My Fair Lily(42)

He arched an eyebrow, wondering whether Lily loved him. She’d mentioned the word twice, but the look on her face was one of frustrated disgust and not wide-eyed adoration. She thought he was an ass. He probably was. “Point taken.”

“Here, keep the shirt firmly pressed to the gash while I look at the rest of you.” That she thought so little of him did nothing to stem the desire he felt for her. He almost leaped out of his skin when she put her soft hands on his shoulders and began to run them outward down his arms, then across his chest, then downward in a slow, sensual stroking motion to his waist.

A little lower, he silently urged, knowing he would die happy and with a smile on his lips if she unbuttoned the flap of his trousers and took him firmly in hand.

He was beginning to like that expression.

Then she did move lower, to the top buttons of his trousers.

His heart exploded and whatever blood had not yet seeped out of him pooled in his groin. “What the hell are you doing?” Besides torturing me. He caught her hands in his when she moved between his legs and placed her roving fingers on his thigh. She would be the death of him. The hot, delicious death of him.

“You have the start of some serious bruising at your hip. I need to examine it, as well as take a closer look at your extremities.” She grabbed the shirt he should have been pressing against his bleeding wound, caught it as it slid down his chest, and quickly set it back in place. “Your limbs. You know, arms. Legs.”

“Not necessary, lass. My hip is just bruised, that’s all. And the rest of me is fine.”

“Are you certain? Because I don’t need you being stupid and dying in manly silence in my arms.”

“I’m quite certain, Lily.” The lie rolled off his tongue with ease. In truth, none of him felt fine. He was writhing in agony, aching to strip the clothes off Lily, toss her beneath him on the bed, and bury himself deep inside her. It didn’t matter that one of his ribs was probably broken, or that his damned wound was still gushing. If it didn’t stop soon, he’d bleed to death. All worth it to feel Lily’s soft body beneath him.

“Oh, dear. You’re hot.” Her hands were on him again. All over him, bless her adorably methodical brain. “I hope you aren’t developing a fever.”

“No, lass. It’s simply my body’s response to pain.”

“Pain makes you hot?”

You do.

She nibbled her lower lip. He really needed to taste her lips, drink in their cherry sweetness.

“How odd? I thought pain left one cold.” She shook her head and sighed. “Let me see your wound again. How deeply did the knife penetrate?”

Deep. Really deep. About as deep as I’d like to penetrate you.

Bollix. Now he was just being an idiot male again. A dying, idiot male whose last thoughts were to seduce his ministering angel. Nothing noble or valiant. No. Just hot, baboon male lusting after virginal baboon female.

“Oh, thank goodness. It’s small. No bigger than a thimble.”

He was not. He was big and hard as a stallion. Hades big and hard. All she had to do was spread her legs and he’d prove it.

“Lily, where are the others?” George’s voice was like a splash of cold water, the icy splash Ewan desperately needed, for he was within a hair’s breadth of doing something very, very stupid. Why did Lily have to be so pretty? And smell like roses in the evening dew? Why did her hands have to feel so soft and loving on his skin?

“They went to fetch Meggie. What took you so long, Uncle George? I’m worried about him. He’s been rambling about baboons and stallions and roses. I couldn’t make out any of it. I’m afraid he’s delirious. His skin feels hot.”

Her uncle frowned at Lily. “You touched him?”

“Of course. How else was I to check for hidden injuries? I’m sure there’s more than that one knife wound. There must be. He shot off the bed each time I touched him.”

Ewan coughed. Ow, that hurt like hell.

George turned his frown on him. “I’ll take over from here. Lily, why don’t you go downstairs and wait for the ladies?”

“I couldn’t. Please don’t make me go. Please, Uncle George.” She cast him the most sadly pathetic gaze she could muster, and Ewan had to admit, were he her uncle, she would have had him in utter surrender.

“Very well. Sit over there and be quiet,” her uncle said.

She nodded. “Be very careful when you touch him, Uncle George. He must be developing a fever. That’s why his skin is so hot and sensitive. I tried my best to be gentle whenever I touched him, but I only seemed to make matters worse. Was I doing it wrong?”