Angus stepped into the water first, then urged her to join him. In each other’s arms they sank into the tub, the fit so snug, Anya had not but to straddle him.
One of the servants had left a pile of drying cloths and a cake of soap beside the bath. Anya took the bar and drew it to her nose. “’Tis as fragrant as a lea of wildflowers.”
She dipped it into the water and lathered his body. If it weren’t for his wounds, Angus would have leaned back and closed his eyes and given himself over to her ministrations, but that didn’t detract from the delight he felt from her gentle touch. Nor did it detract from the anticipation of making her his wife. He wanted this woman clear to the depths of his soul. He would worship her, love her, adore her and, if the odds were stacked against them, he would die for her.
“Now you,” Angus said, slipping the cake of soap from Anya’s fingers.
“Ye mean to wash me as well?”
His eyes grew dark as his gaze meandered to her bare breasts. “I desire to place my hands on ye, lass.”
Never in all her days had Anya thought being naked with a man would make her so indescribably wanton. Though a bashful voice at the back of her head told her to cross her arms, she knew he didn’t want her to do so. She grasped the sides of the tub and tipped up her chin, opening herself to whatever he willed. “I trust ye.”
And oh, his touch felt so incredibly divine. The soap made his fingers slick, and he kneaded her flesh with those strong, yet soothing fingers. Anya’s breathing became labored as he cleansed her breasts as if they were as delicate as butterfly wings. Downward he continued, missing nothing, until he stopped at her sex.
“This is where I want to be,” he growled like a devil—a very kind-hearted devil.
As he slid his finger into the most sacred place on her body, Anya’s eyes flashed open with her sharp gasp.
“Relax,” he whispered, covering her mouth with a kiss that left her with no doubt as to his affection.
He touched her with a swirling motion, so erotic, her head swam. “I think I am going to swoon.”
“Simply having my hands upon ye makes me ravenous.”
Anya grasped his shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “Then take me. Take me to the bed and show me how a woman pleasures a man. Take me to the bed and make me your wife for all of eternity.”
The corner of his sensual mouth lifted lazily, his eyes growing dark. “Ye have no idea how much your words stir the fire within me.”
By the burning want swirling throughout Anya’s body, she must have some idea what it felt like for him.
Together they stepped out of the tub, hastily drying each other with the cloths until Angus swept her into his arms.
“Oh my,” Anya exclaimed. “Does the burden of my weight not hurt your back?”
He chuckled as he carried her to the bed and lowered her to the mattress. “I am no’ holding ye against my back, mo leannan.”
Anya reached for him, but he took her fingers and kissed them. “Allow me to gaze upon perfection.”
No matter how much she wanted to cover her nudity, his words made a yearning pool in her loins, while a hot, swirling pulse of awareness thrummed through her blood. What he mightn’t realize, was by stepping back, Angus gave Anya a gift, allowing her to drink him in. For all that was holy, the Lord of Islay posed a picture of unmitigated manhood. Gazing upon him made her wild with desire, made her want, need, hunger to lie with him. Made her crave the rough pads of his fingertips upon her flesh.
Taking a stuttered breath, her eyes devoured every inch of the only man Anya had ever loved. His sculpted chest, the rippled muscles in his abdomen that tapered to sturdy, masculine hips. Her tongue swept across her top lip and her breathing arrested when her gaze meandered to the blond curls surrounding his erect manhood. A flood of awareness surged between her legs as it had done when he’d touched her in the one place reserved only for him. Only for her husband.
With a deep chuckle, Angus lifted her chin with his pointer finger. “If ye continue to stare at my cock, I’ll come undone.” A feral