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We stood there,glowing pillows scattered at our feet. Rogue quirked a gloss-black eyebrow at me. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Aren’t you going to flirt with me now?”
“I really hate to tell you this, Rogue, but you’re barking up the wrong skirt here—I’m a lab rat from way back. I’ve dated exactly three men in my life and have absolutelynoidea how to flirt.”
He sighed expressively, then held out his elegant hands in a palms-up gesture. “What shall we do? You promised flirting.” His eyes fell on the full bathtub. “You could take your bath and I’ll watch.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It would be a flirtatious thing to do…”
“It would be exhibitionism on my part and voyeurism on yours. Besides which, I am not stupid enough to add to the skin that’s already publicly exposed.”
“But your feet are dirty.”
He was right. Dust and mud mixed with unmentionable fluids caked my toes and spattered up my legs from my run through the camp. Ick.
While Rogue watched with great interest I walked over and stepped into the tub, holding my skirt up out of the water and shivering at the tepid temperature. Bunching the fabric carefully between my legs, I sat on the uncomfortable narrow rim and began scrubbing.
Rogue piled up a few pillows, smacking them to his desired brightness and arranged himself as if for viewing a show. He peeled off his leather boots and, reaching back, he pulled the tie off his tail of hair, releasing it to spill around him. He looked like a raven Viking, all masculine cheekbones and streaming hair, his bare feet as long and elegant as his hands.
“Tug the skirt up higher,” he suggested, “and blow me a kiss.”
“No.”
“It would be a mild flirtation and you’ve yet to do anything that qualifies as vaguely flirtatious.”
I tugged my skirt up a grudging inch and pursed my lips at him.
His eyes flared. “Is the water warm enough for you? I could heat it up.”
“So can I,” I retorted and wished it a little warmer. “Rogue, we need to talk.”
“No, no, no.” He waggled a long finger at me. “That’s anti-flirtation. ‘We need to talk’ is the death of romance. I don’t think you’re taking this bargain seriously. I’m close to crying foul.”
A smile curved his lips, but his eyes were deadly intent. I tried to think up something flirtatious.
“Surely a big, strong, handsome man like you wouldn’t take advantage of little ol’ me,” I fluttered with a peachy accent.
“Amazing. You really are bad at this.”
I stood, clutching the fabric balled in my lap. “Look, Rogue…”
As I moved to step out of the tub, he was there in a flash, holding my hand to help me balance. One hand only, I noticed.
“Oh, believe me, I am looking,” he assured me. “You are lovelier than ever, saucy Gwynn.” He let go of my hand to run his fingers over my hair. “Come, sit with me. I’ll teach you how to flirt, as I’ve taught you so much else.”
“Barely an ounce of what I need to know,” I grumbled, but allowed him to help lower me to some pillows when he gave me a significant look. I stretched out on my side, propped up on one elbow.
He stood over me. “Observe.” He swept his hands in a grand flourish and presented me with a flower. Another Stargazer lily—if anything, larger, sweeter and more intensely blue in the throat than the first had been. “Now, when a gentleman gives a lady a gift, to evince interest in him, she might trail it along her cheek to show him how lovely it feels against her skin, to give him ideas of how he might touch her.”
He sank down onto the pillows, not close enough to touch, eyes intent on me, glowing bluer than the blossom. There was no harm in playing this game, theoretically. Unable to tear my eyes from his, I inhaled the fragrance, then brushed the velvet petals along my cheek. The light flared in his eyes and, emboldened, I trailed the flower down my throat to brush with exquisite delicacy over the upper curves of my breasts.
“Very well done.” His voice sounded a bit hoarse.
“This seems more like seduction to me.” My voice had a whiskey quality, too.
