The Highlander's Forbidden Mistress - Anna Campbell Page 0,36

blinked back foolish tears. She had no idea he’d guessed so much about her life without him.

Oh, dear. With every moment, the bond between them strengthened, defied her claim that this affair was a matter of physical attraction alone. She was in such trouble here. And she had no idea how to fix it.

At Derwent Hall, she’d spoken so blithely about choosing a lover who wouldn’t fall in love with her. But what if she fell in love herself? She didn’t want to leave Essex with a broken heart. After a mere day in Brock’s company, she feared it might already be too late to save herself.

As if he hadn’t changed her world in a few simple words, he rinsed the flannel and began to run it over her breasts. His tender care thrilled her to her soul.

"Things…things aren’t so bad as that," she stammered.

Amusement kicked up one corner of the thin mouth that she’d once thought rather cruel. She didn’t think that now. "Liar."

She didn’t argue, because what could she say when dreary duty was all that life had offered her? Except for Gerald. "I find happiness in my son. It’s something."

Brock’s lips flattened. He lifted one arm and washed that, too, paying attention to her hands and fingers. Nobody had washed her since she was a child. This didn’t feel at all like that. "Not enough."

"It has to be." A world of regret burdened her words. "Now at least I’ll have the memories of a week in a rake’s arms."

He lifted her other arm and ran the damp flannel from shoulder to wrist. "I wish…"

No, she couldn’t bear to hear him say it. If she let herself wish for more, it would crush her. She couldn’t even let him say the words. More tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back. After Wednesday, she’d have plenty of time to cry. A lifetime.

She reached over and caught his hand. "Don’t."

"I’m sorry." He shook his head. "It’s just…"

"I know," she said in a choked voice and closed eyes that ached with the weight of moisture dammed behind the lids.

She heard him rinse the cloth again, the splash of the water a soft counterpoint to her uneven breathing. She felt the damp cloth on her thighs, before Brock parted her legs and began to wash her sex.

"You leave me no modesty," she muttered.

Selina opened her eyes to see him smiling again. It seemed a less convincing effort than usual, but she appreciated that he drew back from talking about the end of their affair. Already she was too aware of how short their time together was. More reason not to poison their few days with fretting about the ending that sped toward them.

"Modesty is overrated."

He wasn’t touching her with any hint of lechery, yet her oversensitive flesh sent messages of sexual pleasure leaping through her. By the time he finished, she was trembling.

He dropped the flannel into the bowl and bent to kiss her just above the damp curls covering her mound. More tenderness. The stomach beneath this tribute clenched in an agony of longing.

Brock shifted away to set the bowl on the washstand and returned holding a linen towel. As he dried her with an attention and thoroughness that roused more of that painful need, she sought some distraction from her wicked longings.

She asked him something she’d wondered about since she first saw him. "What were you like as a boy?"

Another of those intriguing half-smiles. Heaven help her, he was a handsome man. Selina was always aware of his surpassing physical attractions, but sometimes, like now, his beauty pierced her sharp as an arrow. The softness in the face she’d once thought hard and ruthless made him look younger, more approachable. The tumble of dark hair, the glow in his eyes, and the powerful, long-limbed body stole her breath.

He returned to hang the towel on its rail. "I was a little horror."

She could imagine he’d been spoiled. He was a beautiful man. He would have been a gorgeous child. What mother could resist smothering him with love and attention and gifts?

"Full of mischief, no doubt."

"I had my moments." In an action of breathtaking smoothness, he hooked up his breeches from the floor and slid them on. It reminded her of her nakedness. Odd how comfortable she felt unclothed in his company. It seemed natural to allow him every liberty.

When Selina slipped out of bed, she couldn’t restrain a groan. No man had touched her in years, and today’s exuberant