The next moment he was standing, dripping wet, pulling her beside him. Without releasing her, he stepped out of the tub and tugged her hard against him. He leaned down to kiss her neck, his face and hair tickling her cheek.
“Get in the tub,” he whispered.
Lucia’s heart hammered in her chest as she felt his hands strip away the chemise. His body was moist, and her own seemed to cling to it. The feel of his bare skin against hers aroused her further, and she luxuriated in the feeling.
All too quickly, he moved away. Lucia sat down abruptly, feeling lost without his body touching hers. She reached for the soap, but Alex already had it in his hands and was moving behind her.
With exquisite slowness, he brushed her hair aside, and his slippery fingers caressed her back. She shivered at his gentle touch when he massaged her muscles, kneading his hands into her sore shoulders and arms. Lucia closed her eyes and sighed.
Without a word, he directed her to dunk her head under the water. She soaked her hair, and when she came up, Alex put his hands in the long, tangled tresses. Tingles raced through her as his firm fingers began to massage her scalp. He worked the lather of the soap through her heavy mane, kneading the last of her tension away.
When she opened her eyes again, he was kneeling in front of her. He gave her a seductive smile, then lifted one of her feet. Lifting the foot to his bare chest, his fingers pressed firmly against the tender, swollen pads of her heel and arch. He even rubbed each toe gently between his fingers. Lucia had not realized how sore her feet were until his ministrations began. He repeated his actions with the other foot, finally rinsing it clean. She wiggled her toes against his smooth muscles, and he kissed each one, lingering until her legs began trembling.
Then his hands glided over each of her legs, spreading the silky soap over her calves. When he’d finished, he propped her foot on his shoulder and lathered her knee, then her thigh, reaching higher until his hands grazed the juncture between. She was trembling violently.
His fingers brushed against her, and Lucia couldn’t suppress a moan. The pressure coiled inside her, growing when he reached deeper to caress the small nub at the center of her folds. She bit her lip hard to keep from crying out.
And still the torture continued.
He stroked her until she was writhing and pushing against him. Then his fingers entered her. She let out a gasp, and when he slowly, tantalizingly withdrew, she took her opportunity. She grasped his shoulders and rose to her knees, kissing him ravenously, biting his lips, rubbing her breasts against the hardness of his chest.
She didn’t know how, but a moment later they were in bed, hot and wet, and Alex’s body was wonderfully heavy above her. He was kissing her, stroking her, touching her in ways she never could have imagined. Then he stopped, and when she opened her eyes to look at him, he was staring at her face.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, voice strained. “If not, tell me now. Stop me now.”
She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but she already knew. Nothing had changed. He wanted her, and there was nothing beyond that.
Lucia studied him, his pewter eyes, his dark lashes, his tense mouth that was so soft and supple when he smiled . . . or kissed her.
She loved him. Of that she was sure. But this—this here and now—was all he could offer her.
She closed her eyes. For the moment it was enough.
Being with him was enough.
But then he pulled away again, taking her hand in his. He held it to his lips, turned it over, and kissed her palm, then her wrist, then the too tender skin inside her elbow.
She was quivering with need when his lips finally reached her neck. And when his tongue made a wet path from her collarbone to her breasts, a tremor of delicious anticipation rushed through her. His chin on the soft flesh of her breast was scratchy, tickling her until his tongue found her nipple. Then she could only moan at the throbbing between her thighs.
He was hard against her, and she reached down to stroke him, wanting him inside her. Her body ached with need for him, and when he finally entered her, her whole being arched to receive him. She was complete. Whole. She wrapped her legs around him, taking more of him inside, her breath catching as he embedded himself fully.
He was breathing hard, trying to control his actions, but she wouldn’t allow it.
She moved against him, and his arms tightened around her. His gentle assault continued, and she was helpless, capable only of holding him tightly. She never wanted it to end. Never wanted to be outside his arms. When she found fulfillment she pulled him close, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was shaking, and she felt him trembling, too.
He rolled away, pulling her into his embrace. Her back was pressed against his chest, so he did not see the tears she wiped away. After a few moments his grip relaxed and his breathing deepened.
She turned in his arms, studied him by the dim light of the hearth. Eyes closed, mouth slack, he looked so vulnerable, younger than his twenty-nine years. It hurt to look at him. It hurt because she knew.
She was going to lose him.
When Alex woke her it was still black outside. Lucia blushed just looking at the tub, still half full of water, but Alex made no mention of their lovemaking. He barely acknowledged her, just encouraged her to hurry with her dressing.
When she was ready, they went through the silent inn and into the dark night, where Freddie stood with a waiting carriage. John was already within, and her brother looked rested, but his jaw was firmly clenched and his hands fisted. When she took the seat next to him, he didn’t look at her. Lucia looked away, wondering how thick the walls of the inn were. She had a feeling they were not thick enough.
She heard Alex and Freddie clamber onto the driver’s box and urge the horses into motion. They were only a few miles from Calais, but the ride seemed an eternity. The road was bumpy and poorly maintained, and by the time they arrived at the docks, John had forgotten his anger and was leaning against her for support. The coach slowed and stopped in a dark, nearly deserted area, and Freddie pulled open the door.
“Can you walk, old boy?” he asked John immediately.
