She didn’t move, obviously frozen in disgust, and although he knew this would happen, it still bloody hurt. He started to pull away.
A hand pushed him back down.
“Wait. I’m deciding.”
“Deciding?” he almost shouted.
“Hmm. Which one? I know…this one.”
He watched her hand, but it didn’t move. Instead, he felt soft lips caress a deep-pink scar just above his left nipple.
“Jesus almighty.” That was all he could manage, as Rosalind then moved on to the burn at his left shoulder. He had no feeling there, but her hair draped over his torso in the most erotic way possible as she adorned his chest with slow, wet kisses.
She sat back and made a humming noise but Lucas just stared back, slack-jawed. She leaned in again, this time focusing on a nasty scar at his right lower side. “How did you get this one?” she said, kissing it lightly. “It’s rather strange.”
“Rat,” he mumbled croakily.
“They hit you with a bat?”
He’d been hit with worse than that but her outraged face made him laugh. “Rat. I was mauled by a rat.”
She stared at him open-mouthed.
“When I was captured, I was first thrown into the cellars. To give me time to think, but I was half-unconscious. What woke me was a rat, having me for dinner. It was huge. I swear to God it must have eaten the last chap down there.” Rosalind’s eyes moistened and a lone tear escaped down her cheek. “Oh God, it was meant to make you laugh.”
Grabbing hold of her arm, he pulled her forward, into his arms, despite his sore head complaining deeply at the movement. As he held her, he realised two things. The first was that he was going to ask Stone and Rosalind for permission to court her properly. The second was that he stank, which probably precluded the first, until he’d had a bath.
“I smell.”
“I did say.”
“And you kissed me despite that.”
“Well. You were being silly.”
The damn woman giggled as she rose from the bed and went to fetch his nightshirt. He grumbled to himself, silly indeed.
