Page 20 of The Princess Stakes
She hadn’t exactly been the most obedient or accommodating boatswain. In fact, she’d gone out of her way to be contrary, plucking his temper like a master of strings. At first, it’d been to get back at him, but then it became a matter of mulishness. He was determined to break her with menial work, and she was determined to show him he couldn’t.
Using the pitcher at the side of the tub, she rinsed her hair and washed the rest of the suds from her body. Throwing another quick glance back to the door, Sarani hummed her delight and rested her arms along the sides of the tub. Goodness, she could stay there forever.
Sighing with pleasure at the sudsy warmth, her gaze wandered the room. She had tidied it earlier, though she’d meant to fill his whisky bottles with water. She’d do that tomorrow. Her eyes touched on the polished brass bucket that stood upon the desk and then stilled. They swiveled back in shock at the strange shape that was reflected in its shiny surface.
Why did that resemble a person?
Andwhydid its arms just move?
Squinting at the reflection, she flung a look over her shoulder and nearly screamed at the silent man who lounged just inside the doorway to the privy, his thick arms across his chest, one ankle propped over the other. The duke wasn’t breaking down the sodding cabin door because he was already in the blasted cabin.
“Don’t let me stop you,” he drawled as their gazes collided, his eyes heavy-lidded and hers stunned senseless.
Sarani found her voice…and her modesty, clapping her arms over her exposed bosom and hunching down, despite knowing that he’d already seen all there was to see and then some. It hadn’t been more than a handful of minutes before she’d dropped her drawers faster than a doxy on the wharves for a florin. A heated blush roared its way up her neck and onto her cheeks.
She bit her lip. “What are you doing in here?”
“This is my cabin,” he pointed out. “And that’s my bath.”
“Why didn’t you announce yourself, then?” she snapped.
He smirked. “And miss all the fun?”
Shoving off the frame, he prowled into the room. Sarani’s gaze chose that inopportune moment to snag on his superbly bare chest and the rest of his body clad only in loose trousers. Her breath hitched, skin going hotter. She was equal parts panicked and aroused, her eyes gorging on that broad expanse of tanned skin and the fabric that stretched over bunched thighs with every step. Had he always been this enormous?
“Don’t come any closer,” she warned.
Horribly aware of her own nudity and the fact that the only things separating him from her were those thin linen pants that hid nothing—not even that thick bulge at a very grievous eye level—Sarani reminded herself to breathe. If she swooned, she’d never forgive herself. And if she kept ogling his groin, she’d have to kick her own arse.
She cleared her parched throat. “Turn around. I wish to get out.”
To her horror, his hands dropped to the crotch of his trousers, unbuttoning the first button of his falls as he did so. “By all means, you can, but I intend to have my bath. With or without a saucy, mouthy urchin in it.”
“I beg your pardon?” she spluttered.
“Stay or leave, the choice is yours.”
He grinned at her and winked, his fingers popping another button. She gulped. The man’s arrogance knew no bounds. But as he swaggered closer, she couldn’t look away if she tried. She’d seen snake charmers in the village market, the cobras hypnotized, and she felt much the same—helpless to do anything but watch as his fingers flicked open another breath-stealing button. Sarani licked dry lips, a thoroughly shameless part of her wishing to see him in all his nude glory.
And judging from the snug-fitting fabric, it would be glorious.
Her breath refused to come, every nerve in her body screaming with tension as a lighter swath of pale skin was exposed where the sun hadn’t bronzed him. When the last button unsnapped, the waistband loosened and rustled over his narrow hips, snagging on the deliciously flexing muscles that formed the shape of an arrowhead.
Pointing right to…
Sarani’s breath fizzled.
“Like what you see?” he asked, his voice feathering across her overheated senses and jolting her into horrified action.
Mortified beyond belief—she wassogoing to kick her own arse later—Sarani reached over and grabbed a length of toweling, hurling herself over the far edge of the tub and averting her eyes just as he shucked those diabolical trousers to the floor. Lava-cheeked, she covered herself with the thin drying cloth and didn’t look, not even when she heard the sounds of water being disturbed. That didn’t stop the mental images from assaulting her.
She didn’t know which was worse—seeing the reality or fantasizing about it. Her brain, as it turned out, was deviously creative. Not that those thin trousers had afforded any dratted modesty. His sex had been large and thick and long.
Holy heavens, why was she fixating on hissex?
There should be no thoughts of sex, parts or the act thereof.
No sex, not his sex, never any sex, she chanted in her head.
