Page 63 of Hexbound
Juggling the towels in his arms, he'd paused to rap on the half-cracked door, when water shifted, as if someone stirred their hand through it. Through the inch-wide slit in the door, he caught a hint of movement. "Verity?"
"Yes?"
Bishop shoved the door open with his shoulder and strode inside. "I brought you some towe—"
He froze.
Verity glanced up from the bath, the tips of her knees peeping through a froth of bubbles and her arms resting along the edges of the porcelain tub. Tendrils of wet hair curled over her bare shoulders, though the rest of it was knotted on top of her head to keep it dry. The upper slopes of her breasts gleamed wetly as her breath caught.
"You..."are naked, supplied the very helpful part of his brain that could still function. He slammed his eyes shut, but the image of her was painted on the insides of his eyeballs. "Why the hell didn't you warn me?"
"I forget how prudish you are." Humor warmed her voice and water stirred as she splashed. "I'm all covered up, Bishop. All of these bubbles...." The way her voice dropped, all smoky and hot, shivered through him. "You won't see a thing, I promise."
Too late for that. "This is indecent."
Turning around, he blindly reached for the vanity, groping nothing but air.
Water swirled, as though she stirred her legs through it. "You barely batted an eyelid when you were in the bath," she pointed out.
"That was different." His hand found the counter and he set the towels down. "I was distracted with other problems at the time. I'll... get supper warmed."
"You could stay. Maybe wash my back?"
"That would be highly inappropriate." He headed for the door, but caught a glimpse of her in the mirror.
Verity laughed as their eyes met, and reached for the soap, her breasts—
Bishop slammed out of the room, pressing his back to the wall and shoving his closed fists against his eyes. Hell. He couldn't unsee it, however. Verity. Naked. All smooth, gleaming skin covered in suds, with her damp hair gathered up in a knot on top of her head, tendrils falling around her bare shoulders.
She was enough to drive any man to distraction.
Damn her.
His cock surged against the tented pants of his trousers, and he looked down in disgust, as if it had betrayed him.
Might as well fix that map table after supper. Maybe play a round of billiards with himself. There would be no sleep for him, after all.
Not tonight.
Verity foundhim in the billiards room, setting up impossible shots as he prowled around the table. It wasn't difficult to track him; the cracking ricochet of balls had lured her all the way from her bedroom.
What she had expected, however, was to catch him unawares, as she'd been tiptoeing so carefully, trying to avoid the squeaky timbers she'd begun to identify in the house.
"Are you going to hover out there all night?" Bishop called, bending over the table and hammering a red ball into the far pocket. "Or is there something in particular that you want?"
Caught. Verity slipped into the room, smiling faintly. His lack of composure in her bathing chamber earlier had surprised her. You'd have thought she'd offered to lie with him right then and there. How could a man so dangerous seem so flustered at times?
"How do you always know where I am in the house?" She sniffed her sleeve. "I'm not wearing any perfume, and I'm as silent as a mouse when I want to be."
"You've walked through four of my wards to get here," he replied, darting a glance at her, freezing, and then turning back to the table in a very deliberate action.
Apparently, Bishop approved of the pretty green gown that Marie had sent around for her. Hiding a smile, Verity circled the table, rolling the green ball that he was intent on setting up beneath her palm.
Bent over the table, Bishop narrowed an intense glare upon her. "Do you mind?"
Holding her hands in the air, Verity gave him her most innocent look. "Not at all."
A crack sounded, and the white ball smashed the green into the side pocket. The move was ruthlessly efficient, Bishop standing and prowling around the corner of the table with the cue in his hands like a weapon. He'd never looked more like an assassin.
