her chemise to the side so he was touching her bare shoulders. When he leaned down to press his mouth against her smooth, cool skin, he noticed no discernible perfume. Only clean, fresh woman. His gaze dropped to her hands. And—
“God’s eyes, Charley!” A violent red welt extended from her wrist almost all the way up to where her arm bent at the elbow. The string yesterday had caught her. He’d thought so at the time, but she’d given no indication and then had encouraged that damn competition.
He’d done it to himself as a boy and knew how painful it was. This welt was his fault. He’d been assisting her and should have protected her.
She glanced over her shoulder at him, looking almost apologetic, but he would have none of that. He lifted her arm, cradling it with both his hands, and then dropped the softest of kisses onto the tender skin.
“Does that hurt?” He was a heel for not realizing it earlier. When she shook her head, he allowed his lips to barely brush the tender skin again. It was warm.
“My fault.”
“It isn’t your fault.” Pride swelled his heart. Or was it adoration? She was so damned independent. So damned headstrong in certain matters.
“I should have realized.”
She was shaking her head again before he even finished. “You had no way of knowing. You are not a person who can read minds. I didn’t want anyone to know.”
Of course, she wouldn’t want any attention.
“I know now,” he whispered as he turned her around to face him and then lifted the chemise over her head. Not moving his gaze from hers, he assisted her into the overly large shirt. “I want to protect you, Charley. When will you realize that?” And then she was in his arms again. Her hands around his neck and meeting his tongue thrust for thrust with his own.
She broke free and leaned as far back as she could with him still holding her against him. “But who protects you?” The question was an innocent one, and her eyes were filled with concern.
“I guess you will.” What in the hell was he saying? Had she cast some sort of spell over him?
He walked her backward until she bumped into the table, and he lifted her to sit on the surface. “That’s what two people do. They take care of one another.” He drifted his hands along her legs, from the tops of her thighs to her knees.
Perhaps that was what he would do. He would take care of her so that she was too spent to allow him the ultimate liberty. Jules pulled the wooden chair over and dropped into it so that she sat atop the table, a feast served up special for him.
And only him.
She leaned back, resting her weight upon her hands but watching him intently. She didn’t resist when he nudged her knees apart. Her breaths hitched and beneath the linen of the shirt, he watched as the tips of her breasts tightened into excited nubs. Glancing at them, and then up into her eyes again, Jules grasped her ankles, just above her boots.
Of course, she would still have her boots on. A lightness that he didn’t quite recognize danced in his chest, perilously close to his heart. He slid his hands up her calves, meandering to the outer edge of her leg, and edging back in again, and then pausing to draw lazy circles when his thumb reached just above her knee.
“I want to take care of you.” He fixed his gaze on hers, which was hooded and innocently sensual. He knew that look. He’d seen it on practiced courtesans but never on a lady. And never had it affected him as much.
Just as she could be a warrior but also a wallflower, right now, she was a wanton innocent.
Her desire for him wasn’t practiced, and he doubted she was even aware of the invitation she sent. But she wanted him. He was so damned hard, just from knowing that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
“How?” She licked her lips. “How do you want to take care of me?”
“I’ll show you.” Jules skimmed his hand higher. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
Her breasts rose and fell but she nodded and then blinked slowly. “Keep going,” she commanded.
“I want to know every inch of you.” His voice came out husky. He didn’t care. He wanted her to know what she did to him. “I need to touch you