Make Her Wish Come True Collection. Ann Lethbridge

      This medieval form of bathing, Cassie thought dreamily as the cloth stroked down her inner arm and down the side of her torso, ought to be illegal, but she wouldn’t have missed it for the world. The man excelled at the sensual seduction of the mind and the body, and that was before he had begun washing her.

      ‘Other arm,’ he said close to her ear.

      The deep enticing murmur sent a shiver down her spine. A shiver of pleasure and anticipation that took up residence in places no lady acknowledged. And yet, as a married woman, she had heard talk of there being more delight to copulation than simply the begetting of children. For some women.

      The care he took with his kisses gave her the sense that he was a man who would ensure his partner experienced more. She turned her body and held out her other hand, peering at him from beneath lowered lashes. The expression on his face was one of intense concentration, but, oh, his mouth, his lovely mouth, it had such a sensual cast as his gaze followed the motion of his hands down her arm, all the way to her fingertips and then upwards along the most sensitive skin of her inner arm, across her breasts and down her ribs to her stomach.

      She couldn’t move for the sheer unadulterated bliss of sensation, her skin dancing and prickling in anticipation of his touch and then sighing with pleasure as he soothed and stroked.

      Would he go lower?

      She tensed and he reached deeper into the water.

      His hand wrapped around her ankle, drew it up and out of the water and rested her heel on his chest. Rough hair tickled the sole of her foot, the beat of his heart an erotic reminder of his nakedness. She let herself relax, her nape resting against the edge of the tub as he repeated his caresses on first one leg and then the other. She sank into the pleasure of the moment. Relaxed. Drifting on a river of delicious touches and strokes. Boneless. Mindless.

      And when the cloth gently pressed between her thighs, she parted her legs and let his touch soothe her there, too. Soothe and arouse.

      A moan escaped her lips.

      He stroked again and parted her with his fingers, and his touch became firmer, more insistent, driving her somewhere she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to go. She tensed, opening her eyes to discover he was watching her face, gauging her reaction. Her body seized. Her heart raced. ‘Too much,’ she gasped.

      ‘Relax. Let it happen,’ he said.

      And then it did. Whatever it was, it shuddered through her, a shattering loss of self and then a rush of heat, leaving her breathless and limp. He caught her around the waist, pulled her close to his side, kissed her temple, her jaw, her lips.

      ‘My sainted aunt,’ she said when she finally had breath to speak at all. ‘What on earth…?’

      He gazed down at her, looking very pleased. ‘Liked that, did you?’

      ‘You are a wicked, wicked man.’ And she was a very wicked woman, because she was very pleased, too. It was all she could do to prevent herself from sliding beneath the water, she felt so completely lax. And yet he had not… ‘What about you? You did not…’

      He smiled lazily. ‘Watching you is all the pleasure I require.’

      And yet there was something else in his voice. A sort of distance. As if he was intent on keeping himself apart, even as he gave her the greatest pleasure she’d ever experienced. It hurt, but she didn’t know how to breach the wall he’d built to keep her out. Perhaps he did not find her equally desirable. Why had she even fooled herself into thinking he might?

      While she debated just what she should say to fill the silence, he tossed the cloth over the side of the tub and slid under the water, washing his hair and body in quick efficient strokes. When he had finished his ablutions, he looked at her with lifted brows. ‘I think it is time to rinse you off and get you out of here before the water cools and you catch a chill.’

      So protective and thoughtful, her whole body sighed with contentment. She caught the thought midstream. Thoughtfulness in a man was to be encouraged, but not to the point where they believed they were indispensable. She’d proved she could manage perfectly well on her own. Yet, if she was honest, there was a great deal of loneliness in being independent. ‘Good idea,’ she said.

      He retrieved the bucket and filled it from the tap, testing the temperature. ‘Stand up.’

      She froze. Him exploring her body beneath the water was one thing, but to expose what her mother had despairingly called her voluptuous proportions was quite another.

      ‘Please,’ he added, proving he was a man who saw that which she wished to hide. Her fear.

      To prove him wrong, she rose to her feet. Seemingly unfazed by the sight of all of her, he tipped three buckets of warm water over her head and a couple over his own, then helped her out of the tub when she could have easily managed to step down. It seemed to give him pleasure to wrap first her body in a towel and then another around her hair. It also gave her a great deal of pleasure watching the muscles ripple beneath his skin as he patted and fussed over each inch of hers. It gave her a chance to admire the definition of his chest and abdomen, with its scattering of dark male hair and his magnificent arousal.

      Why hadn’t he wanted her to give him pleasure?

      It was not the sort of thing one could ask. She picked up another large bath sheet and draped it over his shoulders, using the moment to hide her confusion. ‘You need to dry off, too.’

      She rubbed briskly at his back and he arched into her hand with a soft groan.

      ‘Nice,’ he said in a low belly-clenching growl.

      So she moved on to his shoulders and his chest, trying not to notice his continuing state of arousal, yet secretly thrilled that even if he wasn’t exactly willing, his body was interested. The man was certainly well endowed, though she had little experience by which to judge. Her husband had done his duty in the least possible time in the dark under the covers.

      To her disappointment Adam stepped away. ‘Your hair needs to dry before you go to bed.’

      So much for his interest, though if she wasn’t mistaken he was breathing faster than before.

      He bent and fiddled with something around the back of the tub. Water gurgled. The level in the tub slowly sank. ‘It won’t take long to empty.’

      If he wanted to appear indifferent, she could play the same game. ‘If this catches on, it is going to put a lot of footmen out of work.’

      He looked at her thoughtfully, his lips tilting up at the corners. The merest hint of a smile appeared. ‘I can see it now. Instead of weavers breaking machines, we will have footmen taking axes to bathtubs.’ He picked up their clothes, looped his arm around her waist and led her back to the kitchen. He dropped the pile of clothes on a stool and gestured to the rug before the fire. ‘Do you have a comb?’

      She sank cross-legged to the floor, careful to keep her towel tidy. ‘In my valise.’ Which he’d carried upstairs to her chamber.

      He reached for his coat and pulled one from his pocket. ‘You can use mine, since it is handy.’

      She unwrapped her hair and ran her fingers through the tangles, trying to separate the worst of them, then dragged the comb through.

      ‘Let me,’ he said, kneeling behind her and then sitting so his legs were each side of her hips. He gently pulled the comb through the ends of a clump and worked his way up to the roots. He was so gentle she felt not one jot of pain.

      ‘You really would make an excellent lady’s maid,’ she said, smiling over her shoulder.

      ‘My