Page 36 of Never Kiss a Scot
She nodded, her body still humming with the excitement of what had almost happened. She turned her back on him and began to undress. She’d worn a gown that buttoned down the front, and her stays were a little loose, so she could undo them herself if necessary.
Brock worked on the fire, keeping his back to her until she’d slipped completely naked into the tub. She dipped her head below the surface, scrubbing her hair. When she surfaced, Brock was still on the opposite side of the room, but she saw he’d left a bottle of rose oil by the tub. He must have found it in her bag and put it there in case she wanted it.
For a Highland brute, he was strangely caring and thoughtful. She lifted the rose oil to her nose and breathed in the sweet floral scent, not too strong, not too weak. Perfect. Just like him.
Everyone is wrong about him. But not me. I know what kind of man I married.
13
“Do you wish to bathe, Brock?” she asked. “The water is still warm.” She had taken care to wash quickly so he could have warm water if he wanted it. She already dreaded getting out, knowing her damp skin would turn cold. She’d soon be able to put on a dressing gown and perhaps feel the heat of her husband’s body when he held her against him.
Brock’s eyes locked on hers as he picked up her dressing gown and came over. Her senses came alive as she realized she was about to stand up from the bathtub completely naked before him.
“Er…yes. Thank you,” he replied. He held the gown for her and then turned his head. She climbed out of the tub and slipped into the gown, then moved around him carefully, toward the heat of the fire and away from the very different heat between them. As she started to comb through her hair, she listened for his every movement, keeping her face turned away out of respect for the privacy he’d shown her. But oh how she longed to have a peek.
He splashed around a bit, and she smiled when she heard him humming a song to himself. Her husband liked music. She bit her lip, trying to contain a giddy laugh. It would take a while still for her to become accustomed to being married.
He belongs to me, and I to him.The thought was a welcome one, however strange it seemed. She finished combing her hair and then spoke.
“Where is your dressing gown? I shall fetch it for you.”
“In the large bag by the door. ’Tis dark red,” he said.
She carefully dug through his clothing, feeling strangely excited about touching the soft buckskin trousers, the embroidered waistcoats and even his stockings. She almost giggled at the silly thought that she was fetching her husband’s clothes, such a domestic, intimate task. Joanna soon found it and lifted the heavy red dressing gown out of the bag.
She turned back to him and stopped, frozen in place. She did her best not to stare, but he was so tall that he was almost folded in half in the small tub. His long, muscular legs stuck out of the water where he bent his knees like two mountainous islands. Unable to stop herself, her eyes moved over the rest of him. His chest was smooth except for a patch of dark hair that covered the center. She gazed at him, fascinated. She had known that men were different than women, but to see it so clearly, knowing that Brock was her husband, that his body was hers to explore… She swallowed hard as she realized the same was true for him. He could look his fill of her and explore her body just as well.
A flash of fear filled her. He had said he would be gentle, but she had heard that being with a man could hurt, and that men often took their pleasure sooner than women and left the bed the moment they were done. She had heard such whispers over the years, sometimes having to read between the lines of such talk.
What would Brock be like in bed? Would he use her, even gently so, and then abandon her? Surely he wouldn’t. They had one bed to share, at least here. What would happen when they reached his castle? For the first time since she had left home, she was assailed with doubts.
“Are you all right?” Brock asked. His eyes had widened with concern.
“Yes.” She set his dressing gown by the tub and fled to her chair by the fire. There was another knock on the door, and she stiffened.
“It will be the lad with food. My coin purse is by the washbasin. Can you give him a shilling, love?” Brock asked. Joanna averted her gaze and hastily opened the door, just enough to take the tray of food and bottle of wine and glasses before she handed the boy his money. The lad smirked when he saw her clutch her dressing gown closed at her neck. She scowled at him to send him running.
Brock splashed behind her, getting up, as she placed the food by the fireplace. Her hands jangled the tray as the image of him standing there naked and glorious just behind her overpowered her good sense. Lord, she could almost picture it, the water dripping down his muscular body, but she didn’t dare look. Not yet.
“Brock, would you like a late luncheon now or…” She swallowed hard and tried to rearrange the plates on the tray, her fingers clumsy and her skin hot.
Then she felt him right behind her, the heat of his body close against her barely clothed skin. “Aye. We should eat a bit before…” Brock cleared his throat but didn’t finish.
“Yes,” she agreed, her body shaking. “Oh!” She knocked over the bottle of wine on the table, but he reached around her, catching it before it could fall. His clean male scent enveloped her, and she wanted to purr like a contented cat.
“Easy, lass, I know you’re a wee bit nervous. Allow me.” He moved beside her and poured the wine into two glasses. Joanna was envious of how calm he seemed to be, his hands steady whilst hers wouldn’t stop shaking. She took a seat in the chair while they split the food between them. She was too nervous to be truly hungry, but she needed to eat or else she would be too faint to deal with what would come next.
They ate in silence, and Joanna poured herself a second glass of wine, drinking it hastily. Brock watched but said nothing. Still, she felt compelled to explain.
“I’m sorry. I just want to be calmer before we…” How silly she must look, stammering and shaking like a bloody virgin. Well, she was one, but she wanted to appear more worldly, more self-assured for him, and she was letting herself down.
“It’s all right, Joanna. We dinna have to do this now if you dinna wish to—”
“Yes, we do. Ashton could arrive at any moment, and I don’t want him to have a reason to annul our marriage.” She paused, summoning her courage to tell him the truth. “And I do want to be with you. It’s merely unnerving to think of one’s first time. I know so little about all of this. Mama never spoke to me, and my older sister, Thomasina, was busy raising children and having a life of her own. Rafe and Ashton were simply out of the question when it came to getting answers.” She hoped he wouldn’t find her silly.
Brock laughed, the rich sound putting her at ease. “I can only imagine, lass. Rafe would tell you far too much, and Ashton would tell you nothing at all.”
“Exactly,” she said, joining in with a chuckle. But he looked at her more seriously then.
