Desire (Notorious 3)

“You’re bleeding,” a concerned voice said behind her.

“I am fine.”

When she tried to hobble toward her clothing, though, she suddenly felt herself being swept up in a pair of strong arms.

Brynn gasped in shock.

“How dare you… Put me down!” she demanded, and tried to break free, but her struggles were in vain. Not only was Wycliff tall and lithe but surprisingly muscular as well-and altogether too domineering for her taste, both in manner and tone of voice.

“Be still,” he ordered. “I only want to see to your wound.”

He carried her as if she weighed no more than thistledown and lifted her up onto a boulder so that she sat facing him, her knees level with his broad chest.

Brynn glared repressingly at him, but he only flashed her a wicked smile. When his gaze flickered over her bosom, she realized that her towel had come loose and clutched at it wildly, covering her indecently exposed breasts. There was nothing she could do, however, to hide her legs, which were bare to the knees.

At last he turned his attention to her left foot. He cradled it gently in his elegant hands, turning it slightly to inspect the bloody cut on the underside. His touch was careful as he brushed away sand and probed the wound with his thumb.

“It doesn’t appear to be too deep,” he murmured.

“I told you, my lord, I am perfectly all right. And I don’t appreciate you accosting me.”

Instead of answering, Lord Wycliff began pulling the hem of his shirt from the waistband of his breeches.

Brynn’s eyes widened in alarm. “What are you doing?”

“Tearing a strip off my shirt to bind your wound. I haven’t any bandages with me at present, or even a handkerchief.”

It was a costly shirt, made of the finest cambric, she noted, the price of which would have fed a commoner’s family for weeks. But the Earl of Wycliff was reportedly wealthy enough to destroy a dozen such garments without thinking twice.

“You will ruin your shirt,” Brynn protested weakly.

That charming half smile flashed again. “But my sacrifice is for a good cause.”

He ripped the fabric at the bottom and tore off part of the hem, then began to bandage her foot.

Biting her lip, Brynn stared down at his dark head as he bent over her. His nearness was affecting her strangely, making her senses swim and her heartbeat quicken ridiculously. His thick, curling hair was deepest brown, the rich color of dark chocolate, and she could smell his clean masculine scent over the pungent brine from the sea.

He seemed intimately aware of her as well, for his touch was lingering and provocative as he bound her foot. After he tied a neat knot over her arch, he went still. When he looked up suddenly, his sapphire eyes had darkened.

Brynn froze. Sweet heaven. She had seen that look before in men’s eyes. Want, need, primitive male lust. She was sitting there, wet and bedraggled as a drowned cat, and yet this handsome stranger was looking at her as if she was the most bewitching woman he had ever encountered.

It was the Gypsy’s curse again, Brynn thought with a sinking heart. The powerful Romany spell that had made men go wild for the females in her family for nearly two hundred years. And she was alone with this wicked lord, wearing scarcely a stitch of clothing.

She shivered, despite the warmth of the sun beating down on her wet head.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice suddenly husky.

“No… I told you I am quite all right. Or I would be if you would go away and leave me in peace.”

“It would hardly be chivalrous of me to leave you in this condition. You’re injured.”

“I will manage well enough.”

“You can’t mean to walk home, siren. Where do you live? I’ll carry you.”

Brynn hesitated. She couldn’t possibly allow him to carry her. She couldn’t be seen alone with a nobleman of his notorious ilk, especially while in this state of undress. Even if she were to don her gown- which was one of her oldest- appearing in public in his arms was sure to cause a scandal. Simply divulging her identity to him would be courting trouble.

If he would just leave her, she could return home through the cave, which was connected by a narrow passageway to her family home on the cliff top.