Page 11 of A Tempest of Desire
Holding a handful of her hair, she attacked theends of the tresses with his brush, striving to rid herself of the tangles. She appeared lost in thought.
Perhaps her musings kept her occupied to such a degree that she didn’t notice his arrivals or departures, didn’t notice thesplashas he poured the heated water into the tub. He’d never known a woman to show such a lack of interest in modesty.
He couldn’t help but think there would be no games with her. A man would always know where he stood. No coyness, no pretense of shyness. No devious flirtation hinting at promises that never would be delivered. No false protests or insincere teasing.
He wondered why, while wearing little clothing, she appeared so comfortable around him. Not that he’d given her any reason to fear him—or at least he hoped not. The females in his family would have his head if he ever treated a woman poorly. Not only the females. Every last member.
Perhaps because he’d had such a rough youth, his father had taught him and his siblings to treat others as they wished to be treated. Although at the moment what he wanted was to be treated to those lush lips moving provocatively over his.
He cleared his throat. “I believe you have enough water for a nice bath now. I’ll leave you to it.”
Quickly she twisted around. “Don’t go, please. I know it’s silly, but I don’t like the howling of the wind, the way it screeches.”
“It makes that noise because this building is centuries old and not everything is as firm as it once was. But its foundation is sturdy, dependable. It’ll not carry you back out to sea.”
“I didn’t think it would. I just... I can’t really explain it. I’d just rather you not go.”
He wished she didn’t look so worried. With all her injuries, the deep furrow in her brow, caused by the depth of her concern, had to be painful. If she weren’t ruined but were a lady with a pristine reputation, he wouldn’t remain in the residence, much less consider staying within the bedchamber with her. He’d be huddled outside in his greatcoat, battling the storm rather than his fascination with her boldness and lack of decorum. No proper lady would dare ask of him what she just had. However, he was far too familiar with how the horror of a traumatic event—and a tumble from the sky had to be a harrowing experience—could linger and make a person feel surrounded by and immersed in danger. Even when encircled by friends in a familiar environment. Here she had neither friend nor the familiar. While he’d prefer to be elsewhere, because the last thing he wanted to see was her actually bathing, he felt a measure of responsibility for her since she was in his domain. “I’ll stand in the doorway, my back to the room.”
“No need.” She slid off the bed and he fought not to envision her sliding over him. “Simply turn around. It’ll take me only a tick to discard your shirt. Then you can make yourself comfortable on the settee.”
Every word she’d uttered was dangerous. But the water wasn’t going to remain hot forever. She needed to make use of it while it was.
After swinging around without further argument, he closed his eyes to ensure he caught noglimpses of her. Unfortunately, without his vision to distract him, his hearing heightened until his ears absorbed the rasp of his shirt traveling over her skin. Although she kept her promise and moved quickly, it still seemed that eons passed before the sound faded away. In its place came the soft splash as her foot disturbed the water. To be liquid, to have the ability to close around her—
It was lust, all lust. Just a need that had come upon him because he’d been too long without the comfort offered by a woman’s body. Then he heard the other foot going in.
Following that came her soft satisfied moan as she lowered herself. Quite suddenly his trousers were far too tight. Jesus. He might die right there. He should journey out into the storm so nature could squelch all these rampaging thoughts and desires.
“You are free to turn around,” she said.
No, he bloody well wasn’t. After inhaling deeply, he slowly released the air that had filled his lungs. It didn’t help. He could hear the water stirring, imagined her leaning back, lifting her arms, and the water droplets sliding over her skin as the rain did the glass pane. She would be that smooth, that taut.
“Langdon?”
He shook his head, knowing he had no need to explain the inappropriateness of the situation and yet some comment was called for. “You are the least modest woman I’ve ever met.”
“Not so immodest. Turn around.”
He glanced over his shoulder and released ahuff of air that could have passed for a laugh. A blanket was draped over the tub. Only her bare shoulders and above were visible. He’d seen more skin in ballrooms. He faced her.
“I thought it would allow the water to remain warm longer,” she said with a small smile that involved her eyes more than her mouth, the sort that would bring men to their knees. It almost did him. It was teasing and fully come-hither.
Good Lord but he was tempted to strip down and climb in there with her. But that required an invitation. He wondered what it might entail to secure one. On the other hand, she belonged to another—although not by law or before God. She had an arrangement that could be broken in a heartbeat.
Before she could detect where his thoughts were wandering, he cast a glance toward the bed, easily finding that for which he was searching: his brush. She’d had little success taming her hair. It reminded him of a rat’s nest he’d once come across in the stables at the family’s estate across the way. He’d been a young lad at the time and fascinated by it. Strange how as a man he was now fascinated by another sort of tangled mess.
After retrieving the brush, he sat on the floor by the tub and took hold of a section of her hair. She was the one who had established the atmosphere for setting aside all societal norms. He certainly had no intention of coming across as a timorous schoolboy.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going to see if I can work more of these tangles out.”
“It’s a slow, tedious process. Probably best to simply chop it all off.”
It would be a sin to do so when it appeared to be gloriously thick and full. He wanted to see the golden strands glistening after a good brushing and cascading around her shoulders and down her back.
“My sister, Poppy, once wanted to cut off all her hair. She thought it unfair that her brothers didn’t have to spend as much time caring for theirs. My mother tried to dissuade her by telling her that hair was a woman’s crowning glory. Poppy responded, ‘Must be why men are always at war, seeking to obtain that crown that comes to women naturally.’”
