The Legacy (27 page)

He grimaced as she drew his upper garments off. The bruise purpling the entire right side of his shoulder still hurt like the devil.

“Oh, Wolf, you really
are
injured,” she gasped.

He raised his eyebrows at her assumption he had been lying. It confirmed his suspicion that she knew the implications of agreeing to attend his bath, since she had thought he was exaggerating about his injury all along. He tried not to look smug.

“That is, I did not realize how bad it was.” She blushed prettily.

“I accept your apology.” He sucked in a sharp breath as she gently probed his shoulder with her fingertips, and she instantly snatched them away.

“Oh, I did not mean to hurt you!”

“You didn’t.” The feel of her soft fingertips against his skin had gone through him like a heated knife through butter. He took her hands and carefully placed them back on his shoulder.

Pinned like a butterfly by his gaze, she neither moved nor looked away.

“Wolf…” she sighed.

He stopped her before she could say anything else. He barely hung on by a thread as it was, and he needed to wash the dirt and blood off before he allowed himself to touch her again.

“Sabina. The bath?” he reminded her gently.

“What bath? Oh, the
bath,”
she said with chagrin.

He ducked his head, hiding his grin as he reached for his chausses. In one swift move, he pulled them down. She gaped and pivoted, mumbling something about getting a cloth for his bath.

Good Lord, he is magnificently made.

Even so, Sabina chose not to turn around again until she heard splashing, indicating he had settled himself in the water, and even then she waited a full count of ten before facing him.

She turned to see him leaning his head back against the edge of the tub, his eyes closed. For the first time she noticed how worn he looked. Sympathy swelled her heart. She had not missed the flecks of dried blood caked onto his jerkin when she had set it aside. She could not begin to imagine what he had endured since he had been gone. Any problems she might have must pale in comparison to what a man like him was expected to do when duty called. She went to his side.

“Wolf?” For a moment, she thought he was asleep, but then, without opening his eyes, he held out his hand to her. She took it and knelt beside the tub. He held her hand tightly and, turning his face away, covered his eyes with his other arm. Though he was silent, except for a slow, heavy breath, she could feel the waves of emotion emanating from him. Anguish, desire, exhaustion, longing—all were there in his grip.

“What can I do, Wolf?” she whispered.

“Stay with me.” He turned haunted emerald eyes her way. “Just stay.”

She nodded, and he leaned his head back against the tub, closing his eyes again.

She did stay, right beside him, and for several moments willed him what strength she had. Then she remembered the cloth in her other hand. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, wondering if she had the daring to do what her heart dreamed. She stared at the cloth, then at Wolf lying in the tub. He was so tall, his knees bent nearly double in order to fit into the tub, and his elbows dangled out on either side. He was the most beautiful man she had ever met, but his true beauty lay on the inside, not where a casual observer could see.

She lifted a hand to his face again, gently tracing the faint lines from sun and wind exposure that had not been there a few days before. His eyelids moved slightly at her touch, but he did not open them. Fascinated, she brushed a feather-light caress over them, stroking the lashes. They were the most perfect part of his face, she mused, lush and incongruously long, like a woman’s.

She trailed her fingertip down his imperfect nose, following the line of an old break, and soft as a butterfly swept her fingers across his surprisingly soft lips. They quivered at her caress, the corners lifting up as though her touch tickled him. His mouth opened, and he nipped the pad of her index finger with his teeth.

Surprised, she snatched her hand back and looked up at his face. His eyes remained closed, though a hint of mischief glimmered in his bland expression.

So he wants to play, does he?

She scooted around to the back of the tub, dipped the cloth in the warm water, and lifted it directly above his head, dribbling a stream right into his face. He sputtered and sat up, eyes flying open, and made a grab for the cloth. Water sloshed over the edge of the bathing tub at his sharp movements. She dodged him with an impish grin, crossed her eyes, and stuck her tongue out in a childish display of humor that felt wonderful.

“Will you make yourself useful with that thing, woman,” he growled, “instead of abusing innocent bathers?”

For one wild-eyed moment, she thought he was referring to her tongue.

“Whaa?” she squeaked in shock.

“I was talking, of course, about the cloth.” Wicked humor bubbled just below the surface.

She sucked her tongue back in with a snap.

“Of course. I knew that,” she lied with great dignity.

He arched an eyebrow, but sloshed back down without comment.

With feigned nonchalance, she rubbed the cloth against the cake of soap next to the tub. She sniffed the soap curiously, discovering with delight it held the same scent of lemon and sandalwood she associated with him, unlike the soap Bea made for her, which smelled faintly of vanilla and rosemary. She surveyed his prone form again, wondering where to begin. She had never washed a man before, and had no idea where to start.

She decided to begin at his shoulders and neck, which seemed relatively safe, if safe meant sleek and corded with lean muscles. Taking care not to press too hard on his injury, she ran the soapy cloth over his skin, moving in smooth, firm circles.

He said nothing, but the sigh of pleasure that escaped him was reward enough. Encouraged, she leaned forward to wash his chest, bringing the water up in little rivulets to run the soap over his solid frame, secretly admiring the ridged muscles covering his torso. He lay quiet under her ministrations.

Wolf wondered if she realized how he’d distracted her from her earlier attack of nervous anticipation. He stole a peek at her as she worked, and wisely decided not to point it out. He closed his eyes again with a smile, trying to relax as he felt her hands stroking him with the cloth. She already had him so overheated he was surprised the water in the bath wasn’t boiling away. He tried to ignore the closeness of her breasts, which brushed temptingly near every time she bent over him.

There’s time yet,
he reminded himself.
Go slow.

He settled for imagining what her breasts looked like beneath her bodice. He felt his body respond, growing harder than he already was, and he tried to sink a little lower in the tub.

She concentrated on his limbs next, dipping the cloth in the water again, swirling it over his arm. When he stretched his long legs over the edge of the tub in encouragement, she carefully washed those, too.

He wanted to see her glorious hair. He reached over and pulled her cap off, and her hair tumbled down her back. She stopped in mid-stroke, holding her breath when he tossed the cap aside and shook the long waves out with his hand, running his fingers from the roots to the ends in a gentle combing action. Sabina slowly started her motions again, her breath coming out in one long sigh.

Wolf sifted the strands of her hair through his fingers, watching the candlelight play across filaments the color of darkest night. He shifted his fingers to the nape of her neck. His moved his thumb over her skin in smooth, ever-widening circles, caressing her softly.

Sabina sighed again as Wolf’s careful play lured her into a sense of peacefulness she never suspected could exist in concert with her more powerful feelings of desire. She decided she could stay there, in that moment, forever.

He apparently was not satisfied with that. The heat from his hand blazed a path along her sensitive skin, exposing her shoulders as he carefully, slowly tugged her neckline down.

Then he cupped her breast, laying his hand across the arc of pale skin.

“White as a swan, soft as feathers,” he murmured.

Sabina had no idea what to say to him, or the breath to say it regardless, so she remained silent as he stroked his thumb over the high part of her breast, then patiently traced the ridge of her collarbone, his fingers inciting delicious tremors along its travels. The washing cloth drifted in the water beneath her hands, all but forgotten. She tilted her head and brushed her lips against his wrist, closing her eyes with a sigh. It was perfect. He was perfect.

She felt Wolf’s hand move to caress her cheek.

“Don’t fall asleep, now,” he whispered into her ear. “There’s still much to do.” Her eyes slowly opened, and she encountered his inviting grin. He released her and lay back in the tub once more.

“I think you’ve missed a spot,” he said, his voice low and compelling. She looked up at him, eyebrows raised in inquiry. He did not move, but indicated with a meaningful glance below the water just what part of him required attention. He seemed to be holding his breath, his eyes watching her from beneath hooded lids. He was letting it be her choice.

“Ah. So I did,” she murmured, and dipped the cloth once more into the water. Slowly, she stroked the wet cloth down his long legs until her hands disappeared beneath the water’s surface.

He sucked in his breath as she gently stroked him, his hands clenching the sides of the tub. They tightened spasmodically, and he cursed under his breath. He abruptly pulled her hands out of the water and stood up, getting her soaked in the process.

She yelped in surprise when he hastened out of the tub, raining water all over her, and picked her up in his arms. He strode with her to the bed while she clutched on to his wet, naked body, fearing he might drop her in his haste.

“I gather we are done?” she asked breathlessly.

“We haven’t even begun yet.” A wicked smile spread across his face. He lowered her to the bed and settled over her.

“The bedclothes—they will get wet!”

“They’ll dry.” He covered her mouth with his own, kissing her hungrily. She opened beneath him as though she had kissed him this way a thousand times before; and in her heart, in her dreams, she had.

His fingers worked on her bodice, and soon it hung loosely around her. She hesitated only for a moment before allowing him to pull it off. After all, he was naked—it was only fair she be, too.

He dispensed with the rest of her garments in short order, but stopped to stare at her when he pulled her chemise over her head. His gaze swept over her from her breasts to the stockings gartered just above her knees with white ribbons, and he shook his head.

“I may not survive this,” he said unsteadily.

She did not understand his meaning, and her confusion must have been obvious because he smiled.

“Never mind, my sweet. Just know you are magnificent. From here,” he brushed the flushed skin of her brow with his fingertips, “to here,” he said, and trailed a finger across the sensitive arch of her foot.

She shivered in sensual response when he lowered his head to her bosom. He kissed, stroked, suckled, and generally enjoyed himself until she stifled a moan, biting her bottom lip.

He pulled back and allowed his gaze to roam over her again.

“So beautiful,” he murmured. “I was in such a hurry before, I never got to look my fill.” His hands stroked over her in wonder. He slipped a hand behind her thigh and plucked at her garters.

“Will you take these off for me?”

“Yes. I would do anything you asked of me right now. Anything,” she repeated, and it surprised her to know that she would.

He smiled an indulgent smile again and pointed at the garters. “This will do … for now.” He sat back on his heels to watch.

Sabina obliged him by slowly rolling first one stocking down and stripping it off, then the next, her body stretching sinuously to the task. She leaned over the side of the bed and dropped the stockings to the floor; she lifted her hands through her hair when it drifted around her shoulders. Somehow, Sabina knew that it would please him to move this way, and as she lay down, his eyes glowed a fiercer green.

“Thank you,” he croaked, oddly polite for all his intensity. He splayed his palms against her belly and moved his hands toward the shadowy juncture of her thighs.

“So beautiful…” he echoed, entranced.

She stared at him, and her heart ached with love. “You make me feel that way,” she whispered, and spread her thighs.

He touched her then, his thumbs stroking her silkily, and she nearly rose off the bed.

He whispered in her ear. “Let me hear you. I want to know what you’re feeling.”

Her breath rushed out in a heated sigh and her soft cries filled the chamber. He slipped a finger inside her and stroked while she arched in surprise. She slid a hand down his arm and touched his hand, encouraging him to continue, the sensation of that part of him inside her staggeringly erotic.

He slid down her body. At the first stroke of his tongue at her most secret place, she gasped and tried to push him away. This could not be permitted. Surely such a thing was not done. Her fingers halted, flexing on his shoulders.

Oh, but it felt so good…

Sensation danced along nerve endings she had not known she possessed. He seemed to understand how to rouse her precisely in a way that drove her to madness. She gripped his hair even as she tried to move him away, her sense of propriety in conflict with her heated desire.

He refused to allow her to withdraw. He tasted her as he had once promised he would while she tried desperately not to be shocked. The slick warmth of his hot breath enveloped her. Writhing against him, her hips rocking in perfect unison with his thrusts, her desire formed a hot, tight pearl inside of her that threatened to shatter into pieces. She shifted restlessly alongside his shoulders every time the tip of his tongue touched her most sensitive spot.

“You taste like summer, all hot,” he murmured after a time. “And sweet, like candy.” He glanced up, his gaze dark and riveting. “Woman candy,” he said with a profligate’s smile.