Page 96 of Stealing Sophie
Leaning his head back, sighing, he closed his eyes.
She had forgottenher crystal necklace. Heading back to the kitchen, lantern in hand, Sophie remembered setting the fine silver chain and pendant aside while she had bathed briefly, just after Mary and Roderick had left. They had gone out to tend to the animals, and she had heard their voices in the yard not long ago, at the gate, just departing. Now she hurried through the corridor, wearing a voluminous dressing gown of rose damask, long and full-sleeved, over a clean cotton shift. Her feet were bare, the old stones cool beneath her toes.
Entering the dimly lit kitchen, the lantern casting light and shadow, she moved toward the tub, searching for the glimmer of silver. Hearing a splash, she startled, then saw a dark head and shoulders above the rim of the tub. Connor, thank the Lord.
“Oh! You are back. You are safe!” she burst out.
“Ah, Mrs. MacPherson. I am well,” he murmured, lifting his arms from the water to rest them along the rim of the tub, water sluicing, gleaming. She glimpsed the lean, wet skin of his chest, the dark hair that furrowed and arrowed downward, the heavily muscled arms and shoulders. Soaked to blackness, his wet hair curled to his shoulders.
“Come down to join me?”
“I had my bath,” she said. “I am just glad to see you home again.”
“I see your hair is wet. It looks like—dark gold,” he murmured, tilting his head.
She touched her hair at the compliment, her heart picking up its pace. He was a stunning vision there, wet and gleaming, rugged beauty. She had seen him nude before, had touched him in secret places, but now she felt shy, unsure whether to stay or go.
“I left my necklace. I came back to find it.” She looked about, then dropped to her knees to search. “But I do not see it.”
Connor stretched an arm over the side of the tub, fingers just touching the floor. His hand brushed the hem of her gown, her bare foot. He touched her leg briefly, a caress, his hand warm and damp.
“Where are Mary and Roderick?” She glanced around.
“I sent them home.”
“Ah.” Her heartbeat doubled. They were alone. Awareness of it plunged through her. And she was so deeply relieved to see him home and safe, she could hardly stop looking at him. In the ruddy light of the fire, he was all muscle, sinew, smooth gleam, with a sweep of dark hair over his chest, dark whiskers smudging his jaw. His cheeks were flushed, eyes bright, lips gentle now, curved in a smile as he watched her.
“What is it?” he murmured.
“You were gone such a long while. I was concerned. I had this strange feeling...that you might be hurt. But I see you are fine, and I am glad of it.”
“All in one piece,” he said, sinking into the water a little, leaning his head back. He sighed, and she heard a grind in it, a weariness.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
Eyes closed, he waved his fingers. “Tired.”
Sophie nodded, looked at the floor again, and saw a quick sparkle on the stone. Finding her necklace, she knelt to grab it, reaching to fasten the clasp, but her fingers were clumsy, oddly trembling.
“Let me,” Connor said, reaching out. She obeyed, pivoting on her knees, bending her head. His fingers were feathery at her neck, closing the little clasp. Then he rubbed her shoulders, a simple caress that felt like heaven. “Good?” he whispered.
“Aye,” she murmured. The craving she had learned with him rose again, asking for more of his touch. She turned, setting a hand on the edge of the tub.
“Ah, Sophie.” He took her hand, fingers wet, and kissed her fingers. “Dearest,” he said, and her heart bounded. “I need you.”
She leaned forward. “Aye?” she whispered.
Releasing her hand, he sat upward with a low groan. She looked down his strong and handsome body, and saw a dark swirl in the water, along his side, over his ribs.
“Oh, Connor!” She reached for him. He took her hand, held it away.
“It is nothing. But just now, it hurts like hell.” He glanced at her. “I meant to tend to it myself, but now that you are here—the bandages and salve are over there.”
“Let me see.” She leaned forward, and he lifted his arm.
The gash was not deep, but ugly enough to make her wince. Uglier still in contrast to the hard perfection of his lean, muscled torso. The wound split his skin just at the lower ribs. She dipped her hand into the water, resting her fingers on his chest.
The more she looked, the less alarming the sight. Her sleeve trailed in the water, but she did not care. “I knew it. I felt you were hurt, somehow. How did it happen?”
