Page 92 of Ghost of the Ton

His eyes flared with hunger.

“Aye,” he whispered. “I have an ache, lass.”

He rose and curled his fingers around hers.

“A-an ache?” she said, aware of the tightness in her voice. “Where?”

“I have several,” he whispered, “but the one I’ll tell ye about is in my back.”

“And…have you been doing anything in particular to result in an ache in your back?”

“Chopping wood.”

“Chopping wood?” She glanced at the fire. “Like the wood that heats my home? The logs that form the pile in my log store that never seems to decrease, no matter how many fires I light?”

His mouth twitched into a smile, and Mia’s heart swelled at the shyness in his eyes.

“Would ye ease the ache for me, Mia?”

“Gladly.” She gestured to the chair. “Turn so that your back is facing me, and…would you mind if I removed your shirt?”

“Not at all, lass.”

He turned until his back faced her, his legs spread around the back of the chair. Then he shrugged off his jacket and unlaced his shirt. Mia’s breath hitched at the first glimpse of skin. Then he lifted the shirt farther until, finally, he was naked from the waist up.

Sweet heaven! His body was more magnificent than she could have believed. As her gaze followed the curvature of his spine, from his neck to the base, she could see the planes of muscles toned through years of hard work, strong and sharp, as if he had been carved from marble. He was no gentleman—his frame lacked the athleticism of the Society fops who spent their time in idle indolence, indulging in the occasional promenade in the park or a ride on horseback. Instead, he was a savage, roughened through years of toil—a man who had no need to utter the niceties of London Society to get what he wanted because he simply took it.

Like a stag claiming the female during a rut.

Mia flicked her tongue out and ran it along her lower lip to stem the swell of hunger. Then she heard a soft laugh and looked up to see his gaze fixed on her.

“Like what ye see, lass?”

He turned, and she whimpered as his chest came to view in all its magnificent, primal glory.

Surely it was a sin for a man’s body to be so…

So beautiful.

A slow smile curved his lips. “I dinnae ken if it’s me, lass, but the air in here has grown hot all of a sudden.”

His tongue flicked out and he licked his lips, and Mia let out a squeak as an unfathomable pulse throbbed inside her center. She shifted her legs to quell the rising ache and his eyes darkened, as if he recognized the wicked sensations in her body.

Mia curled her fingers around the jar.

“P-please lean forward,” she said, aware of the tremor in her voice. “Relax over the back of the chair as much as possible, then I can begin.”

“It’s been a while since a woman asked me to lean over the back of a chair.”

Though she couldn’t fathom his meaning, its wickedness was plain, given the mischief glowing in his eyes. Then he nodded.

“Forgive me, lass. I dinnae mean to tease ye.”

He leaned over the chair, his back muscles rippling with the movement. Mia dipped her fingers into the jar and rubbed her hands together to spread the salve over her palms, relishing the scent of ginger and rosemary.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and he drew in a sharp breath.

“Hamish, are you well?”