The Warrior's Touch by Michelle Willingham Page B

enjoy the hot water, the hands scrubbing away the dirt.
    And yet, her palms moved with sensuality over his skin, with a startling familiarity. He had the oddest sensation that she’d touched him intimately before, though he knew it was impossible.
    He was grateful that the tub hid the remainder of his body, for he could not shield his reaction to her.
    A curl of her hair fell against his shoulder, a silken strand that teased him. He had the urge to thread his hands through her hair, pulling her down for a kiss.
    And yet, he could not touch her. The Ó Banníons had wrought a fitting punishment upon him, unjust though it was. He could no longer caress a woman’s skin.
    ‘You may stand now,’ Aileen said softly.
    Connor remained motionless. Her fingertips rested upon his shoulders, drops of water sliding down his arms. She held the cloth against him, and the temptation of her touch made him want her more.
    ‘I want to kiss you,’ he said huskily. Her lips opened in a startled reaction. The invitation hung between them, but she did not move away.
    Connor closed the distance. She tasted of strawberries, a tart sweetness that tantalised him. She held herself so very still, not turning him away, but not kissing him back either. There was a soft innocence about her, and yet she had been another man’s wife.
    Connor tried to coax her mouth to open, to let him slide his tongue within, but she pulled back. Her shoulders rose, her breathing unsteady. She desired him, too. Her mouth beckoned for another kiss, while his body wanted far more.
    ‘I thought you—you said—’ Though her face blushed fiercely, she stammered, “You did not want me.’
    Connor halted her with a dark gaze. ‘I want you far more than is good for either of us.’ With that, he stood, letting her see the full length of his arousal.
    Aileen stepped back, averting her shocked gaze. ‘You are right. It would not be good for us.’
    He expected her to flee, to chastise him for kissing her. She did not. Instead, she said nothing of his erection but drew the soapy cloth over his thighs, down his legs. His lungs compressed, his body craving the feel of her naked skin against his own.
    ‘I mean no offence,’ he said by way of apology. ‘It has been a long time since…’He didn’t know quite what to say, hoping he could ease the disquiet. ‘I suppose it would have happened with any woman.’
    Aileen frowned, and he thought he detected annoyance in her expression. ‘Perhaps.’
    She poured a bucket of warm water over him to rinse, and wrapped a drying cloth around him. Connor accepted her assistance while stepping out of the tub.
    She rubbed him dry with brisk motions, nothing at all untoward by them. In time, his aching subsided and she brought him a clean tunic and trews.
    ‘These belonged to Eachan. They may not fit, but you may wear them while I tend to your clothes.’
    He accepted them, and, true to her word, the tunic pulled tight against his chest. ‘My thanks to you.’
    She seemed ill at ease, and he knew he had to say something to reassure her.
    ‘Know that I would never force my attentions upon you, if they are unwanted,’ he said.
    ‘I know it.’ In the dim light of the hut, her complexion appeared paler than usual. He wished he had not acted on impulse.
    ‘But you should not do that again.’ She mustered her courage and looked into his eyes. ‘It is better if I am only a healer to you.’
    A fleeting pain eclipsed her face. He wanted to reach out to her, to discover the mysteries she hid behind a mask of shyness. But he respected her desire not to lie with him.
    ‘I will return to the sick hut for the night,’ he said. He struggled to open the door with his bandaged hands, moving outside. For a long time he stood in the moonlight, the night air cooling his desire.
    But as he closed his eyes, he heard the water lap against the tub when she entered it. His imagination conjured up carnal images of a woman’s body, supple skin and