heir, of course.
With his eyes closed and his own room gone quiet, he could now hear the faint splashing sounds of Olivia in the bath. She must have sent Petty on to bed, for there were no voices, only the sound of water lapping at the sides of the tub.
She'd be close to the hearth for warmth. The fire would lick her skin with golden lights, gleaming off the soapy water.
After she dunked and sat up, her hair would slick down her back like a dark gold stream, exposing her long neck and white shoulders… and those magnificent breasts would float slightly in the water, buoyed by their own lush abundance. She would wash them, lifting them and soaping them until the bubbles ran from her skin and drops fell from her nipples like diamonds in the firelight…
He'd never actually seen a woman in the bath, he realized.
He also suddenly realized that he was completely aroused—surprising considering the condition of his head. Yet there was no help for it. The thought of a wet, soapy Olivia was as erotic a fantasy as he'd ever known.
He shouldn't have sent her away.
That was ridiculous. She'd had a trying evening, in more ways than one. They both needed their rest.
Yet he must continue his tutoring of her. He must train her well in her own sexuality. He must draw all her deepest responses out and make her open to nearly anything.
Do I have your word, Olivia? Will you wait naked for me, with nothing but the candlelight touching your skin?
Ah, well, there you had it. He couldn't very well be the cause of her breaking her word, could he?
He threw back the covers and stood. His headache was easing, likely because all the throbbing had been diverted to other areas.
He pushed the footstool aside and entered her room, looking eagerly toward the fire. The tub was there, but the used toweling and the wetted floor meant he'd missed his chance.
"Dane? Is your head worse?"
Her concerned voice came from behind him and he heard a rustle as if she moved his way. He held up a hand to stop her without turning.
"Do you recall what you promised me this morning, Olivia?"
He heard her draw a breath. "Y—yes. But your head—"
"You gave me your word, Olivia."
A pause. "Yes, Dane," she said quietly. He heard a heavy rustle, the sound of damp toweling hitting the carpet.
He turned.
She stood there, bare and glowing from the heat of her bath and the blush beneath her skin. Her chin was high, but her gaze slid away from him and her fingers twitched nervously at her sides.
A pagan goddess indeed. Her heavy breasts rose and fell with each broken breath, her nipples crinkled with chill and… arousal? Dane moved toward her, desperately curious. She wouldn't look at him.
He reached out one hand and slowly drew his fingertip lightly up her belly and between her breasts. She shuddered spasmodically, her flesh twitching beneath his touch. He felt her breath on his chest where the dressing gown had parted slightly, a small, hot gust on his skin.
He drew his finger up between her collarbones and up her throat until he could tip her chin back and see her eyes. She shut them as her head tilted.
"Look at me." The words were soft, but he wasn't asking.
Her eyes fluttered open and his question was answered. Her gray eyes were dark and hot with excitement.
Dane thoughtfully stroked one thumb down her cheek. She was so many women in one, it seemed. Sometimes shy and diffident, sometimes confident, and sometimes, like now, she was a keg of gunpowder that begged to be ignited.
"Do you like this, sweet Olivia, this obedience to me in our bed play? Does it arouse you to be mastered?"
He felt her swallow, her throat convulsing against his hand. She nodded, a tiny movement.
"Do you trust me?"
She nodded again, her gaze never leaving his. She felt wordless and acquiescent before his virility and strength. She was under a spell, as if he held her will in the palm of his hand. It was his instrument, and she was merely the music it played.
"Lay on the bed
With his eyes closed and his own room gone quiet, he could now hear the faint splashing sounds of Olivia in the bath. She must have sent Petty on to bed, for there were no voices, only the sound of water lapping at the sides of the tub.
She'd be close to the hearth for warmth. The fire would lick her skin with golden lights, gleaming off the soapy water.
After she dunked and sat up, her hair would slick down her back like a dark gold stream, exposing her long neck and white shoulders… and those magnificent breasts would float slightly in the water, buoyed by their own lush abundance. She would wash them, lifting them and soaping them until the bubbles ran from her skin and drops fell from her nipples like diamonds in the firelight…
He'd never actually seen a woman in the bath, he realized.
He also suddenly realized that he was completely aroused—surprising considering the condition of his head. Yet there was no help for it. The thought of a wet, soapy Olivia was as erotic a fantasy as he'd ever known.
He shouldn't have sent her away.
That was ridiculous. She'd had a trying evening, in more ways than one. They both needed their rest.
Yet he must continue his tutoring of her. He must train her well in her own sexuality. He must draw all her deepest responses out and make her open to nearly anything.
Do I have your word, Olivia? Will you wait naked for me, with nothing but the candlelight touching your skin?
Ah, well, there you had it. He couldn't very well be the cause of her breaking her word, could he?
He threw back the covers and stood. His headache was easing, likely because all the throbbing had been diverted to other areas.
He pushed the footstool aside and entered her room, looking eagerly toward the fire. The tub was there, but the used toweling and the wetted floor meant he'd missed his chance.
"Dane? Is your head worse?"
Her concerned voice came from behind him and he heard a rustle as if she moved his way. He held up a hand to stop her without turning.
"Do you recall what you promised me this morning, Olivia?"
He heard her draw a breath. "Y—yes. But your head—"
"You gave me your word, Olivia."
A pause. "Yes, Dane," she said quietly. He heard a heavy rustle, the sound of damp toweling hitting the carpet.
He turned.
She stood there, bare and glowing from the heat of her bath and the blush beneath her skin. Her chin was high, but her gaze slid away from him and her fingers twitched nervously at her sides.
A pagan goddess indeed. Her heavy breasts rose and fell with each broken breath, her nipples crinkled with chill and… arousal? Dane moved toward her, desperately curious. She wouldn't look at him.
He reached out one hand and slowly drew his fingertip lightly up her belly and between her breasts. She shuddered spasmodically, her flesh twitching beneath his touch. He felt her breath on his chest where the dressing gown had parted slightly, a small, hot gust on his skin.
He drew his finger up between her collarbones and up her throat until he could tip her chin back and see her eyes. She shut them as her head tilted.
"Look at me." The words were soft, but he wasn't asking.
Her eyes fluttered open and his question was answered. Her gray eyes were dark and hot with excitement.
Dane thoughtfully stroked one thumb down her cheek. She was so many women in one, it seemed. Sometimes shy and diffident, sometimes confident, and sometimes, like now, she was a keg of gunpowder that begged to be ignited.
"Do you like this, sweet Olivia, this obedience to me in our bed play? Does it arouse you to be mastered?"
He felt her swallow, her throat convulsing against his hand. She nodded, a tiny movement.
"Do you trust me?"
She nodded again, her gaze never leaving his. She felt wordless and acquiescent before his virility and strength. She was under a spell, as if he held her will in the palm of his hand. It was his instrument, and she was merely the music it played.
"Lay on the bed
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