She must have made a sound because he looked at her again. “It’s a few cracked ribs, Annie. Nothing I haven’t experienced before.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” the healer said. “Take a deep breath. Does it hurt?”
“No,” he answered too quickly. The healer stared at him until he relented. “Not badly,” he amended.
She made a sound of disgust and continued her examination. “There doesn’t look to be too much bleeding and your lungs sound clear. I’ll put some salve on your side and your lass can help me with the wrapping.”
Annie wasn’t sure she wanted to go anywhere near all that bare skin and raw masculine energy, but she tentatively stepped forward to help. She was careful not to touch him, and in about ten minutes his ribs were bound in a sheet of linen and his wounds were washed and tended.
He did look considerably better, but she suspected he would be turning various hues of black and blue in the next few hours.
“I’ll make a posset for you to drink later,” the healer said. “Your lass can help you with your shirt.”
Before Annie could stop her, the old woman turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.
The room suddenly seemed about ten times smaller, darker, and warmer.
Annie felt as if her feet were stuck in a bog. She couldn’t move. Her body was too heavy.
From his seat on the stool in front her, Niall watched her with the dark, predatory intensity of a hawk. Nothing was escaping that steely-eyed gaze.
She flushed, her cheeks growing even hotter, and had to resist the urge not to fan herself with her hand. He was sitting too close. Crowding her. It wouldn’t take more than a nudge for him to reach out and pull her onto his lap.
“You feel it, don’t you?”
She wanted to lie. Wanted to turn away from that piercing gaze and shake her head. But she couldn’t. She felt it all right. It was wrapping around her in a sultry embrace, but she didn’t know whether to give in to it or run away in terror. She felt like doing both.
She nodded tentatively.
“Don’t be scared, sweetheart. I told you that I would never hurt you.” He paused. “You can touch me if you want.”
She shook her head. “You’re hurt.”
“Not that hurt. And believe me, your touch will only make me feel better—a hell of a lot better.”
Annie was too curious to argue. The ache to put her hands on the wide spans of tanned skin too tempting. “But what if…? You won’t…?”
“You are in control, Annie. I will not touch you unless you want me to.”
Annie eyed him warily, but eventually her curiosity overrode whatever hesitation she might have.
She took a step closer to him so that she was standing between his legs. His head was a little below her eye level, which made him seem not so threatening.
Which was laughable as pretty much everything about Niall Lamont was threatening and overpowering. Particularly his body.
Tentatively, she reached out with her right hand to rest it on the hard rock of his shoulder. She gasped at the contact, at the sensation of all that warm bare skin under her fingers, and at the blast of heat that washed over her. He seemed to be on fire.
Niall didn’t move, but she could have sworn she heard a low hiss escape from between his lips.
Their eyes met in silent question, and when he nodded, she continued her exploration by running her hand down the long length of his arm and over the swell and bulge of muscle, amazed at how hard it was. If he wasn’t so warm, it would be like touching a granite wall.
But he was warm—as was she—and getting warmer by the moment. The burgeoning heat made her bold. She gave her hands free rein, exploring not just his arms, but his back, his chest, and then… his stomach.
When she bent over to get a closer look at the bands her fingers were tracing across his stomach, she felt him tense.
She looked up. “Did I hurt you?”
“God, no,” he gritted out from between clenched teeth. “It feels incredible. But you are making me hard, and I do not want to frighten you.”
