Page 39 of The Sound of Seduction
She turned her head abruptly, her gaze fixed on the low stool in the corner—on what remained of his shirt, tucked unceremoniously over the back of it.
“I’m sorry.” Her words sounded unconvincing.
Stan laughed softly, which hurt his chest more than he’d admit, but oh, it was worth it. “A tragedy,” his voice low and teasing. “But if it had the privilege of being in your capable hands, I’ll forgive its demise.” His grin flickered wider.
You can tear my clothes off any time you like.
Wendy frowned at him, her lips pressed tight, but the redness in her cheeks betrayed her. She busied herself smoothing the blanket at his waist.
“What can I do for you?” she asked suddenly, almost like a challenge, her words crisp but also concerned.
He quirked an eyebrow at that, admiring the determination radiating off her. “I don’t think you can help,” he said honestly.
But she stiffened at his reply, her gaze snapping to him with a spark of defiance. “I’m your nurse. If there’s something you need, tell me.”
“That’s so?” His grin widened as he shifted slightly, testing the warmth in his limbs before gesturing vaguely upward. “What I need, my dear nurse, is a bath. Could you ring for my valet?”
Wendy blinked at him, repeating his words without saying them out loud, and then squared her shoulders as if preparing for an argument. He made a faint move to rise, but the second his weight shifted, dizziness gripped him. He fell back onto the pillows with a sharp inhale, grimacing.
“I gave him time off. You need a nurse.” Wendy reacted quickly, leaning into him again, her hands coming to his shoulder and back to steady him before he fell outright. “Perhaps it’s too soon for a bath,” she said breathlessly, adjusting her grip to be sure he was secure. “After a fever, the body may not adjust to temperatures readily. And water might cool you down too quickly.”
He doubted that even an ice bath would cool him in her presence, and then it became worse.
She met his gaze—level, steady. “But a sponge bath? Partial, perhaps?”
Stan froze, startled by the very idea of it—this beautiful woman who had most likely saved his life offering to stay by his side, a nurse in name but so much more to him in every otherway. Her suggestion hung in the air, equal parts logical and utterly enticing.
“Let me make sure I understand this correctly: You gave my valet time off so you can give me a sponge bath?”
She furrowed her brow and was so sweet that he wanted to reach out and pull her close.
“No, Your Royal Highness.” She turned beet red.
So terribly sweet.
“As I said, please call me Stan. I owe you my life. Forget the formalities.” He swallowed hard, wondering if it was the fever that still had a hold of him or just her presence that made his pulse leap. “So, a sponge bath? Madness,” he murmured, more to himself than her biting away a grin. When she tilted her head in confusion, he added with a soft smirk, “It’s madness to think I’d want to subject such fine company to that.”
She rolled her eyes faintly, fighting a wry smile. “I nearly did it already,” she replied, nodding toward the cool basin beside the bed. “All those hours with the cold compresses…”
Her words trailed off, and an odd silence lingered between them. Unspoken tension bubbled just beneath the surface, and in her dark, tired eyes, he thought he saw it—that flicker of acknowledgment from the night before.
His flirtation softened for just a moment as he reached with his free hand to lightly graze her wrist. Her gaze snapped back to his, startled at the contact.
“Even though the fever broke, your road to full recovery is long,” she said.
“I’m beginning to think,” he murmured softly, his voice low and intimate in the quiet space between them, “I might just keep you as my private nurse for a very long time.”
Her blush deepened, the pink spreading to her throat. But just like at the ball, she stayed where she was, her breath catching faintly over his.
And just like at the ball, something unspoken flared between them—tenderness wound so tightly around attraction that it ached.
She should have looked away. She should have moved. But instead, Wendy remained frozen in place, her fingers still brushing his wrist.
It was enough for now. Just enough to know she didn’t run. Not from him.
*
The room wasquiet except for the faint water splashing as Wendy wrung a soft cloth over the basin. The morning sunlight streamed in through the lace curtains, painting the chamber in hues of gold but nothing compared to the royal figure making her fingers twitch. She could hear her own heartbeat—a persistent thrum she willed to calm. In the center of the room, Stan sat on a chair with a towel on his lap, bare-chested, watching her with an intensity that made her breath hitch.
