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…unless, of course, this man could be hers, and hers alone.
Now you’re talking!
For the first time in a very long time, my inner voice and I were in complete agreement. Both she and I were speechless from awe as my eyes raked the perfect, chiselled statue that was Rikkard Ambrose. His broad, hard chest, the valleys and ridges of his abdomen - all was as smooth and hard as diamond, and just as impenetrable and unmoving. The only sign that there was life underneath the shell of smooth stone was a light trail of hair, rising up to his navel from underneath his trousers, from the place where…
All right, Lilly, best stop thinking there, if you want to stay upright and conscious! One step after another!
With difficulty, I raised my eyes from his body to his face, and saw that I had been mistaken. The trail of hair was not his only sign of life. There also were his eyes, roiling with a dark storm of epic proportions, promising to swallow me whole.
‘I cannot help but notice,’ he said in a voice as deadly as a boa constrictor, ‘that you are still behind that rock, Mr Linton.’
I nodded, unable to form a single syllable. I didn’t know whether he even saw it from where he stood. The only thing he could see of me was probably one wide eye and a few wild strands of hair. Whereas what I could see of him…
My thoughts ran away and started frolicking.
Mr Ambrose fixed those dark, sea-coloured eyes of his on mine. They bored into me with the force of a thousand crashing icebergs.
‘Come!’ he commanded.
As if pulled by invisible puppet strings, my feet started to move. Slowly, hesitantly, I stepped out from behind the rock, clutching my sodden chemise to me. It didn’t do much in the way of concealment.
‘Closer!’
I took another hesitant step forward. My eyes devoured every inch of him.
‘How long have you been standing there, watching me, Mr Linton?’
Suddenly, I found a small smile playing around the corners of my mouth. ‘Not nearly long enough.’
He smiled no answering smile - but the storm clouds in his eyes started swirling, forming a hurricane.
‘Is that so, Mr Linton?’
‘Indeed it is, Sir.’
I took another step forward, without waiting to be invited. He shifted, his muscles tightening, his eyes narrowing infinitesimally.
‘And why in Mammon’s name are you here at all? Is it a habit of yours to watch half-naked gentlemen bathing?’
‘Not yet. But I might take it up in the future. It’s quite…interesting.’
A growl ripped through the air. I looked around, panicking, trying to make out the panther or tiger - until I realised the growl was coming from Mr Ambrose’s throat.
‘Answer my question, Mr Linton! What are you doing here?’
I took another step forward, my chin rising. I didn’t like his tone! Not one bit!
‘I came here to bathe! The old lady sent me down here and told me-’
‘She did what?’
I blinked at him, taken aback by the vehemence in his voice. ‘I told you. She sent me down here and told me I could shower under the waterfall. She told me I wouldn’t be disturbed.’
‘That old witch!’
‘Witch?’ I stared at him, nonplussed. ‘Why? What’s wrong with telling me I could shower here in peace?’
‘Nothing.’ His eyes, for the very first time, left mine and slid over me. I could feel his gaze, like a sweet, cold finger gliding over me, touching every inch of my skin. ‘Except she told me the exact same thing when she sent me down here not five minutes ago.’
