Page 15 of Claimed by the Clan Chief

Isla suppressed a tremor of delight as she wiped the warm soapy cloth over McTavish’s golden skin. Being this close to him, touching him, was the kind of moment she’d been dreaming of.

And his back was beautiful, if a man could be described that way. His shoulders broad, his spine a deep gutter lined with thick muscle. His waist was tapered and neat and two small dimples sat above the waistband of his kilt hinting at the start of the rise of his buttocks.

The cloth left a sheen on his skin, dotted with white froth of soap. After washing halfway downward, she re-soaped the cloth and continued. Several drips ran toward his kilt, then soaked onto the waistband.

He’d been unmoving as she’d worked, but seemingly upon feeling the water on his clothing, he shifted his arms, the muscles in his rounded biceps flexing.

She realized what he was doing as it happened.

He’s taking off his kilt!

It tugged to the side revealing his pert buttocks, the skin there a wee bit paler than on his back.

“I don’t want my kilt wet,” he said in a deep, throaty voice. “I need to wear it for the nuptials today.”

She swallowed, unable to tear her gaze from his ass. “Aye, okay.”

“You can carry on, Isla. You’re doing a grand job.”

“Aye, sir.” She set the cloth on his skin again, tracing his spine then around to his waist. Feeling bolder, she wiped over the dimples in the small of his back, then across the top of his buttocks.

Her heart was hammering and her belly tight. She was in a room, alone, with a naked Trevor McTavish. Mother Nature was moving plans for them to be together along with dizzying swiftness. Her plan had been to replace the freshly washed handkerchief that was tucked in her pocket, but now… now she was soaping his ass cheeks.

And he hadn’t complained about her bold move so she set the cloth lower, and washed each taut buttock with careful thoroughness.

After several minutes McTavish handed her a dry towel. “If you could.”

“Of course.” She dropped the wet cloth into the bowl and took the towel. She took her time drying his back and enjoyed learning the shape of his shoulders and the dip of his waist. The scent of soap filled the air but it was mixed with him too, his skin, his hair, the clothes he usually wore, maybe leather too, from his horse.

When his back and ass were bone dry, she lifted the towel from his skin.

He turned around. His hair hung forward, his eyes flashed with heat and his wide arms hung at his sides.

Isla allowed her gaze to travel downward. She took in an angry-looking scar on the curve of his right shoulder, his wide pectoral muscles, and his hair-coated, defined abdomen. Beneath that his penis was erect and standing proud from a mass of wiry dark hair.

“Sir,” she said, her eyes widening and her breath catching in her throat.

“What did you expect?” He tipped his head and studied her. “Any Scotsman with a beautiful woman touching his ass would have the same reaction.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“Aye, more than any woman I’ve ever seen.” He stepped up to the bowl, cupped his hands, and filled them with water. Stooping, he splashed his face. He repeated the action several times then held out his hand.

Quickly she placed the towel in it.

He dried his face then scrubbed the towel over his hair, forcing it back from his brow. He then fastened the towel about his waist, covering his cock though it still tented the thick material.

A tremor went through Isla. She ken, deep down in her soul, she wanted much more of McTavish in his naked state.

And if he thought her beautiful, then she’d guess he’d wanted her clothes-less too.

Once again her attention landed on the wound on his shoulder. “I should get you a sage poultice for that.”

“Aye, that would be good.” He frowned and poked at it. “Taking its time to heal.”

“I’ll fetch it now.” She lifted her skirt and turned, keen to get the sage. She reached the door and gripped the handle

But before she could open it she was aware of him behind her—his bare chest against her back and his mouth by her ear.

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