Untouched

A thorough wash removed the traces of copulation from her skin. Nothing removed the leaden weight from her heart, or soothed the ocean of thwarted desire churning in her belly.

She drew the flannel between her legs. She was tender there, although he hadn’t hurt her. It was a long time since she’d taken a man into her body, and never a man so well endowed. Aches she’d never felt before lingered.

With a stifled sigh, she rinsed the soap off and threw the dirty water into the slops jar.

“Are you going to hide all night, Grace?” he asked softly. She hadn’t heard him move so she guessed he still lounged on the bed like a sultan awaiting his favorite houri.

He was right. She couldn’t skulk behind the dressing screen the rest of her life. She had to face him sometime. She just wished she had something more substantial than the cobweb-thin nightdress to wear.

“Grace? Have you drowned in the wash basin? Should I rush to your rescue?”

The lovely undercurrent of amusement in his question sent a traitorous rustle up her spine. She’d have thought her unenthusiastic response to his lovemaking would wound his masculine vanity. But he seemed in high good humor.

“No, I’m coming.” Her voice was muffled in the folds of the nightdress as she dragged it over her head.

He’d just been inside her. Modesty was out of place. Still she folded her arms protectively across her front as she emerged from behind the screen. Thankfully, for her peace of mind, he’d drawn the sheet up to his waist. He’d heaped the pillows high and he lay on his back with his hands linked behind his head. Against her will, her eyes focused on his naked chest, tracing the subtle play of muscle and bone under the smooth, lightly furred skin.

That couldn’t be desire stirring, could it? Not after tonight’s fiasco, surely. That would be impossible.

His eyes sharpened on her as she stepped closer. “Come back to bed, Grace.”

His deep voice curled around her, warmer and more inviting than a fire on a wet winter afternoon. She shivered and planted her feet on the richly patterned Turkish rug in the middle of the room.

“I suppose you want to do it again,” she said flatly.

She hardly needed to ask. The gleam in his eyes was confirmation enough.

“Yes, I do.” He shifted across and folded the sheet back for her. “This time I want you to enjoy it too.”

“Women don’t enjoy sex.” Then an admission she’d never made to a living soul. The occasion required honesty, not face-saving bravado. “At least I never have.”

“Perhaps you’ve never had the right lover.”

She’d been wrong. He was indeed as vain as any other man. Old cynicism forced its way upward. “And you’re that right lover?”

Her sarcasm was petty but something in her cried out for a shouting match. Perhaps the persistent, provoking itch between her legs.

“I ask your forgiveness.” Shamed color marked his cheekbones. “The experience was overwhelming in a way I hadn’t expected.”

She blushed too, remembering when he’d thundered into her like an emperor conquering a rebel city. No mistaking how lost he’d been to sheer physical sensation.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Her voice shook and those annoying tears prickled again. “It’s not your fault there’s…there’s something wrong with me.”

His eyes lit with understanding as he patted the space at his side. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect. Come back to bed and I’ll show you.”

“Said the spider to the fly,” she retorted without budging. She focused on that tanned, long-fingered hand moving upon the pure white of the sheet. The gentle stroking was astonishingly…suggestive. Another spark of unwilling desire fizzed through her.

He still stared at her. “You said you trust me, Grace. Is that true?”

Was it? She didn’t know anymore. She forced herself to give a stiff little nod. “Yes.”

“Then prove it. Come back to bed.”

Oh, why not? He’d take her again. She was more certain of that than that the sun would rise on the morrow. At least one of them would enjoy it.

Still, only with the greatest reluctance did she step forward and slip in beside him. “Should I take off my clothes?”

“Later,” he said gently. “I rushed you last time.”