Page 25 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
Once more he dropped beneath the water. This little prank or whatever the devil he wanted to call it was supposed to affect her, not him. It was madness. It was the water, the slickness that increased the intensity of the sensations. That was all.
The need rampaging through him had nothing at all to do with her, specifically.
So why the hell did he feel as though he were lying to himself?
Phee could hardly countenance that her legs had managed to carry her into the kitchen, where she practically fell into the chair, trembling and weak. At first she had been mesmerized by the dragon, the splendor of it spread across the broad expanse of his back, wings unfurled, fire licking at his side. The faded colors that she imagined had been quite brilliant when first applied: red, blue, green, yellow, various shades.
But then she had touched him and become fascinated with his velvety skin and the steel muscles beneath it. Had she ever caressed anything quite so firm, so utterly masculine?
She must have if one of her duties was to wash his back, but of course she had no memory of it and thatseemed almost a sin. To not recall the pleasure of stroking her fingers across the breadth of him, the length of him. She had wanted to move beyond his back and explore every inch of him, his chest especially. Feather her palms over the sprinkling of hair, press her fingers into the defined muscles. Touch to her heart’s content.
If she were not a maid, she suspected she might be a light-skirt. She came up short at the thought. Had she lived another life? Was that the reason she was out at night, the reason she ended up in the river?
Chuckling low, she buried her face in her hands. No, that did not suit at all. She knew that. That sort of wickedness was not she. And yet she could not seem to get the sight of his nakedness out of her mind. She quite relished it being there, quite enjoyed thoughts of examining it more closely.
She shoved herself out of the chair. He would be here any moment. He couldn’t find her in this state of want. She needed to prepare his dinner, something quick that would have him leaving as soon as possible. Then she could settle down somewhere and scrutinize these thoughts, try to make sense of them, put them in perspective.
Spotting the cheese beneath a dome of glass, she decided that would do nicely. She placed it on the table along with some bread. She considered searching the icebox but she didn’t want to face the knowing lifeless eyes. He would have to fetch his own milk. She placed a plate, knife, and fork on the table.
Hearing footsteps, she glanced up and stilled. He stood in the doorway, nearly filling it, properly dressed in black trousers, white shirt and cravat, dark blue waistcoat, black jacket. So little skin visible now, only his face and hands. Yet he seemed more dangerous, more alluring.
She realized she’d only seen him bared or in shirt and trousers. She’d not considered that he would appear so in control, so powerful, so confident when he was fully clothed. A gentleman. A man of worth.
The hair that had been unruly was tamed. The previously shadowed jaw was sporting no whiskers whatsoever. He should have looked more civilized and yet he didn’t.
“No pheasant?” he asked, his voice sounding light and normal, as though he were unaffected by what had happened in the bathing room. But she had heard the growl of a wild beast that was tired of being caged.
“As I stated earlier, I don’t know how to prepare it. I thought cheese would suffice for tonight.”
“I’m afraid I require something a bit more substantial. I’ll eat at the club.”
“They serve food there?”
“They serve every sort of indulgence there.”
“And you manage it.”
“Quite well.”
She interlaced her fingers, hard, until they ached. “You’ve probably told me all about your work before.”
“We’ve never discussed it. I assumed you preferred not to know.”
He hovered in the doorway, not approaching her. She didn’t know if it was because he sensed her discomfiture after bathing his back or if he experienced a bit of it as well.
“When may I expect your return?” she asked.
“Sometime after dawn. My hours are determined by how things go at the club throughout the night.”
“Are there troubles?”
“Sometimes.”
She didn’t know why it bothered her to think of him having to manage difficult matters. He was her employer. Theirs was no doubt a very impersonal relationship. “You’ll bring the letters of reference?”
It happened so quickly that she couldn’t be certain but she thought he flinched.
“Yes.”
