Brazen Bride by Stephanie Laurens Page B

commands.”
    She’d known that, but . . . the sight of him like that had temporarily scrambled her brain. Beyond her control, her gaze slid down again, to where he stood, if anything even more rampant. That part of him looked a lot bigger than she’d imagined . . . had she really taken all that inside her?
    “From the look on your face, I take it your previous experiences all occurred at night, or at least in a bed.”
    She managed to haul her gaze up to frown at him. “Where else . . . oh.”
    She’d never get her color back to normal if she kept thinking. . . .
    “Clearly there’s a lot you’ve yet to experience. I’ll be happy to show you . . . but did you want to check my wound first, or not?”
    She blinked at him, gathered her wits. “Yes.”
    “In that case”—he waved with his left hand, the one propped on the sink—“be my guest.”
    His other hand was splayed on the bench beside him. She suspected he could, if he wished, use it to help her, but from the gleam in his eye, the damn man was baiting her. Challenging her.
    She’d never refused a challenge in her life.
    Steeling herself, she stepped closer. His knees were wide spread; she halted between. Then she looked down. Boldly reached for his erection, closed the fingers of her left hand about it, and tilted it to the side.
    She couldn’t see the gash well enough while standing. Fluidly dropping to a crouch, she slid her fingers down his length, keeping the head tipped aside so she could focus on what was now a red, healing welt. The salve had helped seal it. As far as she could see, the seal had withstood his exertions of the night.
    Satisfied, she tensed to rise, but beyond her control her eyes shifted left. To the solid rod she held between her fingers, more or less level with her face. The flaring rim caught her eye, as did the dark color, more purple than red. The skin beneath her fingertips, fine as a baby’s cheek, seemed odd in contrast to the rigid, steely strength. Fascinated, she shifted her fingers, stroked.
    Realized he’d grown not just silent but still.
    Totally, utterly still—like a massive cat about to pounce.
    Before she could react, his hands closed about her shoulders. She rose as he drew her up.
    “Don’t let go.”
    The words were bitten off, a command—after one glance at his face, one she deigned to obey. Excitement slithered through her, anticipation streaked down her spine.
    One large hand rose to slide around her nape, drawing her to him. Into a kiss.
    His lips closed over hers, just as she felt his other hand close about hers, locking her fingers around his erection. She tightened her grip—and sensed the hitch in his breathing. Sensed that, with her touch, she held his attention, his entire focus, absolutely.
    She drew back from the kiss enough to breathe across his lips, “So teach me. Show me.”
    A command of her own, one with which he complied.
    He kissed her, all hot tongue and ravenous lips, while he guided her hand, showed her how to please him.
    His hand drifted from her nape, down her back, to her waist. Then further to cup her bottom and knead. Then he urged her closer.
    He was raising her skirt, and she was curious and eager to learn what it would be like to indulge in broad daylight, when a knock fell on the door.
    Releasing him, she whirled to face the door as Molly called, “Miss, are you done with that basin yet?”
    “Ah . . . almost.” She swallowed desperately, fought to strengthen her voice. “I’ll be finished in a moment. I’ll bring it to the kitchen when we’re done.”
    “All right, miss.”
    Soft footsteps receded down the corridor. Linnet breathed freely again.
    Then she whirled—and discovered Logan reaching for his shirt.
    She looked down. His breeches were closed. For one crazed moment, she didn’t know if she was grateful or not.
    Then she looked him in the eye. “Just as well—I have to work with the donkeys this morning.”
    He arched a brow, then pulled