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Annalise decided not to come down to supper that night. She’d promised to join him during the meals, but she just couldn’t see him again so soon. Earlier in the day, while standing by the staircase oh-so-close to him, all she wanted to do was lean into him, feed on his strength, feel his embrace, feel his lips on hers and smell his dear scent. Because no matter what had happened between them, she still considered his scent one of the most comforting things in the world. She was a fool.
So she pleaded a headache and stayed in her room instead. Her inner turmoil could be qualified as a headache, she was sure, or perhaps it was worse.
Blake had said he didn’t deserve her forgiveness, and she knew he was right. The problem was, her body didn’t seem to know that. Every time he was close to her, her traitorous body responded to his nearness, to his heat in the most disturbing ways.
If she spent more time in his company, she was certain she would give in to his charm and wind up in his arms again.
Only nothing good ever happened in his arms. As much as Annalise wanted to have children, her heart still ached from the two times he’d actually come to her bed.
So Annalise had a quiet supper in her room, took a bath, and prepared for bed. She was sitting by the hearth and brushing out her hair when a soft rap sounded on the adjoining room door.
“Come in,” she called and braced herself for a confrontation and Blake’s righteous anger because of her absence during the supper.
Blake entered the room as large as life and dark as night. He’d shed his coat, waistcoat, and cravat, so he was only in his breeches and shirtsleeves. He braced one of his shoulders against the doorjamb and folded his arms over his chest. His sleeves were rolled up, showcasing his muscled, tanned forearms. Her gaze traveled lower. The breeches he wore strained over the muscles of his thighs.
He was so different, this burly, giant man from the soft and elegant husband she knew, that sometimes she wondered if he was truly Blake. There were so many differences in his appearance, he might as well have been another man. She swallowed and returned her gaze to his face, her own face heating in embarrassment. She was wantonly ogling him. It couldn’t have been at all proper. Fortunately, he was looking at some point about her shoulders and didn’t pay attention to her wandering eyes.
“Did you want something?” she asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“Your hair,” he said, a transfixed look on his face.
“Pardon?” Her eyes widened. He wanted her hair?
Blake shook his head as if to clear the fog before his eyes. “I have never seen your hair unbound,” he said in wonder.
Annalise placed a hand on her locks and lowered her eyes. That was true. She had always bound her hair during the day and wore a nightcap during sleep. The only times her hair was unbound were in the bath or when she was brushing it out. She instantly dropped her brush and started collecting her hair into a bun.
“No.” Blake reached her in two long strides and took her hands in his. “Don’t. I like it like this.”
“Oh.” There really was nothing she could say to that.
He settled next to her in front of the hearth and picked up her brush. “Do you mind?” he asked, gesturing with the brush toward her hair.
He wanted to brush it? Her lady’s maid brushed her hair daily but having him do it felt… intimate. She swallowed and nodded.
He slowly moved behind her and took a thick lock of her hair, running it through his fingers. He stopped at the edge, brought the brush there, and started brushing it out, slowly making his way up. He was holding her hair tenderly, as if it were treasure, and moving the brush so softly, as if in worship. Annalise had forgotten that he was capable of such gentleness.
The sound of the brush going through her hair, her husband’s gentle ministrations, and a pleasant feeling of the brush massaging her scalp had Annalise lost in bliss. A few moments later, she felt her eyelids closing and her body relaxing.
Blake’s fingers brushed against her shoulder as he collected her hair at the base, and she stifled a moan. He adjusted his position so he could reach more of her hair, and she felt his breath at the nape of her neck, making her shiver in pleasure. She had a barely containable urge to lean against him and marvel at their closeness. The heat in her cheeks had nothing to do with her sitting by the fire anymore. She felt hot all over, and butterflies were fluttering low in her belly, making her want to squirm.
All too soon, Blake lowered the brush to the side and got off the floor. Annalise looked at him wide-eyed, part of her wanting to scream at him to stay.
He stood rigid, his hands fisted at his sides. Blake exhaled one more time, readjusted his breeches at his crotch, and walked back to the door.
“I just wanted to make sure you felt better,” he finally said after clearing his throat.
“What?” Annalise stared at him, not quite recovered from their encounter yet.
“Your headache,” he reminded with a smile.
“Oh, yes, much better.” She bit on her lip.
“Then shall I see you at breakfast on the morrow?”
Annalise licked her lips. “Yes.”
He turned to leave, but Annalise wasn’t ready to let him go yet.
