Keane strode down the second-story hallway, paused outside the last door on the left, and knocked. “Poppy?”
“Come in,” she called.
He swung open the door and stepped inside. “I appreciate your offer, but there’s absolutely no way that you and I—” He halted abruptly and blinked.
Sweet Jesus. Poppy was sitting in a steaming bathtub, her glorious red curls piled high atop her head, and her satin skin glistening in the light of a candle. Whatever thought had been in his mind left it; his words dried up on his tongue. All he could do was stammer while his body responded, rather predictably, to the vision before him.
“Would you mind closing the door behind you?” she said smoothly.
“Right.” He practically tripped over his own feet but managed to shut the door and drop his small leather bag on the floor. “What…” He raked a hand through his hair, half wondering if he was dreaming. “What are you doing?”
“I thought I’d make use of the bath until you arrived.” She slid a soapy cloth down the length of one arm, lathering her skin from shoulder to wrist. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind?” he repeated dumbly.
“The tub looked too inviting to pass up.”
“No, I … I understand.” Despite a valiant attempt to refrain from gawking, his gaze lingered on the graceful column of her neck and the round swells of her breasts. His cock grew even harder. “I probably shouldn’t be here right now.”
“I asked you to come in,” she reminded him. “Besides, I was hoping you could help me rinse.” She gestured toward a large, steaming pitcher of water at the foot of the tub.
Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t refuse her.
He knelt behind her, lifted the pitcher, and poured a thin trickle over her shoulder. “Is it too hot?”
“No, it feels heavenly.” She leaned forward and hugged her knees to her chest. “Will you rinse my back?”
Rendered mute by the nip of her waist and the subtle flare of her hips, he tipped the pitcher, watching as the water streamed down her spine, all the way to the indent at the small of her back. “How’s that?” he murmured.
“Perfect.” She sighed and eased herself backward, letting her neck rest on the edge of the tub. “Now the front.”
“Poppy,” he whispered.
“Please,” she said, closing her eyes and resting her arms on the sides of the tub. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so pampered.”
He swallowed, wondering what he’d done to deserve such exquisite torture. “Very well.” Carefully, he poured a ribbon of water over her delicate collarbone, between the fullness of her breasts, and across their taut, rosy tips. The citrus-scented lather slid off her body, revealing freshly scrubbed, freckled skin.
“You … are … beautiful,” he choked out.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled at him like he’d slain a dragon. “Hand me the towel?”
As he did, she rose from the tub, standing gloriously naked before him, rivulets running down her body.
“Now it’s your turn,” she said, gracefully wrapping herself in the towel and tucking a corner beneath her arms to secure it. He held her hand as she stepped out, and even after she was seated on a small stool, he found himself reluctant to let go. “You’ll need to take off your clothes now,” she said, an amused smile playing about her sensuous mouth.
“While you watch?” he rasped.
She shrugged slender shoulders. “I’ve seen you naked before—that morning when you were swimming in the surf.”
“True enough,” he said, unceremoniously tossing aside his cap, wrestling off his jacket, and hauling his shirt over his head. “But you might be seeing more of me today.”
“Oh?” she arched a strawberry brow. “I confess I am intrigued. But we should not waste time talking. The water will grow cold.”
A little cold water might have helped matters, actually, but he had nothing to hide. He tucked his thumbs inside his waistband and shot her a warning look. “Here goes.”
“I shall try not to swoon,” she quipped.
But when he shoved his trousers over his hips and let them drop to the floor, she did stare. And she blushed before quickly regaining her composure. “Into the tub,” she ordered, pulling up the stool behind him.
He sank into the warm water and sluiced handfuls over his chest and arms—until he felt her soft palms settle on his shoulders. “Lie back and relax,” she said, her breath puffing softly against his earlobe. “Let me do this.”
He did as she asked, closing his eyes as she poured water over his head and massaged his scalp till it tingled. When his hair was washed and rinsed, she used a soft cloth to clean his face and neck. She hummed softly while she tended to the rest of him. With deliberate strokes, she lathered the planes of his chest and the ridges of his abdomen. She kneaded the muscles of his back and shoulders and brushed her lips across his nape.
“Poppy,” he groaned. “I came up here to tell you that you don’t have to share your bed with me. I can bunk with Diggs.”
“Wouldn’t you rather stay here with me?” she asked simply.
He turned and faced her. “I’d rather be here with you than any other place on this earth,” he said solemnly. “But I don’t want either one of us to get hurt.”
“Hurt is inevitable,” she whispered. “I would hurt if you left me tonight. I will hurt when you leave me tomorrow. Or the week after that. But we have tonight.”
He hesitated, and her words hung in the air around them. “I’ll stay with you tonight,” he said soberly. “Hell, I’ll stay with you as long as you let me. You make it sound as though I’m the one who will eventually walk away from this—from us—but I don’t think that’s true.”
“No?” She slowly slid the washcloth up his torso, over his shoulders, and down his back.
“No,” he repeated, refusing to be distracted. “I think you’ll push me away. That no matter how much I try to weasel my way into your heart, you’ll lock me out.”
“You’re here now.” She wrung out the cloth, picked up the pitcher, and poured the last of the warm water over his body. “And I’m not pushing you away.”
Keane looked into her eyes, gripped the sides of the tub, and slowly rose.
Poppy tried very hard to maintain her composure, but this was much different from the time that she’d seen him naked on the beach. Now, he was close. So close that she could see the subtle flexing of muscles in his chest, forearms, and abdomen.
And that was not all she saw. Her gaze slid south, over narrow hips, taut buttocks, and his long, hard—
“Hand me a towel?” His wicked grin suggested he knew the direction of her thoughts—and didn’t mind her curiosity in the slightest.
While she looked for another bath sheet, he casually stepped out of the tub, dripping all over the floor. “You could always give me yours,” he teased.
“We have a spare.” Her cheeks heated as she tossed it to him. He used one corner to scrub his hair dry, then slung the towel around his hips. Between the dark stubble on his jaw and the cut above his brow, he looked far too rugged to be a duke. With a helmet and spear, he could have easily passed for a Roman gladiator.
And the sight of him left her breathless.
He stood facing her, a question in his eyes.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said.
“I am, too.” He took a step closer and cupped her cheek in his palm. “This is much better than the stables.”
“I think I misjudged you. Again,” she admitted.
His forehead creased. “How so?”
“I assumed that the animosity between you and Lord Tottenshire stemmed from something trivial—like a gaming debt or some imagined slight. But Diggs told me about his governess … and what you did for her.”
He scoffed. “She was the courageous one. I only helped to find her another position. It’s what any gentleman would have done.”
“Not any gentleman,” she protested, very aware that they were separated by nothing more than their towels. “You helped protect her from Tottenshire. And this afternoon, you did the same for me.”
“When he cornered you and refused to let you pass…” He cursed under his breath. “I thought my head would explode with rage.”
She brushed a damp lock away from his forehead. “I wish I’d reached for my knife earlier,” she said. “But no harm came to me, and the earl got what he deserved.”
“He’s lucky to be alive,” Keane grumbled.
She smiled, touched by his protective streak. “You displayed admirable restraint.”
“I did.” His eyes turned dark, and he tipped his forehead to hers. “But that was nothing compared to the restraint I’m showing right now.”
“What if you could do anything you wanted?” she murmured. “What would you do?”
“That’s easy. I’d start by kissing you.”
She circled her arms around his neck. “Then do it.”
The words were scarcely out of her mouth before his lips descended on hers in a kiss that was hungry. Primitive. Wild.
All the passion they’d been bottling up overflowed, carrying them along for the ride.
His fingers tangled in her hair. Her nails raked down his back.
Their bodies collided in a tempest of desire, longing, and bliss.
The connection between them was improbable, powerful, and utterly inevitable. She’d tried to resist the pull; so had he. But now that she was in his arms, she realized how perfectly they fit—physically and emotionally. Keane may not have been the sort of man she’d dreamed of, but he was proving to be exactly the man she needed.
His tongue plundered her mouth, and his hands roved over her bottom, melding her hips to his. “Poppy,” he murmured. “I’m hopeless with words and even worse when it comes to feelings. But I am rather good at other things.” He traced a small circle at her nape, leaving no doubt in her mind as to his area of expertise. “I want to show you what you mean to me.”
“I don’t need poetry,” she said, gazing into his eyes. “I don’t want flowery declarations. I just need you to hold me tonight … while I hold onto you.”
With a low growl, he scooped her into his arms, crushed her against his warm, naked chest, and strode toward the bed as if she weighed no more than the towel that covered her. Carefully, he deposited her on the soft mattress, resting her head on a plump feather pillow. She shifted to one side, making room for him, and he stretched out beside her.
They lay there, face to face, for several heartbeats, their breath mingling sweetly in the scant space between them. His broad shoulders and muscled torso were burnished by the dim lamplight, and the shadows accentuated the sharp angles of his face. He was strength, masculinity, and power personified.
But more than anything, it was the surprising softness in his eyes that captivated her. He gazed at her as though he knew her inside and out—and adored her just as she was. At the same time, his face was completely unguarded, as if he was inviting her in for a rare and unexpected tour of his soul.
That vulnerable look in his eyes melted her heart. Shifted her world.
And she suspected she’d never be quite the same.
At last, he brushed a kiss across her lips and trailed a wicked fingertip along the curve of her shoulder. “I have a confession. I’d like this towel better if it were anywhere else.”
She smiled, tugged it loose, and let it fall away. “No more hiding, at least for tonight.”
He sucked in a breath and froze as if he were momentarily stunned. “No more hiding,” he repeated in a gravelly voice. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we? I can recall a not-so-distant time when you wouldn’t even tell me your name.”
“Look at us now,” she said breathlessly.
His deep, low chuckle made her belly flutter. “I could look at you forever, Poppy Summers.”
She placed a palm on his chest and felt his heart thumping as fast as hers. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and all she could think of was that she wanted him to kiss her.
As if he knew, he hauled her close and pressed his lips to hers, sparking a tempest. She’d known it was a powerful thing—the attraction between them. But she’d assumed she’d be able to control it. That she could play at the edges without letting it consume her.
She’d been quite mistaken.
Every lingering kiss, every sensual caress dragged her deeper into the vortex and left her craving more. More skin on skin. More tangling of tongues. More of him.
Greedily, she ran her hands over his shoulders and down his back, savoring the subtle flex of his muscles beneath her fingers. He may have been a duke, but underneath his expensive clothes he was pure man. And tonight, he was hers.
He trailed kisses down her neck and lower, his damp hair feather-soft against her chest. When she arched toward him, he cupped her breast and took the taut tip in his mouth, sucking till she shimmered with pleasure.
His hips rocked against hers, sparking a sweet, insistent pulsing in her core. She clung to him as he caressed the inside of her thigh, moaned as he circled the sensitive spot between her legs. And when he finally touched her, she trembled with desire.
Keane was able to read her like a map, his hands and mouth traveling over the terrain of her body as if he meant to discover all her secrets.
As if he intended to explore every square inch of her heart.
He gazed at her with heavy-lidded eyes and nibbled a course down her belly, around her navel, and lower. She had an inkling of what he was about to do, having once seen it depicted in a book, and she shivered in anticipation.
But she was wholly unprepared for the intense pleasure that shot through her with the first touch of his tongue. Her hips lifted off the mattress and her fists gripped the sheets. Tiny whimpers erupted from her throat as need and desire spiraled in her core.
Keane stayed with her. Dedicated himself to pleasing her. Urged her to give into the bliss that beckoned. And when it all became too much, she did.
All the feelings she’d been denying, all the emotion she’d been holding back crashed ashore like a tidal wave … and it carried her away. Delicious tremors pulsed through her, lifting her higher and higher till there was nowhere else to go. She shattered into a million droplets, light and free as a sea spray mist.
When Keane laid beside her and pulled her to his chest, she knew she’d found a safe harbor. At least for that night.
“Are you all right?” he murmured into her hair.
Heavens. “I will be, once I recover sufficiently to move my limbs.” More seriously, she added, “That was rather like a dream.”
“A good dream, I hope?”
“The best.” She glanced down at the towel still draped across his waist, saw the evidence of his arousal beneath it, and tugged on the loose knot near his hip.
“Poppy,” he said, his voice ragged.
She pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat. “May I?”
He made a sound that was half chuckle, half groan. “Yes. The answer is always yes.”