Tall, Duke, and Dangerous (Hazards of Dukes #2) - Megan Frampton Page 0,33
at changing the subject when you know you are wrong,” she muttered.
He chose to ignore her.
He went to the bureau with the linens, drawing two lengths of linen from the drawer. “We’ll need to wrap your hands.”
She glanced at the linens, then held her hands out in front of her. As though she were submitting to him.
Holy hell, the thoughts that went through his mind—and to his cock—at the sight of it.
Her, holding her hands out as he slowly unwrapped her, taking his time to reveal each inch of perfect golden skin. Her, holding her hands out for him to guide her to where he wanted her. His bed? His desk? The carpet?
Her, holding her hands out, reaching for his body, sliding her palms over his skin.
That was the one he craved the most.
Though he would gladly take any of them.
“Nash?”
He jerked his thoughts away from all of that, clamping his jaw as he began to wrap the linen around her hands.
Once again, he was touching her ungloved hands. Her skin was smooth, not marked by scars and calluses like his.
“I won’t be wearing linen like this if somebody accosts me on the street,” she pointed out.
“No, but I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“You are very sweet,” she replied.
Well, thanks to her words his concern that he would embarrass himself because of a poorly timed erection was no longer a concern, at least.
“I am not sweet.”
Her mouth curled into a wicked smile. Concern back on board, given what thoughts that smile conjured in his mind.
“Oh, but you are. You insist on rescuing damsels in distress—even though I was not in distress, mind you—and you’ve hired people who most men in your position would prefer to ignore.”
He scowled in reply.
“And you are taking time from whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing—”
At which he grunted.
“—to train me in self-defense. Although, presumably, once you train me you won’t have to spend time rushing to my aid. You can stay home, safe in the knowledge I can take care of myself.”
That’s not going to happen.
“I am not sweet,” he repeated.
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Not sweet. Can we get to the training portion now?”
The training portion. Where he’d be touching her. Not just her hands, which had already inspired images that he would be revisiting in the privacy of his bedroom. But elsewhere, adjusting her stance, demonstrating what a straight and true punch looked like. Making certain her shoulders were relaxed as she moved so the tension wouldn’t make her lose momentum. Pretending to be an assailant who might want to get her into a prone position.
Goddamn it.
Was that why he seemed to be procrastinating in doing the one thing he had insisted they do together?
“Nash.”
“Yes.”
He nodded, then stalked behind her.
“All right. The first thing will be to gauge your reaction time.” He took a deep breath, then placed a hand on either side of her waist. Holding her still.
She shrieked and leaped away, spinning to face him, her expression one of astonishment.
“Well. Reaction time is good.”
“Why didn’t you warn me?”
He frowned. “If I’d warned you, you’d have had time to prepare your reaction. That wouldn’t make sense.”
She rolled her eyes again. “You are the most irritatingly pragmatic man I’ve ever met.”
“I don’t even know what that means.” He held his hand up when she opened her mouth. “Nor do I care to. We need to work now. We can spend time tossing barbs at one another later.”
Her eyebrows rose, and that wicked smile returned. Damn it. “Tossing barbs? As though that is a thing you actually do?” She shook her head, that smile still in place. “I believe you would rather do a thing than say a thing.”
Well, yes. If that meant he’d rather punch a scoundrel than reason with him. Or drink a whiskey rather than talking about how it tasted.
Or kiss a woman who was just beginning to come into her own gloriousness.
The door swung open, and Finan returned along with Bertha, a young woman he’d found when making what he called his Bastard Tour of the villages near his father’s estate. Now his estate.
Bertha carried a mop and pail, while Finan held cloths in his hand.
“Oh good. I was hoping there would be a mop,” Ana Maria said in satisfaction.
The two stepped between them, Finan getting on his knees to wipe up the water as Bertha mopped.
“How’s it going?” Finan asked, his expression and tone almost offensively banal.
Nash grunted.
“Good. As I’d expected,” Finan replied, grinning.
“The duke has