Read Online Tied With a Bow by authors_sort - Free Book Online

memory. This man was not Howard. He was nothing like Howard.
    Lucien shook his head. “Doesn’t matter, sweet. If you’re caught in my room, we’ll both be compromised.”
    Even to be seen alone with him was risky. That’s why she had sought him out here. But to be discovered alone with him naked in his bedchamber would be disaster. She would be hopelessly ruined.
    For the first time, it occurred to her that Lucien would be . . . Not ruined, precisely. Society forgave a man’s transgressions more readily than a woman’s. But even if Lucien did not feel honor bound to offer for Aimée, the scandal would destroy his chances with Julia.
    The thought of her cousin sent a trickle of cold down Aimée’s spine. She glanced around the empty room. “Where is your servant?”
    His brows rose. “He went to fetch a bandage. From the housekeeper, I imagine.”
    They did not have much time, then.
    She clasped her hands together. “You said you knew a woman in London who could help me find a position.”
    “Yes.” Lucien gripped the sides of the tub. “Turn around.”
    Distracted, she watched his muscles flex and bunch under his smooth, wet skin. “Why?”
    Foolish question.
    He pulled himself up, bath water streaming down the hard planes and ridges of his chest, his abdomen, his . . .
    Aimée whisked herself around, her face on fire, heat pooling low in her belly. Water sloshed and dripped.
    “Tell me what happened,” he said. “To make you change your mind. Did Basing bother you again?”
    “No, I . . . He . . .” She could hear him moving behind her with a rustle like bedclothes.
    Like clothes, she informed her imagination sternly. Obviously, he must dress.
    She had not known a man would look so, not like a statue at all, but large, dark, eager. She might never have known. She felt like a starving beggar standing at the kitchen door, glimpsing the meal inside. She was hungry for more than scraps. She would have liked to feast her eyes on him.
    “It’s all right.” Lucien’s voice was low and soothing and much closer.
    She made herself remember Finch. “It is not all right, he . . .”
    “I meant you can turn around now.”
    Oh. She swallowed and faced him.
    Not dressed. Not entirely.
    He wore a robe of dark silk, belted at the waist, exposing a broad golden V of chest. The damp fabric clung to his belly, the muscles and bones of his thighs, before falling in folds to his calves. His feet were bare. Big, masculine feet, almost as much a revelation as the rest of him. Strong arches. Hairy toes. So different from hers.
    She felt another pang like hunger and jerked her gaze back up to his face.
    He watched her, his green eyes hot, amused, aware.
    “Aimée,” he murmured. A whisper of amusement, of frustration, of desire. “What are you doing here?”
    She barely remembered. She felt damp. Feverish. The heat of his body, the warmth of his breath, reached out to her. “I needed to speak with you. Alone.”
    She knew very well that she should move away.
    She was equally certain he would do nothing to stop her.
    But she might never have another opportunity to indulge her curiosity. Her desire. She stood her ground, motionless as a rabbit when the dogs were in sight, her heart beating, beating, beating.
    “Then you must tell me,” he said, a hint of laughter in his voice and in his eyes, “how I can be of service to you.”
    Despite herself, she felt her lips curve. She wanted this, to revel in this moment without fear or shame. She wanted him.
    She closed her eyes to the extreme foolishness of what she was doing and simply breathed him in, the scent of his soap, the flavor of his skin, as if she could store up enough sensations to last her for a lifetime.
    His fingers stroked the hair by her temple, a tiny, tugging pleasure. His hand cupped her cheek. With his thumb, he traced the shape of her smile, rubbing lightly on her lower lip. Languor invaded her limbs, weighted her eyelids.
    She was playing with fire.