Read Online Highland Enchantment (Highland Brides) by Lois Greiman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lois Greiman
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to a God who must surely be surprised at this correspondence at such a late date.
Liam cleared his throat, clenched his jaw, and tried for normalcy. She was a healer, a healer, nothing more. "How does it look?" he asked, his tone raspy.
Silence filled the cave. Moments slipped away, then, "It... it looks good," she murmured.
Chapter 5
"Well, it hurts like hell!" Liam blurted.
It hurt? Rachel stared at it. True, she was a healer, and therefore, no stranger to the human body.
But his body! Despite the imaginings of her youth, she'd never thought Liam would be so... Well, to be frank, he reminded her of Aunt Flanna's prized stallions. The thought made her face burn, and yet she found she lacked the decency to turn away. In fact, she longed to touch it, to skim her finger along the length of it, to feel it dance beneath her fingers. What made it move so and why did it hurt?
"I hit it on a rock in the river." His tone was tense. "Will it have to be stitched?"
"Stitched?" she murmured, horrified. "Oh!" Reality dawned on her in a rush of embarrassment.
"Your leg!"
He jerked his gaze down just as she lifted hers up.
"What the devil did you think I was talking about?"
"Your..." What were the chances that the floor, would swallow her up? Probably not good.
Dear God! "Your leg," she said, but her tone was too high-pitched. She cleared her throat. "Of course."
"God's balls!" he murmured through clenched teeth.
"I was not!" She snapped to her feet as fluttery as a nesting wren. "They are not, I wasn't staring, it won't need to be stitched," she sputtered, her words jumbled.
They gaped at each other. She snapped her mouth shut and twisted her hands together. "I..."
What? Lusted after him despite everything? Had for over a decade, like some hare-brained wench who refused to learn. "I have no needle."
"Oh." He breathed out the word, but he didn't seem to be thinking about his wounded leg at all.
His eyes were intense. His hair had come loose of its queue and spread dark as midnight across his shoulders. They were the shoulders of a juggler, sculpted, strong, with muscles that danced just beneath the tan satin surface of his skin.
"It should heal well on its own," she managed.
"Oh."
"If I had my potions, I'd rub some on it so..."—she blinked, cleared her mind of a thousand suffocating thoughts and tried again—"twould reduce the swelling."
"I have my doubts."
"What?"
He squeezed his eyes closed. She watched a muscle dance in his jaw. "I'll get you back to your guards. You'll replenish your supplies."
The fire crackled.
"That's not what you said," she murmured.
"Forget what I said. Don't listen to what I say." He popped his eyes open. "Why do you still have your clothes on?"
"I—" She clutched her bodice together, though in truth it was quite late to act modest. After all, she'd just been staring at the more outstanding parts of his anatomy from quite close proximity.
Certain details were, in fact, indelibly etched in her memory. Hot blood flushed her face. "I'm warm now."
His laugh could definitely be called maniacal. "Take your damn clothes off!" he growled.
"Really, I—"
"Take them off," he ordered, and stepped forward.
"Very well." She retreated at a rapid pace. He was right, of course. She was on a mission. She couldn't afford the luxury of modesty. "Just... turn your back."
He raised his brows. The corners of his satyr's mouth twitched slightly. "I think not."
She scowled. Funny little tongues of flame were licking her insides, sending tingling tendrils of heat curling down from the pit of her stomach to places best left unstimulated. "Fine then," she said and twisting her arms behind her, unfastened the tiny wooden buttons that held her tattered gown in place. He was just a man, she told herself. She'd seen a hundred just like him, had healed a hundred just like him. So what if she had lusted after him since girlhood. Lust was a simple thing, easily thwarted.
The slick wooden buttons gave way
Liam cleared his throat, clenched his jaw, and tried for normalcy. She was a healer, a healer, nothing more. "How does it look?" he asked, his tone raspy.
Silence filled the cave. Moments slipped away, then, "It... it looks good," she murmured.
Chapter 5
"Well, it hurts like hell!" Liam blurted.
It hurt? Rachel stared at it. True, she was a healer, and therefore, no stranger to the human body.
But his body! Despite the imaginings of her youth, she'd never thought Liam would be so... Well, to be frank, he reminded her of Aunt Flanna's prized stallions. The thought made her face burn, and yet she found she lacked the decency to turn away. In fact, she longed to touch it, to skim her finger along the length of it, to feel it dance beneath her fingers. What made it move so and why did it hurt?
"I hit it on a rock in the river." His tone was tense. "Will it have to be stitched?"
"Stitched?" she murmured, horrified. "Oh!" Reality dawned on her in a rush of embarrassment.
"Your leg!"
He jerked his gaze down just as she lifted hers up.
"What the devil did you think I was talking about?"
"Your..." What were the chances that the floor, would swallow her up? Probably not good.
Dear God! "Your leg," she said, but her tone was too high-pitched. She cleared her throat. "Of course."
"God's balls!" he murmured through clenched teeth.
"I was not!" She snapped to her feet as fluttery as a nesting wren. "They are not, I wasn't staring, it won't need to be stitched," she sputtered, her words jumbled.
They gaped at each other. She snapped her mouth shut and twisted her hands together. "I..."
What? Lusted after him despite everything? Had for over a decade, like some hare-brained wench who refused to learn. "I have no needle."
"Oh." He breathed out the word, but he didn't seem to be thinking about his wounded leg at all.
His eyes were intense. His hair had come loose of its queue and spread dark as midnight across his shoulders. They were the shoulders of a juggler, sculpted, strong, with muscles that danced just beneath the tan satin surface of his skin.
"It should heal well on its own," she managed.
"Oh."
"If I had my potions, I'd rub some on it so..."—she blinked, cleared her mind of a thousand suffocating thoughts and tried again—"twould reduce the swelling."
"I have my doubts."
"What?"
He squeezed his eyes closed. She watched a muscle dance in his jaw. "I'll get you back to your guards. You'll replenish your supplies."
The fire crackled.
"That's not what you said," she murmured.
"Forget what I said. Don't listen to what I say." He popped his eyes open. "Why do you still have your clothes on?"
"I—" She clutched her bodice together, though in truth it was quite late to act modest. After all, she'd just been staring at the more outstanding parts of his anatomy from quite close proximity.
Certain details were, in fact, indelibly etched in her memory. Hot blood flushed her face. "I'm warm now."
His laugh could definitely be called maniacal. "Take your damn clothes off!" he growled.
"Really, I—"
"Take them off," he ordered, and stepped forward.
"Very well." She retreated at a rapid pace. He was right, of course. She was on a mission. She couldn't afford the luxury of modesty. "Just... turn your back."
He raised his brows. The corners of his satyr's mouth twitched slightly. "I think not."
She scowled. Funny little tongues of flame were licking her insides, sending tingling tendrils of heat curling down from the pit of her stomach to places best left unstimulated. "Fine then," she said and twisting her arms behind her, unfastened the tiny wooden buttons that held her tattered gown in place. He was just a man, she told herself. She'd seen a hundred just like him, had healed a hundred just like him. So what if she had lusted after him since girlhood. Lust was a simple thing, easily thwarted.
The slick wooden buttons gave way
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