As she bustled around the room to organize the things she would need, he could sense her growing nervousness as she realized he was watching her. Nervousness that became even more pronounced when she came to stand before him, edging slightly between his knees.
He felt a little bit like Bruce’s spider with its web. She was trapped, though she didn’t know it yet.
Her leg brushed against his thigh, and he heard the sharp intake of her breath. Her hands shook as she lowered the bowl of warm water on the table beside the chair. They were so close, he could see the slight quickening of her pulse at her neck.
He smiled. This was more like it. The little nursemaid was not wholly immune to him. Seeing her all flustered like this almost made up for the trouble she’d given him … almost.
He wasn’t completely unaffected himself—especially when she leaned over to help put his hand in the bowl of warm water and her hair spilled forward, brushing over him like a thick, silky veil. He dipped his head a few inches closer, inhaling the heady, floral fragrance and fighting the urge to bury his face in the dark tresses and let the incredible softness wash over him in a billowy silken cloud.
Hell, the sultry, darkening room was playing tricks on him. He shifted in his seat, and she looked up from her task with alarm.
“Is something wrong? Did I hurt you?”
He shook his head. “Not at all.” It was more an insistent throbbing. He couldn’t resist teasing her. “You can touch me anytime.”
When she gave him a small smile and merely nodded, he thought she might have missed the suggestive lilt in his voice—until she gave his hand a not-so-gentle squeeze.
He winced. “Ouch.” The little she-devil had done that on purpose. “That hurt.”
She lifted those wide, green-flecked hazel eyes to his and blinked innocently. He hadn’t noticed before what thick, sooty lashes she had.
“Did it?” she asked. “You’re not as tough as you look; I’ll try to be more careful.”
His eyes narrowed, deciding not to tease her further until she was finished. But it turned out that teasing wasn’t necessary; his nearness was doing enough to rattle her.
She wouldn’t look at him, but he could see the heat growing darker on her cheeks as she finished rinsing the sand and grit from his wounds, then drying his hands in a clean piece of linen.
She set her jaw, trying to pretend he wasn’t getting to her, but the tiny white lines around her mouth gave her away. He could feel the tension radiating from her and knew that she had every instinct on high alert. Why, he’d wager that every hair at the back of her neck was standing on edge.
Aye, this was more like it. This kind of reaction he understood. He was back on solid ground again.Hisground.
He had to bite back the smile when she leaned forward to pick up the jar of ointment that she’d found on the shelves and her breast accidentally grazed his shoulder. She jerked as if he’d burned her—as if her tightly wound body had never come into contact with a man before.
Was that it? He frowned. It seemed a waste that a lass of her age—she must be nearing her mid-twenties—had never known a man’s touch. She was old enough to have a couple of children of her own by now, rather than be taking care of someone else’s. What was she waiting for?
Her dark head was bent in concentration as she applied the cool salve to his wounds and carefully wrapped strips of linen between his thumb and forefinger across his palms, leaving his fingers free to move. He couldn’t resist pressing his thigh against hers as she worked, getting far too much satisfaction when her fingers fumbled with the final knot on his second hand.
One little nudge and she would be in his lap.
It was tempting—damned tempting. He was hotter than he’d been in a long time.
As soon as she was done, she tried to spin away. “There you go,” she said with exaggerated brightness, as if her body wasn’t humming for him. “All done.”
He caught her wrist and held her to him, not ready to let her go just yet. “Thank you,” he said, his voice surprisingly husky.
“You’re welcome,” she said, not meeting his gaze.
She tried to turn her head away, but he caught her chin and forced her eyes to his. Her lips parted and the pulse at her neck fluttered against his knuckle like the wings of a butterfly.
He wasn’t sure what he meant to do, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how he liked seeing her flustered. How he wanted to fluster her some more. And what a damned shame it was to get to her age and never know a man’s touch.
“Let go of me,” she managed shakily.
The poor thing was as jittery as a lass who’d never been kissed.
Ah, hell. She probablyhadn’tbeen kissed before. His eyes fell on her mouth. It was a pretty mouth, when it wasn’t pursed thinly with disapproval—rosy and lush, with a soft, sensual curve. It would be a crime to leave a mouth like that untouched. Hell, he was doing her a favor. One side of his mouth lifted in a wicked curve. Call it his Christian duty.
He could make an exception to his “never dally with maids” rule just this once.
