Page 34 of The Earl Takes All
“No need. I shan’t be long. I’m as hungry as I am cold.” He folded a hand over her shoulder. “I’ll join you for dinner shortly.”
“I’ll be waiting.” Always she would wait for him.
Watching him trudge up the stairs, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that she might have lost him tonight, that tragedy seemed to take delight in visiting this family.
Witha shudder of pleasure, Edward sank into the steaming water. He would have preferred sinking into Julia, which was the very reason that he forced himself to decline her invitation to assist him. His passions were on a short tether.
During each grueling step, he had envisioned her face, her smile, her soft voice urging him forward. When he had opened the door and seen her standing there, seen the relief, the joy wreathing her features, everything he felt for her that he had spent years denying—burying beneath caustic remarks and asinine behavior, drowning in drink—burst forth like a volcano spewing ash and lava. And just as the molten magma covered everything near it, so he had wanted to envelop her, to take true possession, complete possession.
Julia wouldn’t have denied him, would have given him anything he asked. He saw it in the glittering of her eyes. But she would have thought she was giving it to Albert. Her joy at his return wasn’t truly for him. And that knowledge had chilled him more than the winds and snow blowing beyond the walls. But it didn’t lessen his desire for her, and that was the damnable problem.
He heard the door click quietly open. “I’m not yet ready for you, Marlow.”
“How lucky you are then that I’m not he.”
Pushing himself up from his lounging position, causing the water to ripple around him, he glanced back over his shoulder to see Julia standing there, holding a glass.
She smiled sweetly. “I thought you might like some scotch.”
“You’re a godsend.” He held out his hand, fully expecting her to give him the glass and depart.
Instead she came around and knelt beside the tub before extending the glass to him. He took a healthy swallow, savoring the heat that settled deep within him. He cast her a sideways glance. “I shan’t be much longer.”
“I’d like to wash your back.”
“It’s not necessary.”
She took a cloth and the soap from a nearby stand, dipped them in the water, and began to rub them together. “I want to.”
“Julia—”
She arched a brow. “You know better than to argue with me when my mind is set.”
He knew nothing at all, except that it was very unwise for her touch him when his mind had careened into lascivious thoughts during his trek in order to keep his legs moving forward. Another swallow of scotch, larger than the one he’d taken before. Steeling himself, he placed his elbows on his upraised knees, allowing his back to curve slightly. “Do your worst.”
The light tinkling of her laughter echoed through the room as she moved behind him. “I’ve long wanted to do this,” she said as she placed both her hands on either side of his spine.
What had become of the bloody cloth?
Then another thought dawned. She’d never done this for his brother. He tossed back what remained of the scotch, clutched the glass in fingers that wanted to reach back and bring her forward, cradle her face, kiss her. Do something to distract himself from the light press of her palms as they glided down his back, up and over his shoulders. God, but it felt marvelous.
“Whose wagon got stuck in the mud?” she asked.
How was he supposed to think with her fingers dancing over his skin? “Beckett, I think. Yes, Beckett.”
Why did his voice sound as though he was strangling? Perhaps because he was having a devil of a time drawing in air.
“Am I hurting you?” she asked.
“God, no.”
“Should I stop?”
Yes, yes, please in the name of all that is holy...
“No.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Unless you want to.”
“I don’t. It’s as lovely as I thought it would be, the water and soap creating a slickness as my hands glide over your skin.”
