Page 46 of Tempting Fate
Herlips had soughthim. She’d pressed that ghost of a caress against his mouth, and every tenuous chord he’d lashed to the final vestiges of his decency unraveled.
He’d remember the taste of her as long as he lived.
A knock on the door brought him from the mirror. The iodine, needle and thread he’d requested from the maids must have arrived.
Replacing a few buttons back over his chest, he pressed his forearm to his side to secure the makeshift bandage in place before opening the door.
Her nipples were hard.
It shouldn’t have been the first thing he noticed. Not when Felicity stood there in thin layers of high-necked cream satin and lace. She held the stitching implements he’d called for in one hand and a mystery tin in the other.
Thank God she couldn’t seem to bring herself to look at him, because it took a shameful moment to drag his own eyes away from the pebbled points peeking through her gown and wrapper.
Damn summer nightclothes for being so thin.
Damn his body for becoming hard as a diamond at the sight.
“What is it?” The question emerged harsher than he’d intended.
Though the scent of floral soap told him she’d washed, her hair remained dry, released from the braids of her coif and brushed into a glossy cloud of rioting fluff that fell in unruly waves past her shoulder blades.
“I was told you requested stitching, and wanted to… to check for myself that your head wound is not too serious,” she told the doorframe.
Touched by her concern, he reached for her medical offerings. “It’s nothing. It’s not even bleeding anymore.”
At that, she flicked a glance up at him from beneath her lashes before lifting her chin to properly look at him.
“Oh good.” Her shoulders peeled down from her ears. “No need for these then.” She brushed past him into the washroom, and discarded the needle and thread to the countertop. “I brought you a salve of honey, oregano, and goldenseal to protect it against infection.”
When he reached for the tin, she pulled it from his grasp. “Please, let me.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It’s the least I can do since you were wounded in the line of duty,” she insisted. Gesturing to the wide ledge in which the tub was cast, she silently bade him to sit.
“In here?” he queried dumbly, thinking of the discarded bloody towels and the one getting bloodier beneath his shirt.
“We can go elsewhere if you wish,” she suggested. “Your room, if that’s more comfortab—”
“No.” Anyplace with a bed was a terrible idea, injured or not. “No. Here is fine.”
She looked at him askance. “Very well.”
He lowered himself to the ledge, suppressing a grunt, and clasped his hands in front of him to make the protection of his torso appear natural.
Felicity opened the tin and carefully bent to set the lid next to him, affording him a chance to take in the aroma of her soap and warm skin and lock it into his lungs.
Straightening to stand in front of him, she dipped two fingers into the tin and frowned. “Oh dear, the salve is a bit less congealed than I usually make.” She rubbed her thumb and two fingers together, testing the texture of the stuff before lifting her hand to hover above his brow in preparation. “Here, close your eyes.”
“No.” The word escaped him before he thought the better of it.
She cocked her head. “But you must, you might get some of this in your eye and that would sting something horrible.”
“No,” he repeated, more gently this time. “I’ll brave the sting if I must.”
“But… but why?” She looked down at the tin. “I promise this is no ghastly potion. It’s only a salve of herbs gone a bit slippery with too much tincture and not enough beeswax.”
“Do you remember what you told me about fear?” he asked, tilting his chin slightly to look up at her. “I cannot bring myself to close my eyes. I have this need. This… proclivity. No matter what, Imustsee what is coming at me. I must not be caught unaware.”
