most enjoyable.
Eleanor turned
his hand and ran the cloth over his callused palm and then each tapered finger,
one at a time.
So strong. So
splendid. The man sat, glorious, as if carved from wet clay.
Eleanor moved the
soapy cloth across the hard, smooth planes of his chest. A growth of wiry
chest-hairs tapered to beneath the water. His nipples hardened from her
touch. What a marvel the creation beneath her hands.
Steam warmed her
already heated face. Eleanor inhaled the soapy fragrance mingled with the
fire-smoke and Lord Kyle's male scent, a heady combination. She leaned forward
and rubbed the cloth across his powerful chest to his other mound of a shoulder
and caressed---
Lord Kyle
snatched her wrist, jerking the cloth from her hand. "Never mind,
Eleanor. I'll finish." His words spoken through his clenched teeth
sounded angry, hoarse.
Her gaze flew up
to his and she forgot to breathe. Lord Kyle's eyes blazed blue heat. His
facial muscles stretched tight across his cheek-bones, his mouth a straight
line.
"I'm sorry
if I don't please you, my lord. I have never bathed---"
"You please
me too well, woman. If you touch me any more, I'll not be able to control
myself and I'll drag you into this tub with me, clothes and all. Now sit still
and don't touch me. At least, not now, not yet. Later."
Her heartbeat
leapt into her ears and pounded out his name. To sink down into the warm
wetness atop his slick body might feel superb indeed. Then her mind jolted.
Later?
"Eleanor,
move back." He whispered the command, his tone as tense as his muscles
which trembled against her arm.
"Then you'll
need to release my wrist, Sire."
Lord Kyle closed
his eyes and opened his grip. Beads of moisture misted his face. His chest
rose and fell with several labored breaths, then he opened his eyes again and
dipped the cloth. Emitting a ragged moan, he lifted his foot and scrubbed up
his shin to his knee.
Why she felt
disappointment, Eleanor didn't know. The sensations his body had stirred within
her, she had not expected, and yet, she didn't mind. In truth, she had enjoyed
her first exploration of a male.
He lifted his
other foot and worked the cloth up to his thigh . . . his beautiful, sculpted
thigh, a gift for her eyes.
A sigh slipped from
her throat. Eleanor pretended to shake open a folded towel while she watched
the movement of his hands over his superb body. If he hadn't insisted he bathe
himself, then her hands would be gliding over his contours.
"Satan's
curse, Eleanor. Close your eyes." He plunged the cloth into the water.
Eleanor
flinched. He had noticed her perusal.
"'Tis all I
can do to remain the knight you expect me to be, although why I should even
try, confuses me."
"Forgive me,
my lord." Eleanor spun on the stool to face the hearth, not certain which
glowed more hot, her face or the fire. "I never meant to be so brazen.
But I never dreamed a man's body could be so handsome."
A tight laugh
escaped his throat. "And I've never met a woman before now without lies
and pretense. 'Tis refreshing, for certain. Although your honesty may be both
of our undoing."
Eleanor stared at
the flames while her master finished his bath. Nothing had gone the way she
had expected since she had escaped the convent and set out on her mission. She
had planned to devote her life to others---to heal, to teach, to bring hope to
those in despair---but never once thought to have to fight for her virginity in
her savior's chamber.
All her ideals of
sacrifice for the betterment of mankind seemed as the fire-smoke that curled
into myriad, amorphous shapes---whenever she reached out to take hold of the
ideals, like the smoke, they had no body, no structure to grasp, and only
vanished beneath her grip.
Surely, once Lord
Kyle heard the message, he would be embarrassed and contrite how he had plotted
to seduce her into his bed instead of planning how to fulfill their
Eleanor turned
his hand and ran the cloth over his callused palm and then each tapered finger,
one at a time.
So strong. So
splendid. The man sat, glorious, as if carved from wet clay.
Eleanor moved the
soapy cloth across the hard, smooth planes of his chest. A growth of wiry
chest-hairs tapered to beneath the water. His nipples hardened from her
touch. What a marvel the creation beneath her hands.
Steam warmed her
already heated face. Eleanor inhaled the soapy fragrance mingled with the
fire-smoke and Lord Kyle's male scent, a heady combination. She leaned forward
and rubbed the cloth across his powerful chest to his other mound of a shoulder
and caressed---
Lord Kyle
snatched her wrist, jerking the cloth from her hand. "Never mind,
Eleanor. I'll finish." His words spoken through his clenched teeth
sounded angry, hoarse.
Her gaze flew up
to his and she forgot to breathe. Lord Kyle's eyes blazed blue heat. His
facial muscles stretched tight across his cheek-bones, his mouth a straight
line.
"I'm sorry
if I don't please you, my lord. I have never bathed---"
"You please
me too well, woman. If you touch me any more, I'll not be able to control
myself and I'll drag you into this tub with me, clothes and all. Now sit still
and don't touch me. At least, not now, not yet. Later."
Her heartbeat
leapt into her ears and pounded out his name. To sink down into the warm
wetness atop his slick body might feel superb indeed. Then her mind jolted.
Later?
"Eleanor,
move back." He whispered the command, his tone as tense as his muscles
which trembled against her arm.
"Then you'll
need to release my wrist, Sire."
Lord Kyle closed
his eyes and opened his grip. Beads of moisture misted his face. His chest
rose and fell with several labored breaths, then he opened his eyes again and
dipped the cloth. Emitting a ragged moan, he lifted his foot and scrubbed up
his shin to his knee.
Why she felt
disappointment, Eleanor didn't know. The sensations his body had stirred within
her, she had not expected, and yet, she didn't mind. In truth, she had enjoyed
her first exploration of a male.
He lifted his
other foot and worked the cloth up to his thigh . . . his beautiful, sculpted
thigh, a gift for her eyes.
A sigh slipped from
her throat. Eleanor pretended to shake open a folded towel while she watched
the movement of his hands over his superb body. If he hadn't insisted he bathe
himself, then her hands would be gliding over his contours.
"Satan's
curse, Eleanor. Close your eyes." He plunged the cloth into the water.
Eleanor
flinched. He had noticed her perusal.
"'Tis all I
can do to remain the knight you expect me to be, although why I should even
try, confuses me."
"Forgive me,
my lord." Eleanor spun on the stool to face the hearth, not certain which
glowed more hot, her face or the fire. "I never meant to be so brazen.
But I never dreamed a man's body could be so handsome."
A tight laugh
escaped his throat. "And I've never met a woman before now without lies
and pretense. 'Tis refreshing, for certain. Although your honesty may be both
of our undoing."
Eleanor stared at
the flames while her master finished his bath. Nothing had gone the way she
had expected since she had escaped the convent and set out on her mission. She
had planned to devote her life to others---to heal, to teach, to bring hope to
those in despair---but never once thought to have to fight for her virginity in
her savior's chamber.
All her ideals of
sacrifice for the betterment of mankind seemed as the fire-smoke that curled
into myriad, amorphous shapes---whenever she reached out to take hold of the
ideals, like the smoke, they had no body, no structure to grasp, and only
vanished beneath her grip.
Surely, once Lord
Kyle heard the message, he would be embarrassed and contrite how he had plotted
to seduce her into his bed instead of planning how to fulfill their
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