Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(115)

“You rant of nonsense, Ruark.” Shanna rinsed herself slowly with the sponge, noting that his eyes followed closely where her hands led. “Have I not been more than kind to your whimsy?”

She taunted him subtly, lolling back in the tub and raising her arms so that trickles of water traced down their long, slim length then raced in runnels across her round breasts. His eyes devoured her every movement, the heat of them scorching her wherever they touched. Wickedly, Shanna reached for a towel to shut off his view, knowing full well that she tested his starved appetite.

“It strikes me, Mister Beauchamp, that you must surely have some reason to risk my chambers at this hour,” she said offhandedly as she patted at her arm with the end of the towel.

His hand swept toward the music box. “I brought you a gift.”

Shanna smiled coyly. “Thank you, Ruark.” Then a thought struck her. “Is that from the colonies?”

“I begged a favor of Captain Beauchamp to see it purchased and sent,” Ruark replied. “Do you like it?”

Shanna listened for a space before she recognized the tune as the same one she had heard on the Marguerite.

“Mmm, I like it very much.” She watched his fingers close the lid, shutting off the melody, and raised her gaze innocently. “Could there be another reason you came to my chambers, Mister Beauchamp?”

A slow, tantalizing smile spread across his lips, and his eyes raked her. “I was informed you asked about me across the island, and I could find no cause for such urgency save one.” His white teeth gleamed in a quick grin. “Thus it was, though the hour was late, I hastened here at the first opportunity to assure you that I had not fled in the face of fatherhood.”

For a brief moment, Shanna dried herself, letting this sink in. Then she understood what he had said.

“Cad! Viper!” she snapped. “Pompous fool!” Her hand searched in the water. “Do you think I would banter that about the island?”

The dripping sponge was raised to throw.

“Ah—ah!” Ruark grinned evilly and wagged a finger at her. “Have a care, Shanna. Hergus would not approve of the mess.”

“Ooooh,” Shanna moaned, her teeth clenched in frustration. The sponge was thrust deep beneath the surface and held as if she were choking it.

The towel began to move away from her, and Shanna looked up to find Ruark pulling slowly at the other end. She clutched at the cloth, trying to hold it to her, but it was relentlessly drawn away, leaving her nothing but her hands with which to cover her bosom. Her best attempt at that only aggravated the situation, pressing the delicious fullness to even more enticing display.

Ruark raised himself from his chair and came toward her, his eyes like two glowing coals as they burned into her, locking and holding her gaze. He stood above her, towering tall like some bronze, half-naked savage. The room was silent but for the slow ticking of the clock. The play of shadows in bold relief upon his torso fascinated her, and her eyes wandered slowly down the long, corded veins that stood out in his arms. Ruark leaned down until his elbow rested on the edge of the tub. His finger trailed in the water, and the passion in his gaze was as naked as his chest. It fanned the sleeping fires in her own blood. His forefinger entered the deep harbor between her breasts and traced lazily across the beaches they formed and then moved inland along her shoulder and around the base of her slim, white throat. His voice came soft, husky, almost a whisper.

“Must I ever woo you, Shanna, as if you were some untainted virgin child, destroying your fortress stone by stone, tearing down your walls of resistance until you yield to that which is inevitable? You plead widowhood so dearly and then surrender to me with a passion that rends the roots of my very sanity.”

Beneath his touch Shanna nearly quaked. His finger traveled across her, searing the ends of her nerves until she ached to be drawn to him. Her lips were parted with her rapid breathing, her eyes half-closed as his face drew near. She waited in anticipation of his kiss. Then his finger dipped again into the water and touched her nose, leaving a large drop trembling at its tip.

Ruark straightened and stood back a pace, chuckling at the bemusement in her face. Shanna struggled to raise herself in the tub and thrusting out her bottom lip, huffed the droplet from the end of her nose. When finally she sat upright, she glared at him and spoke half chiding, half ruefully.

“You’re a beast, Ruark Beauchamp.”

“Aye, love, a beast.”

“A dragon! One of the most irksome sort.”

“Aye, love, a dragon.”

Shanna stared at him, then a delicious grin broke upon her lips. “And I am a witch.”