Draco A Medieval Scottish Roma - Jayne Castel Page 0,51

merchant like my father.” He paused then, deciding that it was time they turned the conversation away from him. “Yours is a strong name. Gavina … White Hawk.”

Gavina’s lovely mouth lifted at the corners. “It’s a common enough one among the Scots. It was my grandmother’s name.”

“The Romans believed hawks were a bringer of both war and victory,” he replied. “Birds of sharp intelligence and wisdom.”

His comment roused a proper smile. “Are ye trying to flatter me, Draco?”

Draco favored her with a wicked smile in response, before holding up the soap and cloth. “Guilty as charged … I don’t suppose my White Hawk could wash my back, could she?”

Gavina huffed. She knew he was teasing her.

Draco couldn’t help himself. His thoughts snapped then to an image from that morning: Gavina naked and spread-eagled against the wall, gasping as he plowed her.

Heat spiked through his groin, and his rod grew rigid under the hot water.

Moments passed, but Gavina didn’t refuse his request. Instead, she moved around to his back. The water splashed as she wet the cloth and lathered it up. She then started to wash Draco’s back in long, firm strokes.

A deep sigh of pleasure escaped him.

Maybe spending the night here wasn’t so bad after all?

His eyes fluttered shut, and the day’s worries and disappointments sloughed away. She washed his back and shoulders, and when she halted, Draco felt an unexpected pang of loss.

“My chest could do with a scrub too,” he said.

A long pause followed, and then Gavina moved around to do his bidding. He watched her lather up the cloth. The steam from the bath had made her hair curl prettily around her face. Her cheeks were still flushed.

Draco’s breathing stilled for a few instants. He’d noted the Lady of Dunnottar’s beauty from the first moment he’d seen her, but at the time, he’d told himself that it had left him cold.

She was a vision. He found it hard to believe this woman was actually his wife.

In name only. He caught himself—no, that wasn’t true. They’d consummated it. They were wedded.

Gavina moved in closer and began to wash his chest. They were so near now that he could see the sharp rise and fall of her breast. Her soft lips were parted slightly, and Draco inhaled the scent of roses.

His rod started to ache, a deep throb that made it difficult to concentrate. He’d found her ministrations relaxing earlier, but now that she faced him, his whole body tensed.

I should be too tired for this.

After Cassian had revealed that the curse still held them in its sway, rage had descended upon Draco. He’d felt duped. Many hours later, anger still simmered within him. A trip down to the mithraeum at dusk had helped calm him, but it wasn’t until he sat in this bathtub, watching his beautiful wife sponge down his chest, that the day’s trials finally left him.

At that moment, there was only one thing he wanted.

Raising a hand, he reached out, caught Gavina around the neck, and gently drew her down to him. Their mouths met, and an instant later, her lips parted for him.

The kiss was slow and deep, and by the time Draco pulled back from her, his breathing was ragged, his pulse beating like a hammer in his chest.

Without a word, he hauled himself up in the bath, water streaming off him.

Gavina rose to her feet and stepped back, her blue eyes widening as they roamed over him. He saw the way her breathing hitched when she dropped her gaze to his groin—when she spied the rock-hard column of his shaft straining against his belly.

Draco stepped out of the bath, heedless of the fact that he was still wet, and pulled Gavina hard against him. His kiss this time was hungry, demanding. And she responded in kind. Her body melted against him, her arms entwining around his neck.

Frustrated by the clothing that separated them, Draco deftly undid the tie to her robe and stripped it off. The night-rail she wore underneath it was made of a sheer material that appeared almost transparent in the glow of the hearth behind her. But it was still too much.

Draco wanted her naked.

Tearing his mouth from Gavina’s, he reached down, grabbed the hem, and pulled the night-rail up over her head. Drawing back, he let his gaze devour her, while Gavina stared back at him. She was an achingly lovely sight: her lips swollen from his kisses, her hair a tangled mess. There was no timidity to