The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress - Anna Campbell Page 0,35

believe me?"

He rolled onto his side and rose on one elbow. "If you succumbed to temptation, I’m in no position to point a finger. In fact, I’d rather admire you if you did. That oaf Roderick deserved some of his own medicine."

When Brock was buried between her thighs and she moaned and twisted in the throes of pleasure, she hadn’t felt self-conscious. Right now, she was ready to die of embarrassment. Her cheeks were hot, and she was agonizingly aware of her nakedness and the sticky mess drying on her stomach.

With a shaking hand, she grabbed for the sheet. "I told you that I never betrayed my vows. That was the truth. I had a son to consider. A notorious mother could do him harm."

Brock reached to catch her wrist, stopping her from hauling the sheet up to hide her mortification. "I’m not judging you, Selina."

She avoided his eyes and tried to pull free. "It sounds like you are."

"I’m curious. Damn it, I want to know everything about you. It’s absurd, but I want to encompass a whole lifetime with you in the space of one short week. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. You owe me nothing. We come together by free will, and I have no right to compel you. But I’m puzzled. I hadn’t expected you to understand what a climax is."

"I’ve never known pleasure at a man’s hand until you," she mumbled. She wasn’t comfortable with his questions, although the bewildered desperation in his tone mollified her a little. This ferocious need that flowered between them left her reeling. She was gratified to know that the worldly roué also found himself at a loss.

"I believe you." When he drew her hand to his lips to place a kiss on the knuckles, she didn’t resist. "Let me clean you up."

"I can look after myself." Her voice retained that tart edge.

"Let me," he said softly, and the glow in his eyes vanquished her brief umbrage. "I want to cherish you."

Cherish… What a lovely word. One she couldn’t apply to the way either Roderick or Cecil treated her. "Very well."

Brock’s kiss was gentle. He swung out of bed, utterly at ease with his nudity. With deep feminine pleasure, she watched him walk to the washstand, admiring the long horseman’s thighs and the way the tight buttocks flexed as he strode across the carpet. The flickering candlelight turned his smooth olive skin to gold.

"I scratched you," she said in horror, as her attention fastened on the jagged red marks marring that supple back.

Without turning, he lifted the jug and splashed some water into the bowl. "I know."

"I’m sorry."

"I’m not. I like to wear your mark."

Pleasure made her curl her toes against the sheets. How could she defend herself against him when he kept saying these things that set her heart cartwheeling?

Defying the way her tired muscles objected, she pushed herself higher against the pillows and watched as he washed with quick efficiency. There was something thrilling about sharing such an intimate moment with him.

Watching him wash his member brought back memories of having him deep inside her. A shiver of profound pleasure rippled through her. Already she wanted him again. He turned her into a glutton for his body.

After he’d dried himself, he emptied the bowl, then filled it again and carried it across to the bed. "At least I can do a better job this time than I managed in the carriage."

"You don’t have to act my servant."

The tenderness tinging his smile made her want to cry. Which was mad, after the most joyous experience of her life. But she knew Brock well enough to recognize that while passion was nothing new to him, perhaps this poignant sweetness was.

"Let me care for you."

She stretched out against the crumpled sheets. "I’m not used to people seeking my comfort."

His features darkened, and those expressive black brows lowered over his arrogant blade of a nose. Another surge of emotion overwhelmed her. She wasn’t used to people being angry on her behalf either.

"While you’re with me, you’re my priority."

He dipped the flannel into the bowl and began to wipe her stomach. While the water was only lukewarm, it felt glorious on her skin. Or perhaps it felt glorious because Brock did the honors.

"I hate that life is such a lonely fight for you, Selina," he murmured, concentrating on washing her. "I’d change that if I could."

Brock cut straight to her core, so deep and with such ease. She