Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,25

And, if she were honest with herself, to please herself. She enjoyed touching him, however innocently. She’d like to touch him not so innocently too. To dip her hand beneath the water and wrap her strong fingers around his cock.

Rip relaxed into her touch as Esme’s thumb slid over a hard knot above his shoulder blade. She dug her fingers in, earning a grunt, and gently worked it. Running her knuckles up his neck and down again.

“You’ve got strong hands,” he murmured. Another gentle groan as he leaned back against her. “God, that feels good.”

“Mmm.” Too good. Stolen moments. Stolen touches. Still, he seemed to enjoy having her hands on him almost as much as she did. Esme eased her pressure, rubbing her thumbs up under the indentation of his hairline.

Rip groaned as her fingers dug into his scalp, feeling the soft prickle of his hair. His head fell back against her thigh, eyes closed in utter bliss as she kneaded with her fingers.

He didn’t seem to realize that the oil was dissolving the bubbles on the top of the water. They vanished with alacrity until oil gleamed on the surface, hinting at what lurked beneath. Esme was no virgin. She looked and the sight thrilled her.

He was not unaffected. Not at all.

Leaning down, Esme pressed her lips to his forehead, her fingers stilling and her heart thundering in her chest.

Rip blinked sleepily. “Thank you,” he murmured. “You didn’t ‘ave to do that.”

“I like looking after you,” she replied, staring down into those beautiful eyes. So close. All she had to do was lean forward and press her lips to his…

“You do too much sometimes,” he muttered. “You ought to let us take care of you occasionally.”

“I’m the housekeeper,” she reminded him.

“This ain’t part of your job.”

Esme paused, idly circling his temples with her fingers. “Perhaps I like looking after you.”

He looked up, green eyes serious. “You ought to marry again, Esme. You were made to ‘ave a husband. Some man to… to give you babies. Make you ‘appy.”

The words took her by surprise. Hurt flared again and she sat up straight, thoughts of kissing him fleeing from her mind. How easily he spoke of her marrying someone else. As if the thought wouldn’t bother him at all. If he had mentioned another woman she’d have been sick with jealousy.

It only served to prove precisely how he saw her. A friend. Not a lover. Not a… a potential wife. Or consort. No doubt the stirring of his body was simply a man’s reaction to having a woman touch him. Not because he desired her in particular.

Coldness trailed over her skin. A dull, hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. Reality was flooding over her. She had hoped that he might feel something more for her. But he didn’t. Friends. Always friends.

“You’re right,” she found herself murmuring. “I should marry again.”

Instead she’d waited for him. Lost the last few years hoping and waiting. Her time was running out. Rip was right. She did want children. Desperately. And now she was almost five-and-thirty and her years of child-bearing swiftly narrowing ahead of her.

But the thought of taking another man to bed made her feel ill. Whenever she’d dreamed of babies, they’d had green eyes and black hair. His eyes.

Esme slowly stood, her shoulders sinking. The brutal realization that he didn’t want her – that he’d never want her - washed over her like ice water and she couldn’t help a shiver. “I’ll leave you to get dressed,” she murmured.

Then she turned and hurriedly left the room.

***

Rip slipped outside, the cold air stinging his cheeks as he cupped his hands and lit a cheroot. If he cocked his head, he could hear the quiet murmur of Esme’s voice as she showed Meggie, Lark and Charlie how to string popped corn and holly berries on thread for the tree. Though her voice was soft enough to lull the children to sleep, it set him on edge tonight.

He didn’t understand her. Barely able to speak to him all day, then coming in – whilst he was naked – and easing him with soft words and gentle hands. Touching him as if she cared, then blithely announcing that he was right – perhaps she should marry again.

He couldn’t deal with this. The hunger itched under his skin, Esme confusing him. A man’d almost think her presence in the washroom a proposition.

Don’t be an idiot.

She’d made it quite clear it wasn’t.

Rip crushed the cheroot under his