Page 71 of If the Slipper Fits
“Caden, what are you doing here?” she squeaked.
He pushed the meal cart into the room, deposited his trunk and coat inside, and closed the door with a kick of his boot, helpless to staunch the smile curving his lips.
She stared at him, cheeks glistening, her dark, wet hair fanning over the water behind her like a sea nymph’s.
Everything in him wanted to peel out of his clothes and climb into the fragrant bath with her. His smile faded as he imagined the feel of her. Skin slick and warm, every curve and hollow bared to his touch. His cock went ramrod hard and he thanked the stars she’d turned down the lamps.
“Well?” Water splashed as her hands emerged, spreading wide.
“The arrival of another patron forced the innkeeper to get creative in her chamber designations.”
Her fine brows puckered and the water rippled around her shoulders. “Meaning?”
“There’s one room to be had. We’re sharing.”
“That’s hardly proper.”
“My dear sister, I think we can manage for one night.” He sounded as if he meant it. Impressive. “You don’t mind if I eat? I’m starved.”
She humphed and turned her back on him with dramatic zeal.
He rolled the cart toward the chair near the window. It was uncomfortably cool on this side of the room, but it put him as far from Anna as possible. He still had an unobstructed view of her in that damn tub.
She shifted again, keeping her back to him, and sat up taller in the tub. She twined her hair on the top of her head, exposing the graceful column of her neck. Her skin glowed in the firelight. Rivulets of water streamed down her nape and the center of her back, and, he could only imagine, over her breasts.
He tore his gaze off her and lifted one dish cover to reveal still steaming beef stew, crusty bread, and a chunk of hard cheese.
The meal didn’t look half bad. He pulled the stopper from the carafe and splashed some wine into one of the goblets.
He sipped. Forked up a bite.
Heard more splashing. Breathed in more of Anna’s elegant scent.
He’d thought it fresh by the window? The room was too bloody warm by half. With one crook of his finger he unknotted his cravat and whipped it across the room to land near the door.
“What was that?” she demanded.
“I’m sure I have no idea.” He ripped off a piece of bread and swiped up stew. “You might as well tell me your story tonight since we’re both here. In this room. Together.”
His gaze found its way back to her. He shoved the stew-sopped bread into his mouth.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You sound very strange.”
“It’s been a very strange night.”
She was quiet a long minute. “You mentioned a family emergency called you away from the Fenton’s party?”
“The earl’s taken ill.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Nothing serious, I hope?”
He growled in frustration. “I don’t know. Your story?”
She scrunched low in the water and shimmied ‘round to face him. “I’m not sure where to start.”
“That’s easy. Start at the beginning.”
***
