Chapter 10

Did she actually have to make a decision? How was she supposed to decide between what her body cried for and what her mind told her was proper? Perhaps it had not been such a bad thing that he’d taken her before she had awoken fully. It had certainly allowed her to take no responsibility, something she now understood the power of.

Her lids slid shut, allowing her to focus only on her thoughts—her thoughts and the delicious feeling of the cloth running up and down her leg, tempting her. What was the right thing to do? What risks was she willing to take? And for what reward? “Please stop for a moment. I need to think.”

“What if I don’t want you to think?”

Her eyes jerked open. “Then why did you ask?”

The cloth stopped moving, his arm dropped to his side. “You are correct, my lady.” He gave the briefest of bows. “I do want you to think—to think and be sure.” And then his mouth quirked up in a dazzling little smile. “I just want you to be sure and say yes.”

Why did she feel he was talking about more than this moment? She closed her eyes again, shutting out the temptation named James. Even with her eyes squeezed tight it was impossible not to picture that wicked smile—and all the rest of him, every delicious, hard-muscled inch. If she said yes, would he let her touch? Perhaps take her turn washing him? Now, that was something to think about.

But what about the rest of it? Was wanting something enough reason to do it? It always had been before. And what about curiosity? She did hate not knowing things.

She opened her eyes slowly, looked at him, considered. “You will be sure I do not get pregnant?”

“As sure as it is possible to be—although as you may already be so, I am not sure how you will judge the outcome. Now, if you married me—”

“Stop.” That was a decision she refused to make at the moment. Some risks were too great, even for her. “That is not the discussion we are having at this moment. Despite everything, I will trust you. I should be clear that I am not agreeing to everything on your list. I am not at all sure I would care for several of the activities you mentioned.”

“I would never wish to do anything you did not wish. If you say stop, I will stop.”

She pulled a deep breath into her lungs, watching as his eyes dropped to her still-tight breasts. She had to admit she did like that, liked the feeling of knowing she was desired. “So what exactly do you want me to do?”

“You are saying yes? I need to be sure. I do not wish to repeat my mistake.”

Another deep breath. She must be losing her wits. “Yes.”

“Then all I want you to do is sit there, sit there and enjoy. Do not move. Do not speak. I will tell you if I want you to do anything else.”

That sounded easy—and dangerous. She was reminded of the power of having no responsibility. Her mouth grew dry. “And if I wish you to stop?”

“Then, of course, you may speak—or if I do anything that truly displeases you. All I ask is that you give yourself a minute to be sure you are not merely surprised.”

“I can do that.” At least she thought she could.

The water splashed as he dipped the cloth in again. “I am going to freshen this water, but first…” He stepped into the tin trough and sloshed his feet and calves, then stepped out and pulled on his stockings, shirt, and boots before again heading to the rain barrel.

Was he deliberately giving her more time to be sure that she’d made the right decision? She smiled ruefully; the only problem with that was that she knew she’d made the wrong one and couldn’t find it in herself to care. Well, she did care, but she still could not say no.

His boots clacked on the floorboards as he came in. He poured the remaining hot water from the kettle into the bucket and then without saying anything went to fill the kettle again.

When he returned this time, she was tempted to snap at him. If he made her wait any longer, she just might change her mind.

He glanced over at her, and that smile was playing about the edges of his mouth, as if he knew what she was thinking and found it amusing.

She opened her mouth, but he held a finger up to his lips, gesturing her to silence.

She closed her mouth, pouted.

Yes, James was most definitely smiling. Sitting, he pulled off his muddy boots and then his stockings.

His toes were long and lean. His feet strong. Could feet look strong? She’d never thought about it before. And they were distinctly darker than some other parts of him. Did he walk about barefoot? He had when they were fishing, but she didn’t remember any other time. Perhaps he’d been fishing recently, although where he’d go in this season was hard to imagine. But it was hard to think when else a man’s feet would see the sun.

“You are thinking too much,” he said, carrying the bucket of warm water over and setting it down beside her once again. “Are they dirty thoughts? Do I need to work on cleaning your mind as well?”

She ducked her head, but continued to glare at him from under her lashes. If he didn’t want her to talk, that meant she didn’t have to answer, and thinking about somebody’s feet wasn’t exactly dirty, was it? Feet had nothing to do with sex, did they? She’d never even—

“Stop thinking.”

She blinked and looked up at him. He grinned down at her, his expression softer than it had been before.

Holding eye contact, he knelt between her legs again, now taking the time to spread her feet a little wider. The slight change in position made her feel much more vulnerable. Her chemise might still cover everything, but she could feel the cool air of the room on some unexpected places.

He ran a finger up each of her calves. “Do you remember where I stopped? Was it here?” Again he stroked that sensitive flesh behind her knees. “Or here?” His fingers moved higher up her thighs. “Don’t you remember? Perhaps I can taste the difference.” He kissed her knee. “Hmm, tastes like water.” A small trail of kisses up her leg. “I think I am getting closer. What do you think?”

It was unfair of him to ask so many questions when he didn’t want her to speak.

He opened his lips and laid a wet kiss halfway up her inner thigh. His tongue darted out, truly tasting her. A shiver ran up her body.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he rumbled against her skin.

The warm cloth returned, moving higher.

She closed her eyes again, giving in to sensation, concentrating on the feeling of the damp cloth moving slowly over her skin and of his lips following. Her chemise slid higher up her leg.

The cloth moved to the apex of her thighs, the heat covering her most sensitive spots. Reflexively, she started to close her thighs.

“Don’t move.” His voice echoed about the small cabin.

Instantly, she froze.

He rewarded her with a kiss almost at the top of her thigh. It was hard to be still. She tried counting backward, tried naming every river that she knew, in alphabetical order, tried thinking of puppies and kittens—or even new gowns. Nothing worked. The ache that grew in her belly was becoming impossible. All she wanted was to press herself closer, to move his touch closer—closer to that spot he’d stroked yesterday morning, that spot she’d always pretended she didn’t know, but couldn’t help rubbing against. Her clit, he’d called it.

James dipped the cloth in the water again, and then held it to her.

Air whooshed out of her lungs. The water almost burned, or perhaps that was her. It was hard to tell.

And then he began to rub the cloth back and forth, again and again, and none of it mattered. All she could think of was the feeling between her legs and the ever-growing tightness of her breasts.

She opened her eyes and glanced down. Her breath caught at the image presented there. The dark hair, the ends bleached by sunlight. The broad shoulders straining against the linen shirt. The suntanned hands moving with purpose—her own legs so pale beside them.

Her fingers curled with the desire to stroke his hair, to tangle her fingers in it. But he’d told her not to move and so she resisted, tightening them again on the edge of the chair’s seat.

As if sensing her appraisal, James looked up. His eyes met hers and although she would have sworn that not a feature shifted, again she could feel that gleeful grin. Holding her gaze, he bent forward and pressed a kiss to her thigh, just below the edge of her chemise. His long fingers brushed the off-white linen and pushed it higher, only an inch or two, but it was enough. Another kiss. She could feel the warmth of his breath upon her leg. Another inch. He kissed the other thigh. She swallowed, her mouth having gone dry. Another inch. Any farther and she’d be exposed, completely exposed. Although he could probably see everything anyway if he shifted his gaze away from her face.

The thought made her both nervous and excited. She’d never felt so exposed, never thought she’d want to, but there was a certain thrill to knowing that if his eyes moved even the slightest they would see her every secret.

Still watching her—did he notice the blush heating her cheeks?—James pushed her chemise higher, until she could see the dark edge of her own curls. He placed a hand on each of her thighs, his thumbs stroking toward dangerous territory. He bent forward slightly and blew, the air of his breath warming and chilling in the same moment. It was impossible to hold back the shudder that took her as image and feeling combined, the strong man kneeling before her, the gentlest kiss of air.

His thumbs swept farther up her leg.

“You’re damp,” he said. “And not from washing.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss on that most delicate spot at the top of her leg. “Are you having dirty thoughts, my sweet Sin? Do you need to be washed clean? Ah, I see the answer on your face. You know there’s only one way to clean such a spot don’t you? Water will not do.”

Her breath caught. She knew he’d talked about such a thing, but still it seemed hard to believe that he actually meant to…to put his mouth there.

He laid a kiss at the top of her other leg. This time his tongue slipped out, licking and tasting; its point hard and firm.

God, that felt unbelievable, so very unbelievable.

Her head fell back as the pleasure took her, but she jerked it forward, wanting to watch.

A chuckle escaped him. “A bit of the voyeur, are you?”

She wanted to argue that she was merely curious. How was she ever to learn if she didn’t see what he did? But she kept her tongue, holding to his desire for her silence.

He smiled his approval, as if sensing her inner debate.

And then his lips found her flesh again, the tongue laving and savoring as it moved closer to her core. When it first stroked over that special spot, her hips jerked upon the chair. He pulled back his head, his eyes still holding hers. His hands, which still lay atop her thighs, pressed down, holding her still. Once she’d settled, his hands moved slightly so that the thumbs could part her lower lips, hold her open to him.

His eyes finally dropped from hers then and she was glad, glad he could not see the discomfort that marked her face, the embarrassment. She wanted this; that could not be denied, but still it was moving her into a world where she had never been.

“So pretty,” he whispered. “So pretty and pink. So ready for me, needy for me.” His breath whispered over her flesh, causing her to shiver. He leaned forward and laid a soft kiss upon her—right there. He glanced up, grinned once again, and then bent to his task.

It was all she could do not to moan. She’d never felt such a thing, never dreamed such a thing. Her whole body was sensation. The feeling was centered there, under his eager lips and tongue, but from there it sped outward until her entire body was one ache, one growing need.

His thumbs moved slightly, opening her farther. The sight of his head caught between her legs almost undid her, far beyond even her wildest imaginings. Her fingers dug into the edge of the chair. The sharp corner ate into her palm.

His tongue kept working, lapping until she ached. Her thighs tensed, muscles straining.

She could feel the need growing within her, the desire for release, just as it had the previous morning. More. More. She needed more.

He caught that spot, her clit, between his teeth, not biting, but tugging.

She couldn’t take any more. It was too much.

A finger stroked her, moving over her entrance again…and again.

And then it was in her. Her entire being froze, waiting for the pain.

It did not come, and as the finger started to move, the ache grew again.

Her thighs lifted from the chair, pressing her against him. There was no help for it.

“Easy, girl. Easy.”

There was no way. The wave approached. She could feel it coming. The pleasure so intense it was unbearable—and then she broke, coming apart, flying into a million pieces and then returning, her whole body limp.

Had it been like that before? It was hard to be sure. She’d remembered it as wonderful before the pain, but that—that, just now, had been more than she had ever thought possible, had known her body was capable of.

James’s tongue ran over her again and again. Her body jumped, the feelings too intense for words. She wanted to push him away, wanted to tell him that she couldn’t take any more, that she was already beyond the end of her endurance, but then his mouth gentled. His lips still moved over her but the feeling was light and soothing, helping to ease her back into the world.

Finally, the moment came when she could lift her head and stare back down at him. She hadn’t even been aware when she’d stopped looking.

Sensing her regard, he moved to examine her. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction and pride. “Should we do that again?”

Surely that wasn’t possible. She didn’t think she’d be moving a single muscle anytime in the next week or two. Although…A new ache began between her legs as she considered the possibilities.

“Or perhaps we should try something else.”

Something else? Her mind spun with possibilities.

He reached over and dunked the cloth into the water again. “I do have so much more of you to wash. And I think it’s time we rid you of your chemise. I do believe it and my shirt should be boiling away in the kettle if we ever hope to wear them again. Not that I think any of our clothing will pass inspection.”

He grabbed the hem of the linen and instructed her to raise her hips, rising fully to his knees as he did so. The thought seemed unthinkable. Her legs were not ready to move—and yet she complied, letting him pull the chemise off in a single movement.

She shuddered as it went over her head, not from cold—she was probably warmer without the damp cloth clinging to her—but from the feeling of exposure. The shutters of the window were partially open. Anybody would be free to glance in. Now, that was a ridiculous thought. The creek was still up and nobody but a bird could make it through. And if a bird saw her, she rather thought she would survive.

“Put your arms down,” James instructed.

She glanced down, surprised to see that her arms had risen to cover her breasts. With only slight trepidation she let them fall to her sides. If she could let him stare at her there, surely she could let him see her breasts. She’d always thought she had rather pretty breasts, full and round with light pink tips, not as large as some, but good-sized compared to most.

And from the way his eyes were fastened on them, he thought so, too.

“I love watching a blush move over your skin. You go from palest cream to the softest rose in a mere second.”

The blush darkened.

“And your nipples. I’ve always had a fondness for ones that are naturally light. It is so much fun to make them darken and redden. Even now they are growing darker as your desire blossoms.”

She glanced down again. He was right. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen them so deep in color—not that she spent a great deal of time staring at her own naked breasts.

He reached out a finger and touched one tip. A tingle spread through her.

“Sensitive, are you? Something else I like.”

Why did his praise warm her so much—and it wasn’t even about something she had any control over. She’d always thought it silly to be proud of one’s natural appearance. Only God could take credit for that.

“You’re letting your thoughts drift again.”

She supposed she was, but it was so easy to float and let her mind go where it may.

His finger stroked her nipple again and then he caught it between his thumb and forefinger. “Do I need to force you to pay attention?” He gave a sudden pinch.

“Ouch.” The word shot from her lips, although in truth it had not hurt much at all, but it had certainly been attention-getting.

He held a finger to her lips.

It was so hard to be quiet and she didn’t quite understand why it was necessary. Still, she complied.

He released her nipple, then as he moved to stand, he lay a sweet kiss upon it.

He stretched as he stood above her, reminding her just how tall he was. She’d never considered herself a small woman, but next to him she was positively delicate.

Twisting slightly from side to side, he pulled the shirt off over his head.

Her gaze fixed on his broad chest and the smattering of dark hairs that spread across it. Had she felt it rub against her the other morning? What would those hairs feel like as they brushed across her breasts?

“I would reproach you for letting your mind begin to wander, but given the way your eyes are darkening I would be pleased with your thoughts. Still, you should keep your mind and your attention on me.”

But her mind was on him.

He bent and wet the cloth again. “The water has cooled some, but I think it is still warm enough.” He lifted it to her face and began to rinse her with care. Her eyelids closed as it passed over them. “Stand, please.”

She did, still wondering if her legs would hold her.

Keeping his focus on her face, he leaned closer. He moved on to her ears. Her neck. Her shoulders. Down one arm and then the other. He paid particular attention to her hands, massaging them firmly. He stepped behind her and pressed her forward and began to wash her back, his hands moving lower and lower.