Page 94 of Ghost of the Ton

“Then I ask…” He nodded to the jar of salve. “I only wish to ask…that ye permit me to return the favor.”

“Th-the favor?”

“Aye.” He pulled her close. “I’m sure ye have an ache in need of easing, and I should very much like to place my hands on yer skin to ease that ache.”

He smiled at her low gasp.

“Are ye consenting, lass, and respecting yer man’s wishes to tend to his woman?”

His woman…

How could such words, that spoke of base possessiveness, send such a thread of heat through her body?

“I see ye like my turn of phrase, lass.”

He rose, his body glistening with salve. The firelight cast sharp shadows across his chest muscles, which were nestled together in pairs, and Mia’s gaze wandered over them, taking in the soft, downy hair that grew thicker lower down. She suppressed a cry of disappointment as the view was rudely and cruelly curtailed by the belt at his waist, below which he bulged against his plaid.

“Perhaps ye like what ye see,” he said.

Mia blinked, her cheeks warming with shame as she focused her gaze on the broad chest in front of her. Then he caught her chin with his fingertips and gently tilted her head until their eyes met.

“Do ye fear that I’d not be gentle with ye?”

“N-no, Hamish, I…”

“Do ye trust me, lass?” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin.

She lowered her gaze to his lips, then nodded.

“I do.”

Her words were an echo from the day she’d uttered her vows to a stranger barely visible behind her shroud. But, unlike that day, when she had surrendered to her demise, he invited her to surrender to…

To what? Pleasure?

A shiver coursed through her at the notion of…pleasure. Not just the innocent enjoyment she took from a walk in the sunshine, a lungful of fresh air, or having completed a worthy task such as making a salve. No, the pleasure he promised was dark, sinful, lacking in chasteness.

But what was the harm in a simple massage?

He guided her to the chair and she sat, leaning against the back.

“Do ye not sit as I did, facing the back of the chair?” Hamish said.

“My ache is in my shoulders, not my lower back, therefore there is no need.”

“Yer shoulders, aye?”

He moved behind her, and an uncomfortable heat bloomed in her body at the anticipation of his touch. When he placed a hand on her shoulder, she startled and he let out a soft chuckle, caressing the underside of her chin with his knuckle.

“Och, lass, there’s no need to be as skittish as an untamed filly—or perhaps ye need to be tamed.”

His words sent a deep curl through her belly, and she squeezed her thighs together.

“Close yer eyes, lass, while ye enjoy my touch,” he whispered.

Suppressing a whimper, she obeyed, then relaxed against the back of the chair.

“There’s my good lass.”