eyes flew open, instantly finding hers. “And so? What do you offer?”
“I just want to . . .” She looked to the window, to the tableau reflected in the blackness there. She, in men’s clothing, eyes wide, and he, broad and bronzed in the bathtub. What didn’t she offer? There was so much she wanted from him. Touch. Words. Pleasure. And something else . . . something she didn’t dare name.
Something she couldn’t have.
She tore her gaze away from the window. Looked to him. “I want to care for you.” Like that, his relaxation was gone. His jaw set and the muscles in his shoulders tensed. She added quickly, “I shouldn’t want to care for you, of course. We are enemies.”
“Are we?” He reached for the length of linen draped over the tub, pulling it into the water with more force than necessary.
“I plan to give you quite a fight for my business.”
“And I shall meet you toe-to-toe,” he said. “Tomorrow.”
A thrill shot through her at the word. At the way it freed her. Freed them both. Tomorrow was not tonight.
“I shan’t like you tomorrow,” she said, feeling it was important to say so.
He nodded. “I will not blame you.”
Except she would like him, she feared. Even though she had absolutely no reason to like him. Even though he’d lied to her. And hurt her. But now—he did not seem like that man. He seemed . . .
Good.
His movements beneath the water were quick and perfunctory, and Hattie worried that he might aggravate his bruises. She stepped forward, holding a hand out as though she could stop him. He snapped his attention to her, and the focus in his eyes was enough to set her back on her heels.
“Tomorrow, then,” she said, suddenly breathless.
The only sound in the room was the smooth movement of the water as he finished bathing. Until he asked, quietly enough that at first, she almost did not believe he’d said it out loud. “How would you care for me tonight, warrior?”
She blushed. “I told you.”
“Did you?”
“I would bandage you.”
“And when that is done?”
She swallowed. “I—I don’t know. Thank you, I suppose. For protecting me.”
He shook his head. “I don’t deserve your gratitude. I don’t want one thing that happens tonight to be because of your gratitude. I want it to be because you want it.”
She wanted it.
“All right.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said.
“I’m thinking I should like to talk about the deal.”
He leaned forward, the sound of the water in the bath like gunfire in the room. “Say it.”
She swallowed. “The pleasure.”
“You want the ruination still.”
She nodded. “Please.”
He did not hesitate. “Tonight.”
Anticipation rioted through her. She couldn’t remain still any longer, simply waiting for him to finish his bath. She nodded. “Tonight. Or do you intend to renege on that, as well?”
One dark brow arched at the question, and with the bruise on his cheek, he looked like a proper rogue. Had she really said it? She couldn’t believe she’d challenged him. But what was done was done, and excitement coursed through her, threatening to overflow when he let out a long “aaah,” that sounded at once like pain and pleasure. “No, love,” he growled, setting his hands to the edges of the bath again. “I don’t renege.”
He stood, the water sluicing down his torso, running along the ridges and valleys, down the deep-cut V of his abdomen. Her eyes widened at the thick length of him, straight and smooth and—gone. Her eyes flew to his as he wrapped a length of cloth low over his hips, shielding himself from view.
He raised a brow at her, and she heard the dry question in it. Disappointed?
Yes. Yes, she was.
She swallowed as he reached for another towel, drying the rest of himself with sure, leisurely strokes, as though this were all perfectly ordinary. And perhaps it was. Perhaps he spent his evenings bathing for a collection of women, each more eager than the next to watch.
“I suppose you do this often,” she said, regretting the words immediately. Surely such an observation was not appropriate for this situation.
His brows rose. “Do what?”
She shook her head, but still the words came. “Bathe in front of women. Bring them here like a prince in a palace.” The corner of his mouth twitched, and Hattie’s nerves frayed. “Don’t you dare laugh at me,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “You don’t know what it’s like to be the inexperienced one. To be the one who has to know that