It hadn’t felt like any naked part of him she’d seen. And she was burning with curiosity.
She lifted the bedclothes higher . . . higher . . . The fabric of his nightshirt was tented, covering the place where she most wanted to look. She pinched a fold of the material between thumb and finger and tugged lightly. The nightshirt slid upward. She tugged again—
“Go ahead, lift it all the way,” invited a deep voice laced with sleepy amusement.
She dropped the bedclothes. “I didn’t. I wasn’t.” But she did. She was. Caught red-handed. Red-faced, more like. Her cheeks were burning.
He chuckled and it was like rich, warm chocolate.Knowingchocolate. “Go ahead, I don’t mind.”
She tried to think of something to say. “I was just checking . . .” She trailed off, unable to think of a single excuse.
He slanted a wicked grin at her. “And am I all right? Nothing broken? In need of attention?”
His head and his ankle were injured: she’d been looking right smack bang in between. Where she had no business to be looking. She squirmed with mortification.
“It doesn’t matter,” she mumbled.
“Actually I’m feeling a bit hot. And I’m sure there’s a swelling. And it’s aching. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to check me?” His expression was pure, laughing devil.
“No, I—”
“Little liar.” He reached out a lazy hand, cupped the back of her head, and kissed her.
It was a slow, soft kiss, warm as the morning sun, laced with the dark mystery of the night. Rich with promise.
A kiss that unraveled her defenses before she had time to put them in place. Not at all what she’d expected.
It was over almost before she knew it. He released her and drew back, leaving her slightly dazed. And wanting more.
She stared at his mouth, still moist from hers. Kissing him was not like she’d expected. Two nights ago she’d fed him willow-bark tea from her mouth and thought nothing could be so intimate.
She was wrong. Totally, utterly wrong.
She didn’t know what to say. His blue eyes seared her, brighter than the morning sky, seeming to read her innermost thoughts. Her eyes dropped to the rumpled bedclothes and she blurted out the first thing that came into her head.
“You promised to be a gentleman.” As if she’d been at all ladylike. A lady would never peek at a gentleman’s . . . member. Particularly when he was asleep.
But how could he be asleep and also . . . aroused?
From the corner of her eyes she caught the glint of a smile.
“Iama gentleman.” The way he said it, it might as well have been, “I am a wolf.” More accurate, too.
“Nevertheless, you kissed me.”
His eyes danced. “It was a very gentlemanly kiss.” He leaned forward and murmured, “Would you like me to show you what an ungentlemanly kiss is like? Just so you know.” The gleam deepened.
For a moment she forgot to respond, her imagination caught up with thoughts of what an ungentlemanly kiss might be like. Enticing thoughts. Probably quite reprehensible ones.
“Purely for educational purposes, you understand,” he purred. Exactly like the cat who was about to get the cream.
“No,” she said, firmly. “I’m not the least bit interested.”
“Little liar.” Again, he made it sound like an endearment.
“A gentleman wouldn’t have kissed me at all,” she said primly, rallying her stuffiest ancestors to the cause.
“Only if you took the ‘man’ out of gentleman.”
