He turned to face her, a lopsided grin on his face, held his arms out to his sides, looked down the front of his sweat-stained shirt. “It’s a tempting invitation, love, but I’m covered with a day’s worth of sweat and dirt. I’ll foul your water.”
She stepped forward, rested her hands on his chest. “You can wash me first, and then I’ll wash you.”
He brushed a finger over her cheek. “Bethie, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I don’t want to rush you. I don’t want—”
“I want you, Nicholas. Do you no’ understand? You make me feel clean.”
Nicholas looked into her eyes, saw her need, a need for something far beyond mere sexual gratification. “Very well, then. It would be my pleasure.”
He helped her to undress, threw her gown and shift in a heap on the floor. She didn’t know it yet, but he was never going to let her wear either of them again. He intended to burn them. The bundle on the bed held new ones stitched by Annie and Minna.
Then he steadied her as she stepped into the bathtub, felt his gut clench when he saw the bruises that marred her soft skin, marks of another man’s cruelty.
After tonight, there would be no other man.
“Oh, this feels heavenly! And it smells heavenly, too!” She gave a gratifying sigh of pleasure.
Only the first of many, if Nicholas had anything to say about it.
First, Nicholas washed her hair, felt her go limp in his hands as he massaged the lavender-scented soap into her scalp, rinsed it away. “Does that feel good?”
Her answer was a soft “mmmm.”
Next he washed her arms, amazed for a moment at how slender they were, how soft, how fragile they seemed compared to his own. He rinsed the soap away, bent down, kissed the yellowing bruises, so clearly left by a man’s big hand.
Then he washed her feet, her slender calves, her thighs, coming within inches of her golden curls before withdrawing his hand.
She moaned in frustration. “Nicholas!”
He chuckled. “Patience, love.”
She splashed him, gave him a smile that turned his blood to flames. “I find I am no’ a patient woman tonight.”
“Is that so?” He slicked his hands with soap, moved around the tub until he sat behind her, slid his hands over her breasts. “Then I’ll have to teach you how good it can be when you wait, when you savor it.”
She moaned, pushed the weight of her breasts deeper into his palms.
He molded them, shaped them, ran his thumbs over their taut peaks, and knew from her rapid breathing that she was as aroused as he was. He bent down, nipped the sensitive skin just beneath her ear, felt her shiver, let his soap-slick hands slide down her breasts to her belly.
“Oh, aye, Nicholas!” She arched, lifted her hips off the bottom of the tub, in anticipation of his intimate touch.
Then he slid his hands back up to her breasts, rinsed the soap away, unable to suppress a chuckle at her disappointed moan. “Were you expecting something, love?”
But his need was building, too, and a man—or a woman—could wait only so long.
This time when his hands slid down her body, one stopped to tease her nipples, while the other slid down into her curls, delved into her soft folds, sought her most sensitive flesh.
As her head fell back and a whimper left her throat, he bent down, took her in a deep, openmouthed kiss.
Bethie welcomed the invasion of his tongue, relished the heat of his kiss, as sensations almost too good to be true flowed over her. The caress of warm water on her tingling skin. His fingers flicking and teasing her aching nipples. The pressure of his hand against her throbbing sex.
Liquid heat gathered in her belly, became a molten blaze. But she wanted more. She wanted him inside her. She tried to speak, to tell him what she wanted. The words came out in ragged pants. “Nicholas... please... inside me!”
“Are you certain, Bethie?”
“Oh, aye!” If tonight was to be a new beginning, then she would have it all, and she would fear nothing.
He growled, and she felt his finger make slow, erotic circles over her entrance once, twice, three times.
