“Jack?” she called softly. “Would you soap my hair? My arms hurt from all the rowing and it knots if I don’t wash it?”
She would go to hell for that swinging clanker as it knotted whatever and whenever, but nevertheless, with no discernible tread, his handsome face poked around the screen, eyes cast to the ceiling. “I am half-naked, Tamsyn.”
“Oh. Have no worry. I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Frowning, he rounded the screen like a wary cat did a hound. “I…”
He halted mid-stride, gaze devouring, scorching and vibrant, despite the dimly lit bower they found themselves within. The candlelight should have created a dark distance, an unseeing eye, but instead it cast intimacy and seclusion.
She sank a little deeper as nerves now surpassed her boldness.
Jack kneeled by the bathtub, and she sighed with pleasure as capable fingers tangled in her locks, pulling the strands and lathering the long length.
Nerves began to ease and she closed her eyes, arched her back, water rippling, heard a clearing of throat, a curse.
Thunder grumbled outside and she dipped back down, desire and apprehension warring within despite the soft veil of candlelight. What a horror if someone should invent a brighter flame to lighten darkened corners.
“Bliss,” she sighed as he rinsed her hair with a jug of tepid liquid. “Could you… The rest of me?”
“I, erm, think you can…”
Truly, had she made the rogue nervous?
She closed her eyes and smiled.
“Tamsyn Penrose,” a ferocious voice growled. “Are you…hoodwinking me?”
Coyly, she opened one eye. “Yes.”
A slow lazy grin curled Jack’s lips and her own toes in one fell swoop. “Well, fair turnabout, Miss Penrose. I was unable to reach my back.” And the cloth plopped into the water as he turned to sit on the edge of the bathtub, presenting her with magnificent muscle and corded brawn.
Well, what was a girl to do?
Tamsyn grabbed the wet cloth, a fortuitous flash of lightning transforming his body to marble – sculpted and splendid.
Kneeling up in the bathtub, she patted with a cautious touch, witnessed his arms flex.
“I won’t break, my sweet,” he murmured.
No, indeed.
Dipping the cloth again, she roughly brushed it over his shoulders, water splashing and finding the quickest course south amongst the strength and sinew. She watched the skin bunch – fascinating – and dragged the cloth down his spine, whirling in a firm caress.
As she slipped the cloth lower, he jolted and groaned; she smiled and did it again.
Circling him with her arm, she trailed to his flat stomach, her fingers bemused as muscle pulled taut. She dipped to his unbuttoned buckskins, heard him gasp, felt–
All of a sudden, she found herself hauled to standing and tugged against an extremely solid chest, water sloshing to the rug.
“Tamsyn Penrose,” he rumbled, “do you wish to be ravished?”
Had she not made that obvious?
Her naked body was plastered to Jack’s and pleasure thrummed, her bare breasts rubbing against his chest, his fingers digging into her backside.
“I wanted to touch you, Jack. I want you to touch me.”
“Tamsyn.” His forehead met hers. “That pleasure should be for your husband, and I cannot promise you a future.”
