Page 73 of Bride of Fire
When she turned to face Morgan, she saw gratitude in his eyes.
She saw something else as well.
Attraction. And speculation.
Perhaps Feiyan was right. Perhaps Jenefer didn’t have the skills to seduce a man. Perhaps she couldn’t tempt the Highlander.
But she could maneuver him. She could make herself seem indispensible to his son. And she believed she’d just planted that seed.
“He should sleep well now,” she whispered, “at least until Bethac returns.”
He nodded.
She gazed at the oversized tub surrounded by candles. Was that water actually steaming?
Jenefer rarely got a hot bath. And never one in such an enormous tub. Water took so long to heat, and the tubs at home were pitifully small. Thanks to a good measure of Viking blood, she’d grown accustomed to bathing in the loch most of the year. Still, that warm, fragrant, spacious bath looked inviting indeed.
She looked away to feast her eyes on the handsome warrior one last time. Then she smiled and swept her arm toward his luxurious, linen-lined tub. “Enjoy the rest of your bath.”
Chapter 36
There was no way Morgan was getting back in that tub.
Not while Jenefer was here.
Not in his present state.
While she’d been busy allaying his bairn’s woes, he’d watched her with growing interest and admiration. And to his dismay, that interest had begun to manifest in a conspicuous way beneath his targe of thin linen.
No matter what his brain told him, at least part of him quite clearly wanted the lass to remain here with him.
He cleared his throat, deciding, “I’m done bathin’.”
She cocked her head. “Are you sure?”
“Aye.”
“You can’t have spent more than a few moments in the tub,” she argued. “’Tis still steaming.”
Morgan wished she’d leave. “’Twas enough.”
When she made no immediate move to depart, he stood up, carefully clasping his hands before him to cover his arousal.
She shrugged. “Well, if you’re sure you’re done with it…”
“I am.” He turned away to collect his clothing, hoping she’d be headed for the door when he turned back. “Thank ye for comin’ to tend to the bairn.” He scanned the bed, trying to locate his trews and leine. “I hope ’twasn’t too much trouble.” Where the hell was his cotun? “He seems to cry at all hours o’ the…”
Suddenly he remembered Bethac had taken his clothing, promising to bring him a fresh leine and trews. He had nothing to wear but the scrap of linen tied around his hips.
“…night.” He grimaced. “Good night then,” he improvised, turning to bid her farewell.
But the bold lass apparently had her own ideas about that. She’d slipped out of her surcoat and flung it to the floor. Now she was kicking off her boots and wriggling out of her kirtle.
“What are ye…” he choked out.
“’Tis a shame to let good hot water go to waste,” she said.
Before he could take a breath or turn away, she pulled the kirtle over her head and tossed it on top of her discarded surcoat.
