She grimaced, still reluctant to admit any weakness. That was a trait he understood. He opened the lid on the tin of salve.
“Oh, that smells delightful!” She leaned closer to get another sniff. “Is that lavender?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You were expecting it to smell nasty? Harsh?”
“I, uh…”
Nick grinned. “The stuff Norton used to make did smell nasty. This was made by Sylvia, the former smuggler, who also developed the recipe for the cheese we just ate. They have an abundance of lavender in Lulworth Cove, and her salve recipe works just as well or better than Norton’s. Though he’ll never admit it. Now give me your hand, if you please.”
He cradled her slowly proffered hand in one of his and began to gently massage the salve into her reddened palm. He used both hands to rub the salve into all the creases and curves, between each finger and out to the fingertips, working the melting beeswax with its healing herbs and essential oils into every bit of skin up to her wrist.
Her initial reluctance quickly disappeared, her hiss at first contact giving way to a sigh for the pain-relieving effects of the salve, and, he hoped, the pleasure of his touch.
If he’d called her down from the foretop, her hands wouldn’t be this sore. He also wouldn’t have the excuse to hold and caress her hand, which was surprisingly erotic for such a tame activity. They were both still fully dressed.
As he stroked the pad of his thumb in slow circles on her palm, he tried to gauge her response, to see if she was deriving as much pleasure from this as he was. Her gaze followed the movements of his fingers as though mesmerized.
“Other hand,” he said softly.
She gave him her other hand, leaving the first resting palm-up on the table.
He took his time, thoroughly working the salve into every bit of her flesh, the beeswax quickly melting from the heat of their skin and the extended contact.
He had mixed feelings about the thicker skin she was developing on her palms and finger pads from the work she’d been doing on this journey. Miss Chase would never develop such calluses. Harry seemed to welcome them.
Though starting to tan, the backs of her hands were still soft and smooth. Perfect for kissing. He could drop a gallant kiss on her knuckles. He wanted more.
“All right, lie back on the bunk.”
Her eyes, which had been half-closed, now popped open. “I beg your pardon?”
“So I can do your feet.” He vaguely gestured at her limbs in question, tucked under the table. “I saw how you limped. It takes a while for one’s feet to develop the muscles and calluses to not hurt when working the footropes.” He scooted his chair so it was sideways beside the bunk, and gestured at the mattress.
She valiantly tried to muffle her groan when she got up from the table, but her grimace gave her away. He could make her feel better by rubbing the sore muscles in her neck and shoulders. All the way down her strong back, to her gently curved hips. Even better if he got her clothes out of the way…
He had a bottle of lavender-scented liniment in his desk. He’d start by rubbing the salve into her feet, then get the liniment and work his way under her trouser legs to massage her shapely calves. He’d smooth the oil into her muscles higher and higher up her slick skin. Loosen the laces at the back of her trousers and slide her shirt up so he could have access to all that lovely, soft skin. He’d have her moaning in ecstasy in no time.
She gingerly perched on the edge of the bunk.
“Lie back and give me your feet.” He patted his lap, looking as innocent as he could. Really, he just wanted to help her feel better. The fact that she’d make him feel really good in the process was just a bonus.
Tell yourself another one, boyo.
She kicked off her canvas shoes, lay back, and lifted her feet. He settled her lower legs across his lap, the tin of salve in easy reach on the table. He scooped a generous amount of the salve, rubbed it between his hands to warm it, and began massaging it into her right foot.
She flinched and giggled when he touched her instep. “Sorry,” she said. “That tickles.”
He filed the information away for later, and used a firmer touch as he resumed working in the salve. He felt the tension leave her, not just the muscles in her foot but in the way the weight of her legs on his lap increased as she relaxed and gave in to his ministrations. He rubbed his knuckles deep into her arch, stretched and wiggled each of her toes in turn, and stroked his fingers in long sweeps from heel to toe. He glanced at her from time to time as he worked, monitoring her response. Her eyes were closed, her hands loosely folded over her stomach.
He checked her again as he scooped more salve, ready to take care of her left foot. This time she was looking at him through eyes at half-mast, a subtle smile playing about her lips.
He knew what those lips felt like against his.
Every kiss they’d shared so far, someone else was nearby. Too close.
They were alone now, though. No one to interrupt them. Sound carried and the bulkhead separating the two cabins was thin so they’d need to be quiet, but he and Harriet were finally, blessedly, alone. He had plans for those lips. Not to mention the rest of her body.
He massaged her left foot just as he had the other, his touch firm enough not to tickle, pressing his knuckles or thumb to loosen knotted muscles, giving long sweeping strokes to relax, thoroughly working in the healing salve.
