She couldn’t agree more, but the memory of the man’s hands on her, the way he’d shoved her legs open, the names he’d called her was too much. Her teeth began to chatter, and she pushed out of the chair, past Ethan, to stand before the fire in an effort to warm herself. She was suddenly cold. Unbearably cold.
The fire did nothing to thaw the ice coursing through her, and she thought that as long as she had the memory of the man’s hands on her she might never again be warm.
Ethan came up behind her.
“I can’t—” she began. “I can’t talk a-a-about tonight right now.” She heard the hitch in her voice and knew she was close to tears once again. She took a firm breath and shoved them away.
“Shh,” he whispered, putting his hands on her shoulders. “No more questions for now.”
His touch was warm and soothing as he began to knead her tired muscles. She hadn’t realized how tense and exhausted she was, and his touch felt so good.
When his thumbs pressed into her shoulder blades, she almost moaned. His practiced hands on her aching muscles felt wonderful. She closed her eyes and rolled her head forward, stretching out the soreness.
Ethan’s hands slid across her back and along her arms, pushing her gloves down as he did. It was a comforting gesture, and she told herself, as she pulled off the sticky gloves, dropping them on the floor, that she would stop him in a moment. But his hands slid back up to her shoulders, and still she didn’t speak. He would think she had no shame.
Then she felt his fingers on her shoulders, their touch light and careful of the delicate muscles there. He massaged away even the small aches she hadn’t known existed, sending warmth as hot as the crackling fire before her through her body. And before she knew it, his hands were in her hair again, pulling out the last of the pins that stubbornly clung to it and running his fingers through the heavy mass that fell almost to her waist.
Thumbs at her temples, his nimble fingers soothed away her strain and replaced it with tingles of warmth. Francesca sighed, rolled her head.
His hands wrapped around her long curls and swept them over her shoulder. Out of his way. His lips were on the curve of her neck, behind her ear, and she couldn’t stop a shiver as a thousand tiny vibrations coursed through her body. She resonated with warmth from his mouth, his touch.
He traced the line of her jaw with kisses light as the sweep of a butterfly’s wing, and she gripped the sides of her gown to stop herself from leaning into him.
It was a lost cause. When his lips moved to her earlobe, she pushed back against him, needing the support. Almost as if they had a mind of their own, her arms came up and wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him closer. He was so tall she was on tiptoes, straining against him.
She heard his intake of breath, and the slow way he let it out again, and knew he was having trouble controlling his response to her. The idea amazed her. The fact that he would want her that much. That he would need to exercise any control.
She felt no fear. With Ethan she had always felt protected. Safe. His tongue lightly traced the curve of her ear.
“Turn around,cara,” he whispered. His words seared her sensitive skin. He didn’t stop his gentle assault, but she felt him tense in the brief gap as she considered.
He was asking her. He would never force her to come to him. Of course, he’d phrased the request as a demand, but a man like Ethan hardly knew how to ask for anything.
She turned in his arms. In the dim glow of the firelight behind her, his eyes were dark. The appreciation she saw lingering in them was familiar now. His hands slid from her shoulders to her waist, pulling her closer. Pulling her against him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse.
She ducked her head, feeling the blush on her cheeks. “No. I’m not. You’re just—” She left off, not sure what she meant to say.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “What am I?”
A slow smile spread across his features and Francesca winced with embarrassment.
“Aroused?” he said, amusement in his voice.
She felt her cheeks flame brighter.
“I won’t deny it, but it hasn’t affected my vision.” One hand came up to cup her cheek. “You’d be beautiful if I was cold, wet, and shivering in a thunderstorm. You’d be beautiful if you were covered with grass and speckled with mud. You
were,” he said, referring to her appearance after crawling through the brush in the clearing.
Francesca sighed. “Ethan, please.”
His features changed suddenly, the lightness gone. The molten lava in his eyes sent heat rushing to her belly. “Please? Yes. Tell me how to please you.” The fingers of one hand caressed her back lightly, and then he leaned down to kiss her.
She put one hand between them, and he stopped mere inches from her. Again, she was amazed that her small hand, that her feeble gesture, had the power to forestall him.
“I think we’d better go inside.” She glanced at the hospital’s curtains, pulled tight against the dark night. “It’s late.”
