The Highlander's Bride(59)

“I possess no such marks or scars you need know of.”

He stood draping the large towel in front of him. “Perhaps I should see for myself.”

Sara scrambled to her feet, sloshing water out of the tub in her hurry to reach for the towel, not caring that gooseflesh still prickled her chilled skin, being more concerned in concealing her nakedness from her husband.

Cullen didn’t relinquish the towel, but he wrapped it around her, encasing her in it and drawing her into his arms. “You need warming.”

Her shivering body betrayed the protest that died on her lips.

Cullen rubbed her back, firm yet slow, his fingers kneading every inch all the way down her to backside. Warmth spread throughout her body, slowly at first, then turning to liquid fire and igniting her flesh.

She hadn’t realized that Cullen was nuzzling her neck until she felt herself melt against him, lost in his magical touch.

“You smell heavenly,” he whispered, burying his nose in her damp hair. “And taste delicious.” He nibbled along her ear to her neck, making her shudder and sigh all at once.

Before she could gather her senses, he walked her over to the bed while continually feasting at her neck, his hands meanwhile working their magic along her body, stroking up and down, heating her flesh even more.

He lowered her to the bed, going down with her, gently kissing every inch of her face before landing on her lips, to dance across them in teasing whispers.

Trapped beneath him, cocooned in the towel, her passion rising, her surrender near, she didn’t know where she got the courage to say, “Stop.”

It was a mewling, pathetic, barely audible stop, but she had gotten it out and followed it with a more forcible stop, albeit reluctantly and regrettably, but certainly necessary.

“Why?” he asked softly.

Was that disappointment she heard or did she merely want to hear it?

“It’s better that way.”

“I don’t believe so,” he said, and tinged her lips with his until they trembled.

“I know so,” she insisted, struggling to ignore the ache to taste more of him.

He smiled. “There’s time to convince you.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

He pushed off the bed and began stripping off his garments. “I would.”

She loosened her arms from the towel and secured it around her breasts as she sat up, her eyes steady on him. She warned herself to ignore his actions, his unsubtle challenge, but damned if she could. “Trying to impress me?”

“Would it help?” he asked, dropping his kilt and slipping off his shirt.

Sara studied him, all of him, and had to admit he did impress. He was well-endowed and perfectly crafted all hard muscle and flesh. Damn, but he did impress.

However, she simply shrugged, not trusting the croak in her throat to squeak out, stood and walked away from him.

“I take it I impressed,” he said, striding past her to the tub.

He had a good backside, not flat or flabby, but tight and round. His muscles stretched taut when he reached for the caldron, grabbing the handle with a thick towel to avoid burning his hand. He moved with a fluid grace, not doubting a single step or his strength, hefting the caldron to add heated water to the tub.

“My son?” he asked after all was done and he’d settled in the tub.

She took the opportunity to step out of sight and slip on her white linen night shift trimmed at the neck with a pale blue ribbon. Then she sat in the wooden, claw-handled chair next to the fireplace and in clear view of the tub to comb her hair.

“I’ll take you to him tomorrow.”

She didn’t worry that once he had his son he would leave her without so much as a good-bye. Having determined that he was an honorable man, she had no such worry. He would remain as he had promised and make their marriage seem a proper one.

“He’s close by?” Cullen asked eagerly, and began scrubbing his head.

Sara chuckled. “You’ll be smelling like me.”

He winked at her. “Then you won’t be able to resist me.”

She already couldn’t resist him. If he smelled sweet, it just might damage her resolve. She yanked hard on the comb, caught on a knot in her hair, and hoped the pain would erase the passion that still tingled her senses.

“Alexander is less than an hour’s ride from here,” she said, forcing herself to focus on his son.

Cullen wiped away the soap that dripped from his wet hair into his eyes. “How did he get here, close to your family?”

Sara set the comb on the handle of the chair and drew a pitcher of water from a caldron near the fire, keeping it warm though not hot. She took it over to Cullen and poured it slowly over his head while he rinsed the soap from his hair, face, and upper torso.