Authors: Christine Young
"I don't--"
She turned away, stepping beyond Slade's reach. She watched him for a long moment.
"Have you changed your mind?" he asked. "Have you lost the courage I've come to admire?"
"Nay," she spoke softly. "But it might be in your best interest to keep your hands to yourself." She closed her eyes for a moment as if that gesture would give her the courage he taunted her with and then opened them to face her adversary.
Slade laughed then watched her with narrowed eyes as if he was calculating his next move. However, he did move his hands away and settled him on his thighs.
Lainie knew nothing would keep him from trying to seduce her when he chose to. She turned her attention to his scalp and washing his hair.
The feel of Slade's soft hair made gooseflesh ripple over her body. In the silence of her mind, she cursed her response to the one man who held her life in his hands. But she said nothing. If she could not ignore the way he made fire burn inside her, she wasn't about to call attention to that fact.
She wanted to give him no more hold over her than he already had. Lainie felt Slade shiver, heard a low groan come from deep in his chest. She watched his fingers flex on his massive thighs.
"Are you cold?" Lainie asked when she sensed the faint tremor in Slade. "Perhaps you should get a jacket."
"No." Slade's voice was low and husky.
She gave him a wary look before she bent over and pulled the dirk from its hiding place. The small sound the knife made when it was unsheathed seemed almost loud in the silence of the still night. She tested the knife's edge delicately. Despite her care, the knife sliced a shallow line in her skin.
"Guess it's sharp.' She muttered. "Don't make any sudden movements or I might slice you."
Slade's smile was long and narrow.
"Hawke sharpened it for me," Lainie repeated herself, unable to think of anything else to say. “I haven’t had a need to use it.”
Lainie squared her shoulders. Her eyes closed for a moment while she held her breath and prayed for the strength to touch Slade, to feel his skin beneath her fingertips. She didn't want him to have any more hold over her than he already had.
"Now what's wrong?" he asked impatiently.
"Don't do anything to, er, startle me," Lainie told him. "I don't want to have your death on my conscience." She paused. “I mean it.”
"You mean you don't want to have one more thing for Bertram to put on that wanted flyer," he corrected. "Can you find your way home from here?" he asked.
"Nay," she shook her head, hands trembling too much to use the dirk to shave this man. "I would be lost."
"What could I do to, er, startle you?" he asked, smiling.
"Touch me."
"I've been waiting a long time for you to ask," Slade said, lifting his hands from his thighs and letting them rest on her waist once more. His thumbs made gentle circles as he moved his hands lower to settle on her hips and then back.
"Nay, that's not what I mean," Lainie said, stepping back out of his reach. "Well, it is, but not that way. I dinna think ye should touch me when I'm holding this dirk so close to your neck," she said agitated.
"Don't confuse me," Slade told her.
"Then don't touch me."
Slade's entire body became still, his eyes narrowing almost as if he were angry at what she'd told him.
"You made a bargain, little fox. Or have you forgotten so soon?" he asked. "If my memory serves me right, I can touch you any time I please."
Lainie shook her head, her eyes closing for a moment.
"I haven't forgotten. Sometimes that is all I can think of. But in this case it might be in your best interest to show some self-control."
"All you can think about?"
"Aye," she said.
Slade's feral smile grew. He reached up and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. "Don't forget. You gave your word." He gave warning.
"I keep my word. It's not that. It's just that this knife is sharp," she continued, "but if you start touching me, I'll get nervous. I don't think that would be in your best interest. I could slice your neck before you had a chance to defend yourself."
With
a wariness
she'd learned during the last few months, Lainie watched the man who sat so still, watching her with a raw hunger that even the darkness of night couldn't conceal.
He grinned again. It came from a man who knew what he wanted, and would find a way to have it. "I'll sit very still," Slade promised her in a deep voice. "But when you are finished--" he let her fill in the rest, his meaning clear. Once again, he let his hands rest on his thighs, his fists in a tight ball.
"Good."
She inhaled a long steadying breath, hoped for courage, and brought the dirk to his chin.
Slade never let his gaze shift from her and she felt the heat of it burn through her, melting her resolve.
"Ready?" she asked.
He threw his head back and laughed. "You have no idea how ready I am."
Lainie bent and began shaving Slade with deft, neat motions, wiping the blade on the cloth every few strokes. As she worked, she tried to tell herself this was just like a hundred other times when she had shaved her brothers. She told herself that Slade was just a man.
"Don't move one little muscle," Lainie cautioned in a low voice. But Lainie knew Slade was not just a man. He was more man than she knew how to handle. Her fingers trembled.
"I wouldn't think of it," Slade promised, holding still, seeming to watch the blade.
She pushed his chin up and ran the knife over his throat with light, even strokes. When she finished, she heard the long breath he let out. Gingerly she touched his neck and felt a tremor sweep through him.
"I didn't draw blood," Lainie said indignantly. "Were you afraid I might seek revenge for the wrongs you've done me?"
"Wanted to make sure. I don't think I would have even known until I saw or felt the blood."
"If it worried you that I'd slice your neck," she said tartly, "why did you want me to shave you in the first place?"
He shrugged slightly, reaching out to hold her hand in his. "I wanted you to touch me."
Lainie hid her smile as he let go of her. She rinsed the rag in cool water. She was still smiling when she turned back to him with the wet rag between her hands. His breathing hesitated, then resumed more deeply as she rinsed his face once, then again.
While Lainie worked, she hummed softly to herself. Small droplets of water dripped onto Slade's chest and tangled in the dark hair, gleaming like liquid silver. The temptation to touch a drop was so intense it surprised her.
"Something wrong?' Slade asked as if he could read her thoughts.
Startled once more, Lainie shook her head too hard. Her hair spilled over her shoulders and across Slade's chest. His breath hissed in as though he had been burned.
She closed her eyes, afraid to say anything, knowing she should apologize. "Sorry," she said.
"For what?" he asked, picking up a strand of her hair and holding it between his thumb and finger. "I'm not the least bit sorry. I like the way your hair feels on my skin. I want it wrapped around me just as I want all of you the same way."
She slanted him a weary look,
then
tugged on the strand he held. When he let it go, she gathered it together and tied in into another knot at the nape of her neck.
"You should leave it free," Slade said. "Like you, it's too beautiful to be imprisoned."
"It's in the way."
"Not for me, little fox."
Lainie tried to ignore his words and what they might mean. She poured more water into the basin and rinsed him thoroughly from crown to collarbones.
"Not a single cut," she said with satisfaction. "You can finish your bath."
Not giving Slade time to object, Lainie hurried back to camp.
"Bloody Hell," he muttered. She wants me to finish my bath. Yet the thought of stripping, bathing, and waiting naked for her to return tempted him. The thought of someone, Jericho, coming upon him stark naked told him how damn foolish he was and that he was letting a sly little fox get under his skin.
I never sold myself to Bertram
.
He wanted to believe Lainie the way he wanted his heart to keep beating. He smiled grimly. He would have sold himself to the devil himself if it would have made Lainie half as innocent as she had seemed as he remembered her standing naked in the moonlight as moonbeams spilled over her shimmering hair.
The intensity of his desire to believe Lainie had never sold herself to Bertram or anyone shocked Slade. Yet he could no more deny his futile wish than he could control his primal response to something as simple as watching her move around the campfire.