‘Twas an impossibleoffer. There was no way he could remain still and not move until she permitted. He was a hot-tempered man who acted rashly and oft without thought of consequence. Could he now control himself enough to hold still that long?
Tosia signed silently. In truth, she had no option but for the one he offered. She was his wife. He could take her as he might. If he were giving her the opportunity to familiarize herself with him, extending her a courtesy that he didn’t have to, then what else could she do?
James stood stock-still in the center of his own chambers, his booted feet firmly affixed to the freshly woven mat that covered the stone floor. The candlelight danced off his skin and cast shadows on his tunic and kilt. She left the relative safety of the table’s edge and moved to stand before him. He spread his feet shoulder width apart and clasped his hands behind his back, patiently awaiting her investigations.
Tosia started by eying him in a sidelong look, as if she feared looking at him straight on. Even when his hands were bound by his own promise, she hesitated. Her eyes dropped to his legs, so she decided to start there.
His well-formed legs were on the lean side, covered in long muscle and a bit of rough black hair that made his skin appear darker than it was. His kilt brushed right above his knees, and she could barely make out the firm line of his thigh before it disappeared under the plaid.
His waist was tight, not paunchy like some men she’d seen who enjoyed too much mead or whiskey and meat. His body was a warrior’s body, rigid and carved, as if from stone. From his waist, his chest flared out, and matching his arms under the short, loose sleeves of his tunic, packed with muscle — further testament to his days spent wielding a sword.
She shifted then, made to walk around him, but her eyes flashed the question to him first. Was she allowed to move around in her rather unorthodoxintroduction? His chin dipped almost imperceptibly. Thus encouraged, she lifted her skirt and circled him, noting the broad expanse of his backside and how his black waves of hair, so short on the sides, yet curled to the neck of his tunic. So he hadn’t clipped it entirely.
Tosia continued her trek to face him again. His eyes didn’t drop to hers, but remained forward, as if he were on guard and couldn’t lose his focus.
Under her scrutiny, perchance, that was how he felt. If he lost his focus, he’d break his vow. The strong lines of his cheek, now visible like the cleft in his chin, were as sharp as cut stone and as hard as the rest of him. His intense eyes, that shifted from engaging to soft to flinty in a matter of moments, stared over her head to the wall.
Only a few days past, he had touched her lips with his, drawing her into a dizzying world of emotions she struggled to understand.
His lips were the first part of him she touched, returning the favor. He exhaled a wavering breath that tickled across her fingers. All that power surging under his skin, barely checked and controlled.
That same wry smile she’d experienced earlier returned to her face. So, she wasn’t the only one unnerved by this interaction.
Her fingertip traced the fullness of his lips before trailing a line down his warm neck to the edge of his tunic. The rough fabric covered him from neck to waist and most of his upper arm. Was she supposed to remove his clothing? From his suggestion before he fell silent, it seemed she should.
She dropped her hand to the hem of his tunic and tugged. He moved with her, lifting it over his head. He clasped his hands behind him again, dropping the tunic at his heels.
His chest rose and fell in front of her eyes as he tried to control his breathing. Her eyes roved over his bare skin, and something in her own chest, something strange and compelling, flooded her and made her head swim. The chiseled muscles of his chest rose and fell. She felt that she should feel awkward, shamed even, for staring at him as openly as she did, but he gave no indication that she should stop. In fact, from his steely presence, he seemed to encourage her to continue.
Other than Tavish, had she seen a half-naked man this close before? Nay, certainly not. And definitely not one she could reach out and touch at will. That knowledge made her even more dizzy.
A smattering of black hair, as dark as the hair on his head, covered the expanse of his chest and narrowed to a fine arrow at the waist of James’s plaid. With a tentative hand, Tosia reached out and let her fingertips stroke the beast’s fur. For that’s what it truly was. Then she let her fingers sink beyond the thatch of hair to the skin of his panting chest.
It was like touching a large, powerful animal, warm, with a steady rise and fall that seemed somehow larger than the man himself. The Black Douglas may have told her he was just a man, but his furred chest, his heavy breathing, the flare of his nose as he forced himself to remain still under her ministrations, told her that he was, indeed, more beast than man.
His skin was marked, covered in scars, a life of hardship and battle written upon his skin.
She walked around him again, her fingers sliding across his side, over the ruched muscles of his back, which were also covered in scars and marks.
What hadn’t he done to his body?she wondered. Were all warriors thusly marked?
In a sudden bold move, her hand dipped lower, over the plaid, pressing against the hard rounded globes of his lower backside. He twitched at her touch, surprised by her more intimate gesture. She’d seen the tight, rounded backside of him when he wore his braies, and it was as firm as it appeared. Her heart raced her in chest as her side smile returned.
There was something to be said for having this much power under her control.
Would it always be like this? He’d made a vow to her, said that he was hers. Did that mean his barely controlled power was hers to command?
The thought sent another shiver that bloomed hotly between her thighs.
Her fingers rose up on his hip to his belly as Tosia finished circling him. She glanced at his legs, still clad in his boots. She pointed at his feet.
“Your boots?”
Without hesitation, his feet went to work, the toe of each boot taking turns to loosen the heel before lifting one leg at a time and pulling the limbs free. James tossed the boots behind him without looking. His eyes remained fixed on the wall.
Tosia was impressed at his commitment to his vow not to move unless she gave him permission.
Now the only thing that stood between her and her new husband’s naked form was a swath of dark plaid and the belt that held it on his hips.
