Page 15 of Master of Games
He tried to sit up and grab it, but flopped back down again. “I’ll need it closer.”
Her eyes grew wide as she straightened up to look at him and tell him what she thought.
But as her gaze swung to him, she realized, he’d spread his knees wide in the tub and she could see…everything. Every. Single. Thing.
And it was so much more than she’d ever imagined.
She stood frozen, staring. “The male body is…” she trailed off, heat coursing through her.
“Like I said, you’re welcome to join me.”
She shook her head, her hands clutching together. “No.” Not that she wasn’t tempted. She was. And she didn’t give a fig about society or it’s expectations. In fact, a night with a rake might just quell the curiosity that she’d been trying to squash down for some time.
But she could not, in the light of day, take her clothing off in front of Ironheart.
“Are you sure? After a night up, a bath might feel lovely.”
It surely would. “I can’t.” She finally tore her gaze away.
He let out a long sigh. “The soap then? Please.”
She looked in the tub, the soap bobbing somewhere between his knees. She’d likely get the sleeve of her gown wet. “I’m sure you can reach it.”
Normally, she’d tell him to get his own damn soap. But the injury, her worry, and her fascination had rendered her into the most docile female. It was ridiculous.
“I can’t, luv.” And then, somehow, he managed to spread his knees wider. “And could you wash my legs?”
“You can’t be serious.”
He gave her a weak smile. “I am.”
“My gown. It would be soaked.” It was a feeble excuse. She knew it.
“Take it off.”
A cry of distress fell from her lips. She couldn’t…
His eyes met hers. Held. “Tabbie. Take off the top of the dress.”
She shook her head, hard enough that several pieces of hair escaped. “You don’t want to see.”
“I do.” Then he reached out his good hand. “Your chemise will be on. Your corset. I’ll only see your arm.”
To her disbelief a few tears formed in the corners of her eyes. It must be the exhaustion of being up all night, because she hadn’t cried for a very long time. But the idea of this beautiful man seeing her imperfections, it hurt deep inside.
She’d said she didn’t wish to marry, didn’t need affection, didn’t want a man’s pity. But the truth was, she couldn’t face another rejection. There had been too many.
So instead of taking off the top, she stepped up to the tub and plunged her hand and arm, sleeve and all, into the water, grabbing the soap.
“Tabbie,” he said, a note of irritation in his voice.
She met his eyes again, glaring. “What?”
“Why won’t you take off your dress?” He reached his good hand under the water, holding her wrist. “I’ve already seen the edges of your scars.”
She looked away again, this time the tears that had pricked at her eyes welled up, and danced on her lashes. One fell. “It’s different.”
“Why?”
