other was draped over the edge, tiny droplets of water sliding off her toes to form a wet circle on the rug. A twin spot grew beneath the slim, elegant fingers that brushed the soft carpeting.
Heat shot through Lucas's body, firing an almost painful hardness between his legs. And then his gaze caught on her breasts, bobbing just beneath the surface of the water, their pink tips appearing with each intake of breath that raised her perfectly formed chest.
Jesus, if you don't get out of here—and soon—you'll pull her out of that tub and have your way with her in a matter of seconds. Get out! his mind roared. Yes, he had to get out, get away from such a desirable display of womanly beauty, and clear his head.
Lucas swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to conjure an image that might erase Megan's from his mind. Nothing seemed to work.
Don't bother, man. Cuff her and get the hell out!
He searched the room for his saddlebags and rummaged around inside for the cold metal he knew had to be there. He went back to Megan, kneeling to fasten one end around the clubbed foot of the tub—she'd never manage to lift the full tub and slip it off—and the other iron ring around Megan's limp wrist.
There. Let's see her get out of this, he thought, rising to his feet to examine his handiwork. He took in Megan's elegant, milky-white skin, the clear water encasing her, caressing her, then fought the groan welling up from his gut. He looked at her dainty wrist and the heavy metal weighing it down.
With a rueful half smile, he set the sliver of rose soap on the pile of towels beside her and walked out. He was glad he would be gone when Megan awoke and found herself handcuffed to the tub. No doubt she'd bring the walls down around her, cursing him to eternal hell.
Chapter Six
Lucas plucked a plain white cotton shirt in his size off the pile and laid it on the counter with a polite nod to the pinched-faced proprietor's wife. Then he moved down the aisle to the stacks of trousers. He chose a pair in sturdy denim and slung them over his arm.
He wanted to get a change of clothes for Megan, too, but he had no idea what she would wear. She'd been dressed like a man for the past two days, so he didn't figure she could be too particular about her wardrobe. But somehow it didn't seem right to hide the gentle swells and curves that Lucas now knew lurked beneath her baggy shirt and pants. It wouldn't kill her to wear a dress, at least while they stayed in town. She could change back to her wayward-urchin look later.
With that determined thought, Lucas headed for the racks of ready-made feminine apparel. It was only as he flipped through the dresses that he realized he didn't know what size Megan wore.
He turned to the proprietress and cleared his throat, giving his most polite smile. “Do you think you could help me pick a dress for my wife, ma'am?"
She pursed her lips, and for a moment Lucas thought she might refuse to leave the relative safety of the counter. But then she crossed her arms over her chest and moved toward him.
"What size is she?” the woman asked.
"I'm not sure,” Lucas said, frowning. “Her waist is about like this,” he said, making a circle with his hands. “I'd say her hips are an inch or two wider. And her breasts would just about fill a man's hands.” His mistake hit him like a brick to the stomach when the woman narrowed her eyes and gave him a freezing glare.
"It's odd that you don't know your wife's size,” she said.
He shrugged, hoping to smooth over the blunder. “We haven't been married all that long. And we've been traveling, so I haven't learned all her little secrets yet. She would have come herself, but she's plumb tuckered out. I left her alone to bathe and rest before dinner."
The woman gave a disbelieving snort. “Maybe you would be better off getting her a skirt. The buttons can be adjusted if it doesn't fit just right."
Lucas nodded. “Sounds good."
"What color does she
Heat shot through Lucas's body, firing an almost painful hardness between his legs. And then his gaze caught on her breasts, bobbing just beneath the surface of the water, their pink tips appearing with each intake of breath that raised her perfectly formed chest.
Jesus, if you don't get out of here—and soon—you'll pull her out of that tub and have your way with her in a matter of seconds. Get out! his mind roared. Yes, he had to get out, get away from such a desirable display of womanly beauty, and clear his head.
Lucas swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to conjure an image that might erase Megan's from his mind. Nothing seemed to work.
Don't bother, man. Cuff her and get the hell out!
He searched the room for his saddlebags and rummaged around inside for the cold metal he knew had to be there. He went back to Megan, kneeling to fasten one end around the clubbed foot of the tub—she'd never manage to lift the full tub and slip it off—and the other iron ring around Megan's limp wrist.
There. Let's see her get out of this, he thought, rising to his feet to examine his handiwork. He took in Megan's elegant, milky-white skin, the clear water encasing her, caressing her, then fought the groan welling up from his gut. He looked at her dainty wrist and the heavy metal weighing it down.
With a rueful half smile, he set the sliver of rose soap on the pile of towels beside her and walked out. He was glad he would be gone when Megan awoke and found herself handcuffed to the tub. No doubt she'd bring the walls down around her, cursing him to eternal hell.
Chapter Six
Lucas plucked a plain white cotton shirt in his size off the pile and laid it on the counter with a polite nod to the pinched-faced proprietor's wife. Then he moved down the aisle to the stacks of trousers. He chose a pair in sturdy denim and slung them over his arm.
He wanted to get a change of clothes for Megan, too, but he had no idea what she would wear. She'd been dressed like a man for the past two days, so he didn't figure she could be too particular about her wardrobe. But somehow it didn't seem right to hide the gentle swells and curves that Lucas now knew lurked beneath her baggy shirt and pants. It wouldn't kill her to wear a dress, at least while they stayed in town. She could change back to her wayward-urchin look later.
With that determined thought, Lucas headed for the racks of ready-made feminine apparel. It was only as he flipped through the dresses that he realized he didn't know what size Megan wore.
He turned to the proprietress and cleared his throat, giving his most polite smile. “Do you think you could help me pick a dress for my wife, ma'am?"
She pursed her lips, and for a moment Lucas thought she might refuse to leave the relative safety of the counter. But then she crossed her arms over her chest and moved toward him.
"What size is she?” the woman asked.
"I'm not sure,” Lucas said, frowning. “Her waist is about like this,” he said, making a circle with his hands. “I'd say her hips are an inch or two wider. And her breasts would just about fill a man's hands.” His mistake hit him like a brick to the stomach when the woman narrowed her eyes and gave him a freezing glare.
"It's odd that you don't know your wife's size,” she said.
He shrugged, hoping to smooth over the blunder. “We haven't been married all that long. And we've been traveling, so I haven't learned all her little secrets yet. She would have come herself, but she's plumb tuckered out. I left her alone to bathe and rest before dinner."
The woman gave a disbelieving snort. “Maybe you would be better off getting her a skirt. The buttons can be adjusted if it doesn't fit just right."
Lucas nodded. “Sounds good."
"What color does she
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