Page 98 of Laird of Flint
“To think I’ve been wasting it on oatcakes.”
She smiled and glanced up at him.
He was gazing out the window now. The light caught his face, making his eyes shine like silver and highlighting his chiseled jaw and supple lips.
She shivered with anticipation. She needed to finish the task of dressing his hand so she could begin the next task. Relieving some of her strain with a kiss as sweet as honey-butter.
Wrapping his hand again was a delicate operation. It was made even more difficult when she realized, kneeling before him, her eyes were at the level of his…
She gulped. She couldn’t even think the word. She certainly wasn’t going to stare at it.
Except she did.
There was nothing to see. Not really. He was fully clothed. His leine hung between his knees. And even if it hadn’t, his trews surely covered everything.
Still, there was something forbidden and thrilling about stealing glances without his knowledge.
Chapter 18
Carenza was staring at his crotch.
She probably assumed he couldn’t tell. But her gaze might as well have been a caress, the way it was affecting him. And her distraction became glaringly obvious, especially when she began wrapping the linen in a spiral up his wrist.
Part of him was amused. Nothing was more engaging than a woman interested in his body. Her curiosity was endearing and arousing. But part was afraid the change in him as he swelled with desire would show through his braies and trews and leine to horrify them both.
He had to distract her before he shamed himself and she wrapped the linen halfway up his arm.
“Are you planning to bury me?” he asked.
She started. “What?”
He raised his brows and looked pointedly at her linen handiwork. “’Tis beginning to look like a shroud.”
“Och.”
Flustered, she turned the loveliest shade of pink as she quickly reversed the winding and tied off the linen around his palm. Then, without a glance, she gathered her things and returned the basin to its place.
He couldn’t help but be charmed by her blushing naivete. And he fearedthat—more than her beautiful face and her delectable curves and the lust in her eyes—was going to make her hard to resist. Like an exquisite itch he was forbidden to scratch.
Which reminded him… Now that his arms were healing, the itch was unbearable. He started sliding his leine sleeve back and forth along his arm to rub away the tingling.
“Does it itch?” she asked.
He nodded.
“’Tis good news. That means ’tis healin’.”
He knew that. He was a warrior. He’d suffered countless wounds. Nonetheless, he replied, “Does it?”
“Aye, but ye shouldn’t scratch it like that.”
He knew that too. But it never stopped him.
“Here. Let me…” She started toward him, then changed her mind. “If ye’d remove your leine, I have some oil here that might help.” She wheeled about and started searching through several vials of oils on the table.
Hew hesitated. Removing his clothing was a bad idea. They were alone. It was one less layer between them. And he was well aware of the effect a naked chest had on women.
But he couldn’t think of an excuse that wouldn’t make things more awkward. Besides, it was a weak man who couldn’t control himself, just because he was missing an article of clothing or two. So without ceremony or fuss, he pulled the leine over his head and draped it over the chair beside him.
