His life stretched before him, no longer an empty, barren desert, but a place of light and happiness. He wanted Sarah, wanted her as more than a friend, even more than a lover. With her, he could have the kind of marriage he never would have had with Christine.
Maybe it was time to take a chance.
* * * * *
SARAH WAS SITTING ATthe kitchen table when Luke opened the bathroom door fifteen minutes later. His bare chest gleamed with droplets of water. There was a towel draped around his broad shoulders, and his trousers rode low on his lean hips.
She stared at him, her mouth gone dry with the sheer beauty of all that dark, supple skin. The patch of ebony hair between the flat coins of his nipples narrowed to paint an intriguing arrow down the washboard ridges of his stomach.
“Do you need help with that kettle?”
She started and pulled her gaze from his body to his face. “No,” she told him, hoping she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt. “I can get it.”
“Good. I didn’t want to put this damned thing back on.” He held up his hand, and she saw that his fake foot dangled from his fingertips. “Would you do me a favor and grab that crutch over by the back door?”
“Yes, of course.” She hurried over to the door and grabbed the carved oak crutch, her heart swelling with gratitude. He’d taken a big chance, letting her see him in such a vulnerable state, and the fact that he trusted her enough to do so filled her with hope.
He took the crutch from her outstretched hand, and his fingers brushed hers for just a second too long. “Thanks,” he murmured, searching her face. “Would you like to meet me in the parlor when you’re done? We could play a game of chess.”
“I’d love that,” she replied. “But you’ll have to teach me how.”
“I’ll teach you.” His gaze settled on her mouth, and she knew he wasn’t talking about chess.
She turned away and gathered up her bundle of clothes and towels. “I won’t be long.”
He gave a soft laugh and made his way out of the kitchen with painful slowness. She watched him maneuver down the hall with the crutch and his good leg and was touched again that he’d let her see him with his left pant leg empty.
She forced her gaze away, then lifted the heavy kettle of hot water off the stove and carried it into the bathroom.
A moan of pure pleasure escaped her lips as she lowered herself into the steaming tub. How long had it been since she’d had the luxury of a hot bath? Not since the first days of the war. She’d made do with a basin of tepid water each morning and before she went to bed at night, alternated with an occasional dip in the river.
Among her things were a sliver of finely milled soap and a small bottle of rose perfume. She reached for them almost reverently. They were the only luxuries left from her life in Georgia, and she’d used them sparingly, knowing that once they were gone, there would be no more to replace them.
She held the rose perfume above the water, deciding to use it all and be truly decadent. The flowery scent filled the air, and she closed her eyes, breathing it in. She was so relaxed it took her a few moments to realize the soft music she heard wasn’t in her mind.
Lifting her head, she turned toward the sound. A sweet, soft tune drifted to her on the night air. Luke, she thought, a pleased smile curving her lips. He was playing the piano, a beautiful melody she remembered from her childhood.
Her eyelids felt heavy, and she yawned, wondering what other wonderful surprises Luke had in store for her.
* * * * *
LUKE CLOSED HIS EYES, letting the music flow through his soul and out his fingers. The soft, haunting lullaby consumed him, chasing away the lingering lust that pulsed through his veins.
It had been months since he’d played, and he wasn’t certain why he did so now, other than the fact that he desperately needed something to occupy his hands. If he let himself think about Sarah, alone in that deep tub, wearing nothing but the scent of roses... Lord, it was driving him insane.
He didn’t know how long he played before it occurred to him that Sarah was taking an awfully long time in the bathroom. Longer than even a leisurely soak in rosewater warranted. He glanced at the clock on the mantle. Almost an hour had passed since he’d left her in the kitchen.
His hands stumbled over the keys, and he ceased playing, listening for any sounds from the bathroom. The house was eerily quiet, and he was filled with sudden disappointment. She must have decided to go straight to bed.
With a sigh, he reached for his crutch and stood up. It had taken more courage than he’d thought he possessed to leave the boot off after his bath. But it would be impossible to live in such close proximity to Sarah without ever having her see him this way, and he’d wanted to know how she’d react.
His trust in her had been well founded. She’d been so busy looking at his bare chest she barely seemed to notice his missing foot. He’d wanted to kiss her for that more than he’d ever wanted anything in his whole life.
He shuffled into the kitchen and saw a sliver of light beneath the bathroom door. Was she still in there?
Pressing his ear against the wooden panel, he listened for the telltale sounds of splashing water or rustling clothes but heard nothing. “Sarah?” He knocked quietly, but there was no answer.
Thinking she’d forgotten to blow out the lantern, he pushed the door open. He froze, his heart thundering in his chest, as he stared at the angel asleep in his tub.
Her golden hair spilled over the back of the headrest in a wet tangle, almost touching the floor. Her lovely face was sweetness incarnate, a soft smile curving her beautiful mouth. From his vantage point, he could see the long length of one bare leg and the gently rounded mounds of her breasts, her nipples wet and erect, peeking through the water.
Luke’s mouth went dry and he tried to swallow, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as the need to reach out and touch her buffeted him.
Pulling the door closed and blocking out the erotic sight of her was the most difficult thing he’d ever done. He pressed his face against the wood, struggling to control his ragged breathing.
He couldn’t let her know he’d walked in on her, or she’d never trust him again. But he couldn’t let her sleep in the tub all night, either. He hobbled over to the kitchen table and sat down, staring at the small clock on the wall. He’d give her fifteen more minutes. If she didn’t wake up on her own, he’d rap on the door and call her name until she did.
