The Black Lyon Read Online Free PDF Page B

"Now I will not get wet."
    Ranulf watched her undress and was glad for the debilitating heat of the water. Dressed only in the gold tunic, which fitted her like a second skin, none of her lovely body was hidden. Her breasts rose with each breath, and he remembered too well the feel of them against his chest.

    Silently, she took the soap from Ranulf s hand and lathered it. She was hesitant about bathing him, not sure of where she should begin or exactly what she should do. She shrugged and thought she should bathe him as she did herself. All hesitancy fled as she touched the warm, smooth skin of his back. The thick muscles bunched beneath the glistening surface, creating hills and valleys, waves of smooth planes. Her bands delighted in the undulations, causing a not unpleasant tightening along the sinews at the back of her neck.
    She followed the contours of the wide shoulders to his arms, her hands generously soaping the hair on his forearm. His fingers were long and beautifully shaped, the nails smooth and well cared for. There was an especial pleasure in the feel of her own sensitive fingertips against that hard palm, the callousing reminding her of the strength of the enormous man who sat docilely under her exploring hands.
    His chest was of iron, the granite of it relieved only by the covering of bronzed flesh and the thick mat of curling black hair. She lathered the sable mat vigorously, watching it twine around her fingers, her hands small and light against the dark mass.
    His neck was indicative of all the reserved, restrained power of the knight, the muscles lengthened and tightened from years of strenuous training. Her fingers traced the steel tendon that ran down the back of his neck to his spine. She pressed on it with a great deal of strength, but Ranulf seemed not to notice. She smiled and looked, for the first time, at his face.
    He stared at her with the strangest expression on his face. For some reason, she felt the blood stain her cheeks. She did not know where she erred. Her mother had bid her bathe their guest, and she did but obey. She knew she enjoyed the task; was that showing on her face?
    "I think I displease you. M y mother has ever meant to train me in this bathing. M ayhaps I am too slow?"
    "Nay." His voice was hardly more than a whisper— harsh, ragged. "If you wish to cease ..."
    "But I have not finished."- She tried to conceal her blushes. "Close your eyes," she ordered, no longer able to bear his scrutiny.
    She could continue in peace, now, to look at him, still and quiet, trusting her, waiting patiently for her gentle washing. She ran light fingers over the handsome face, feeling the thin scar along his cheek, not able to resist the sculptured curves of his lips. Her own lips seemed to bum, even her teeth to tingle as her body remembered his kiss. His lashes moved, as if he were about to open his eyes, so she quickly ran a soapy finger over each eyelid. She did not want him to see her, for she feared her thoughts would show on her face. She must remember that this man was a king's earl. When he left in a few days, she wanted no memories that would shame her.
    She splashed warm water on his face to rinse it and then soaped his hair, a great thick down of black locks that curled and twisted in an unruly way. She rubbed his scalp hard.
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    "You must tell me if I hurt you."
    His grunt made her laugh, for he left no doubt as to his thoughts on her ability to hurt him. She poured a bucket of water over his head to rinse him.
    She moved to the end of the tub and motioned for a leg to come out, and she ignored his muffled protest. She was delighted to find that his legs also were covered in short, dark hair.
    With the last leg done, she looked up at him, seeing an expression of contentment on his face, the muscles relaxed, his wet hair clinging closely to his head. She could not help but laugh, and he looked at her in surprise.
    "M y father, my maids and your men walk about you on their toes, as if