Page 39 of Never Tempt a Scot
“Jackson ...” She found herself smiling. “Then you must call me Jane. We seem to be bound in this quest, so it is only fitting.”
“Indeed. Well, I shall bid you good night.” Jackson slowly stepped back and made a formal bow as she slipped into her room.
She closed the door, leaning back against it, her heart racing. It had been far too long since she had felt like a young woman. Far too long indeed.
10
Lydia was still not used to waking up next to a huge, muscled body, oranybody, for that matter. The feel of Brodie behind her, one arm resting under her breast, made her body tense, though not necessarily in the ways she would have imagined. She was thankful that a layer of fabric, however thin, lay between his long, elegant fingers and her bare skin.
She began to carefully peel his fingers off her breast. With the last finger freed, she slowly moved his hand back to his own body. He suddenly sighed and shifted, placing his hand on her hip as he found a new position.
Blast the man!
She had a desperate need to use the chamber pot, and he wouldn’t release his hold on her. There was nothing for it but to speak to him.
“Mr. Kincade, if you please, I need to use the chamber pot.” She pinched his arm and repeated her demand when he still showed no signs of responding.
After the third time, Brodie groaned dramatically and rolled over.
“Fine, go,” he grumbled.
She scrambled from the bed and had just crouched over the pot when she realized he would hear her.
“Could ... Could you leave the room for a minute?” she asked.
He started to sit up, and she dropped her chemise back down to cover her legs. “Leave the room?”
“I can’t go when you’relistening.”
He started to laugh but then choked down the sound. “I was sleeping, lass, not listening.”
“Well, you’re awake now.”
“I dinna care if you fill the pot and the vase on the dresser. Just go and be done with it.”
“Now I truly can’t go with you here,” she almost growled in frustration.
“I willna leave the room,” Brodie’s tone was just as gruff. “Go or not, ’tis your choice.”
Lydia glowered at him, not that he could see her. She needed so badly to go, but she couldn’t go as long as he was here. Tears pricked her eyes. Never had anyone made her feel so weak or helpless before.
“Fine. I’ll sing for you, lass. I swear, I willna be able to hear a thing.”
He then broke into a Scottish ballad as he rolled onto his side facing away from her. He even chuckled at his own bawdy lyrics, not that Lydia understood them, such was the heavy brogue he used in the song. Soon Lydia relaxed, and she was able to see to her needs and then wash up on the washstand. Only when she was done did his voice die away.
“You have a lovely singing voice, Mr. Kincade,” she said, trying to fill the silence. When she looked toward the bed through the reflection of the mirror on the washstand, she saw that he was watching her again. He was propped up on one elbow, his gray-blue eyes drifting over her body.
“I’m no songbird, not like my brother Aiden. He sings to his wee beasties when he thinks no one is around.”
“His wee beasties?” Lydia retrieved her wrap and covered her shoulders—and especially her breasts—as best she could. She’d never been concerned about the thinness of her chemises before, but then, she’d never been so close to a man in what she was now convinced was the thinnest fabric ever created.
“Aye. He has an affinity with animals. Ever since he was a wee tyke, he’s been able to gain any animal’s trust and companionship.”
“What sort of animals do you mean?” Lydia drew closer to the bed and sat down on the edge closest to him.
“Well, he has a badger. That one tends to sleep in Joanna’s bedroom, which is fine with her, since she and Brock always share his bed.”
Lydia flushed at the mention of her friend sharing a bed with a man, even if that man was her husband.
