Read Online Wolfsgate by Cat Porter - Free Book Online

of the opiate still poured over him in waves every so often. Would this damned torture ever end?
    Once home, Justine settled him in the armchair in the parlor and brought him a change of clothes. She crouched before him and removed his boots, then stood over him to remove his shirt.
    He scowled. “I can do this myself. I’m a grown man, you know.” He pushed her hands away. But when he stretched to remove the shirt, he grimaced with the effort and cursed under his breath. His arms fell back down to his sides.
    “Brandon, who do you think helped Davidson change and bathe you when we got you out of hospital?” Justine asked. His insides tensed. “I did,” she said, holding his weary gaze. “Don’t fight me, let me help you.”
    Oh, let her play nursemaid.
    He was so exhausted, and her touching him would feel bloody good anyhow, wouldn't it? He dropped his hands from his shirt letting out a sigh. She peeled the wet fabric off his torso, wrapped a thin cotton blanket over his cool skin and rubbed him with it. Yes, this felt very good. Their faces were inches away from each other. Her short breaths fanned his chest.
    “You should change too. You’ll catch a cold,” he murmured.
    “I will, after. Now let’s get on with it.” Her lips set firmly together.
    His jaw tensed as he searched her unsmiling eyes. She was so soft one moment, almost fragile, as if she could break in your very hands. Then she transformed into a determined and resolute worker.
    Justine’s fingers undid the fastenings at his breeches. He lifted his eyebrows. Well, no sign of the blushing virginal bride here. He pushed her fingers away, raised his hips and lowered the wet breeches himself, then sank down into the seat again as she yanked them the rest of the way down his legs. He covered himself with the blanket, and she rubbed it over his legs and feet without removing it from him. She was all smart efficiency now. His young bride’s hesitant touch and violent blushing were gone.
    She put the clean nightshirt over his head as he sat, his face level with her chest. His pulse thudded in his neck as he took in the golden color of her skin dotted with freckles and the curves of her full breasts straining against the wet material of her dress. He had a savage urge to bury his face in those round, firm globes of flesh. He shut his eyes in a vain attempt to gain control of himself, yet her scent filled his nostrils; clean and fresh like a dewy green forest early in the morning. His cock stiffened, and he groaned inwardly.
    He studied her as she folded his wet shirt and added it to the pile of his damp clothes on the floor. A girl who enjoyed the outdoors and didn’t care if she was fashionably pale or kissed by the sun? Wavy tendrils of her hair had fallen in wisps about her neck. Yes, he liked her raw brand of beauty. He liked her.
    For God’s sake, this was Justine.
    And so?
    She wasn’t his sister, nor his cousin; not a drop of familial blood between them. Only bonds of legality. Yes, he could have plenty of unclean thoughts about Justine.
    She stood before him again smoothing the sleeves of his nightshirt over his shoulders, her hands spreading their warmth down his arms. Then came the fine wool gown gliding down his torso and over his legs and a very comfortable, warm sock on each foot.
    “I feel like an old man,” he said, a rueful smile curling his lips.
    One of her elegant eyebrows arched up. “You are most certainly not an old man, Brandon.”
    “Oh?” He had to make her blush again. Had to see that pink bloom across her gorgeous skin. “Do I please you?”
    She glanced up at him, and there it was. Warmth seeped through him at the sight. Her face reddened, but she ignored the comment otherwise as she busied herself with putting his arms through a dressing gown and tying the belt about his waist. He put his hands over hers as she finished with the belt. “Thank you, Justine.”
    “You’re welcome,” she murmured.
    He brought her