She peered up. Her robe hit the bed where he tossed it. A pile of towels fell to the floor next to her chair. She swung her gaze around, her field of vision at the level of his waist. He’d shed his wet shirt and—holy saints. His trousers strained with an erection worthy of the Godolphin Barb.
Liquid heat poured through her, pooling at the part of her she was trying so desperately to conceal.
He wanted her, just as franticly as she wanted him.
She heard the door latch turn. A towel floated over her head, covered her, and began to rustle through her tangled damp hair.
“Put it on the table,” he said.
Dishes clattered.
“Sir, let me—”
“Out.”
Jenny must have paused, the brave little thing.
“Get. Out.”
The doorsnickedclosed. The towel came off. Lips pressed against hers, hot and demanding, pushing her chin up, breaking the grip she had on her knees. He’d kissed her on the beach, jolting her back to breathing, back to life, but this—this was so much more.
She reached for him and he pulled her up, his hot length burning her, melding her to him. She squirmed closer, fingers tracing wide shoulders, bunched muscles, hard strength. A fresh, pink scar knotted his chest and she lifted her head to look. Before she could ask about it, he kissed her again, a hot demanding press of his lips, his tongue searching and twining with hers.
She slid her hands down to his waist and squeezed her fingers along hot muscles, and lower. She wanted to see more, feel more.
He tugged at her hand, lifted his mouth away, and said “No.”
His eye glowed with so much anger, her heart sank.
His gaze dropped to her breasts, plumped against his bare chest. Stepping back, frowning, he stroked her cheek. “You’re injured.” He traced the length of her arms, picked up her wrist and studied the bruising. “No skin broken,” he said, and the words grated as if they pained him.
Lifting her chin, he focused his gaze at her neck. “But this…I’ll kill him.”
“I’ve promised myself that reward.” Perhaps his anger wasn’t directed at her.
Fox’s fingers trailed over her breasts, down her sides, to her waist, his gaze stopping a moment at the thatch of hair between her legs before moving on. “Your knee is bleeding.”
Indeed it was. “I stumbled. I’m clumsy as ever.”
He settled his hands on her shoulders. His eyes still burned darkly, but his lips twitched. “It’s hard to walk on pound notes and garnet rings.”
Before she could protest, he whipped her around, and a tremor shook both of them.
“Perry, take a breath for me.”
He’d assumed the composed tone he’d used earlier that evening to send her away, stirring her anger.
“Why?”
Fingers trailed lightly over her back, the sensation sending ripples of pleasure through her.
“Does that hurt?”
She swallowed. “No.”
He probed more closely and she gasped. “The scrawny one punched me there.”
“Does it hurt to breathe?”
