All of a sudden, he felt very exposed. He glanced down at himself in only his trousers, his shirt half unbuttoned, his feet shoeless.
Mercy. Though if she wasn’t going to comment… he inhaled. “I prefer balls to dinner parties—the dancing is rather nice even if my knowledge and skill are limited.” He gave her a wink, which she rewarded with an eye roll. “Opera is fine,” he continued, “although gaming is truly the least preferable. I’m smart enough to know that the house always wins.”
“And you like to win.” It wasn’t a question. She moved on to the center of the room, brushing past him and the bed until she came to the screen in the far corner. She peeked behind and started. “Is that a bathtub?” she asked, a note of what could only be described as longing in her voice, such a switch from the previous bravado.
“Yes.” He nodded as she pushed the boards aside, exposing the large decoratively stamped tub.
She ran a hand over the edge. “We had one. When my parents were around. I loved soaking in it. When I was little, my mother used to wash my hair for me, and when I was older, my father used to buy me expensive soaps as a treat… he knew how much I wanted to feel… it’s been years since I’ve been able to…” She spun around to look at him. “I do wash. Every day, in a basin.” There was a twinge of color in her cheeks. She turned back around. “Do you prefer it cold, or hot?”
“Hot. It’s a nice way to wake.” He moved to stand next to her. “And occasionally to go to bed. The servants are fairly efficient.”
“Never had many of those,” she murmured. “Even when we were flush, there were only so many people we could trust. But my parents still managed it.” She shook her head a little before returning her gaze to him. “How hot exactly?” she asked, her voice curious.
“Not scalding, but pleasant.” Something in Sol’s chest twisted. He loved bathing, but he’d never really considered how few people had that privilege. He’d certainly appreciate that more from now on. “It feels very nice. Especially after I exert myself.”
“You exert yourself?” She glanced around the room again. “In here? How?” She waggled her dark eyebrows at him. “That sounds rather naughty, doesn’t it?”
He burst out laughing. “I wish. Though if given the opportunity…” he couldn’t help but tease her.
She rolled her eyes. “Please, nothing that takes less than six minutes requires actual exertion.”
Less than six minutes… what did she mean by…Sol frowned and turned the words over in his head and…oh. She really was sharp. And if not nice, at least very, very amusing. And the firelight, with her big, dark, almost innocent eyes and wicked mouth, very alluring.
“Ouch. You wound me.” He laughed again. “I’m perfectly fit, and trust me, anything I do, I do well. Especially that. Everyone is right satisfied. Guaranteed.” And while that might be a touch of a tall tale, given his limited experience, it was at least a decent bet. Because when he committed, he always succeeded. “I’m a very good listener. And observer,” he added.
“I’m sure.” She moved away from the tub andstrolled toward him, a very deliberate sway in her hips. His heart picked up speed even as his mind whirled, trying to stay in whatever delicious yet terrifying game she was playing.
“Iam,” he whispered, moving to meet her. “And I already have some theories about you.” He stood in front of her, face-to-face, at the foot of his bed.
“You don’t need theories. Everyone knows everything there is to know about me.” She released a harsh scoff, even as she showed her teeth in a facsimile of a smile.
“No, everyone knows what the gossips and papers said about you and your family ten years ago,” he told her. “There’s a difference.” And despite how terrible an idea it was, how much he needed to stay away from her, a vast part of him longed to dig, to find out who Hannah was, on every level—to know her, this intriguing woman—to truly know her.
Her tongue darted out and wetted her lip. “I haven’t changed that much. At least not in the ways that would please the likes of you,” she said, her voice a touch husky—with desire, emotion, or just for sport, it was hard to gauge.
“That I don’t know,” he told her before biting his lip. “But what I do know suggests I have a great deal to learn, things that I can’t find out from anyone but the source.”
She made a skeptical noise.
Sol cocked his head, considering. What would make her believe his interest genuine? Or at least pique her curiosity so she’d meet him halfway, give him a little bit—enough to satisfy whatever itch he longed to scratch with her, or at least find a way to get her out ofhis mind. He pondered her for a moment. What would she respond to best?
Right. Sol cleared his throat. “For example, the papers certainly did not say anything about your ears. However, I have it on good authority that they are sensitive—very sensitive.”
“What?” She blinked at him. “What are you on about my ears?”
He bit back a laugh. “You rubbed your right one that day at the Great Synagogue.”
She waved a hand at him. “I probably had an itch.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” He smiled a little at the memory. “It was when Aaron burst on the scene, before you disappeared.”
“So?” she asked.
“So you did it again when I came by, and I was noodging you.” He nodded slowly, letting her remember too. “It makes you feel better.”
“Maybe, maybe not, like you said.” She twisted the tie fastening her cloak. “But either way, I don’t—”
“And when I was kissing you, I ran my thumb along its edge and you arched into me and moaned,” he finished.
