“You have no idea.”
“Maybe we should move you back to the bed,” she said, her voice laced with concern.
That was the last place she wanted him. “It’s fine. I need to finish my bath.”
“Simon,” she admonished.
“Caillen, it has been over eight months since I’ve had a bath. If I die in this tub, I will die happy.” Not really, but that was the only thing he could say to get her to leave. The last thing she needed to see was his reaction to her proximity, especially when she hovered over him with those kissable lips parted and her glorious nipples begging to be adored. Caillen had breasts that were meant for a man’s hands and his tongue. All he had to do was lean forward and take one into his mouth.
Bloody hell, shut up.
“I beg your pardon?”
Had he spoken out loud? He searched her face for an inkling of offense. “Not you, Caillen. My head.”
“If your head hurts that badly, then I must insist you get out of the bath now and we’ll call for the doctor.”
He closed his eyes again. “No doctor. No bed. I’m taking a bath and if you don’t step outside you will see all of me in my splendor.”
“I’m not leaving you, Simon. I will help you.”
He laughed. “Caillen, think about what you’re offering. Any man would love to have you ‘help’ him with his bath.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I bathed you every day for over a fortnight.”
“That is nothelping.”
Caillen stood up, and it took everything in him not to lean forward and touch her, kiss her, caress every inch of her. With his tongue.
She turned and grabbed the linen and bar of soap. Good Lord, not that routine again. It was as if she were practicing to be a courtesan.
“Caillen,” he pleaded, because what else was a man to do?
“I will wash your hair and your back. The places that are hard for you to reach.”
“How is it that touching me, doesn’t bother you?” It bothered him immensely.
She was silent as she walked toward him, her hips swaying, in a seductive manner. Then slowly, as if she were puzzling out her response, she removed his towel from the stool next to the tub and put the stool behind him. “I suppose it’s because I took care of you for so long, and that I am the one touching you, not the other way around.” She paused then added. “Despite all your teasing, I don’t really see you as the type of man to want anything untoward from me.”
“You’re wrong. There are many untoward things I want from you, and to do to you.”
She froze behind him and then laughed before laying the linen across the back of the tub. “You’re just trying to make me leave. Lean back so I may wash your hair.”
He leaned back and savored the warm water on his back and shoulders and found it to be like standing at the gates of heaven and getting a glimpse through the cold iron bars of how invitingly divine the afterlife could be. Yet the gate to pure bliss remained locked, forever out of reach of his wretched soul. Her hands were his glimpse of nirvana.
“I will be careful of your injury. When we’re done, I’ll have one of the maids bring some cold water so that we may put a cold cloth over your temple to soothe the swelling.”
“I’ll need a cold bath for other parts of me that are swelling,” he muttered.
“Did you injure your leg? Let me see.” She began to move toward the side of the tub, and he grabbed her wrist, desperate to stop her before she saw his obvious reaction that he could not conceal. His hand was what captured her attention, however, and she froze instantaneously.
“Astley.” She’d never used that tone before. Controlled. Commanding. Centered.
“Yes?”
“I will only ask this of you once. Release me.”
He slowly, regretfully released her wrist, but he allowed his fingers to leisurely travel down the length of her palm and fingers, caressing her in a manner she deserved to be touched.
