat. For a moment she’d passed into a dream realm, where nothing seemed real.
“God, you’re beautiful.” His voice was deep and ragged. It wasn’t the most poetic compliment she’d ever received, but it pleased her more than any that had come before. And it was the only one that had made her body tingle and then hum with awareness.
His eyes darkened, and the muscle in his jaw began to twitch. She felt a prickle of alarm, realizing he was holding himself by a very thin thread. No man had ever looked at her like this. Hungry. Starving. As if she were a succulent dish and he’d like nothing better than to gobble her up.
“Get out,” she finally managed, though her voice shook. “You don’t belong here. This is my room.”My sanctuary.And he was invading it, making it his. Leaving her nowhere to hide. “You must leave.” Her voice rose in panic. “Now!”
Lachlan’s mouth went dry. He’d lost the ability of rational thought. Leave? He couldn’t move his feet, even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t.
The body he’d fantasized about had been revealed in full naked splendor. Or as good as naked, with the little that swath of linen did to hide her from his gaze. Her skin was creamy perfection. She was lean and soft in all the right places. Her breasts rose full and high above a tiny waist and curvy hips. Her legs were long and slim, with gently defined muscles. He could even see the peak of her pale pink nipples. Small and tight and begging for his kiss.
And before she’d turned…
He’d been mesmerized by the long golden tendrils of damp hair tumbling down her back. He’d wanted to use his tongue to catch the rivulets of water that slid down the sleek curve of her spine to the soft swell of her perfectly round bottom. A bottom that would nestle against his groin perfectly as he slid into her from behind.
He couldn’t tear his gaze from her.
