Wolfsgate by Cat Porter Page B

bath cloth and a larger one for him to step on.
    Once the water heated he took the hot pots and filled the tub himself. Before the tub was even halfway full, he began to strip his clothes off and climbed into it. Justine’s cheeks inflamed once more. She brought over a smaller bowl of warm water for him to pour over his head.
    “Oh, that feels good.” He groaned and the rich satisfaction in his voice warmed her insides. She licked her lips and held out the soap and a small cloth to him. He took them and began to scrub his skin. She dried her hands and headed for the door.
    “Justine, wait. Sit with me.”
    She turned, her eyes wide and went to Molly’s chair by the hearth. He reached back to his neck with the soapy cloth. “Oh, let me.” She took it from his wet fingers and lifting his hair, scrubbed the back of his neck and down over his shoulders. She worked in small circular motions rubbing the soapy cloth gently around his throat, around his ears, the hard angles of his jaw relaxing under her fingers. She dipped the cloth in the water to rinse it and went over his face and neck again washing away the soap from his skin.
    “Very efficient, Lady Graven.”
    She let out a small laugh. “Years of training under Nanny’s care.” His languid eyes remained on hers, and the banging in her chest continued. “You’ve gotten some sun I see,” she said. “Not as pale as the moon any longer.”
    “I’ve been riding and walking quite a bit lately.”
    “Yes you have. Your leg is better?”
    “Better, but still not completely right. I’m not sure it ever will be.”
    This bath was much, much different from all the other times she had washed him. He was no longer a helpless, ill patient. No, this was a vibrant man in all his glory, perhaps tired and drunk and weary, but still a vibrant man.
    A man who had just kissed her.
    Soapy water dripped down the firm contours of his chest. She took in a deep breath and rubbed the cloth down his chest which was peppered with dark hair. She rubbed down his long lean arms, where powerful veins seemed sculpted into his skin.
    “Justine?”
    “Hmm?”
    “Feels very good,” he said, his voice smooth as silk.
    “I’m glad you like it,” suddenly rolled out of her mouth. His lips curled into a trace of that familiar, devastating smile once more.
    “I do.” His voice dropped, the smile vanished, and his eyes closed. Only the splashes of the bathwater filled the silence between them.
    “Um, could you lean forward?” she asked. “Your back…”
    He leaned forward, and she rubbed the soapy cloth over his neck, sweeping it down over the long lines of his back. Another low groan escaped his throat. The loaded silence was crushing her. She scrubbed across his back once more.
    “Now I feel revived,” he murmured. He leaned back suddenly, the water sloshing around him. He gazed up at her face.
    Justine swallowed hard. He was so very handsome, every bit as handsome as she remembered him, but she had not paid too much attention to it back then, had she? He had been an older brother figure to her, and she had valued that and liked it tremendously. William had hardly been the kind, warm sibling she had hoped he would be.
    She had been thrilled to be a part of their family. After Justine’s father had died suddenly in a coach accident, sadness, apprehension, and uncertainty had defined her life. A year later, her mother had married Richard and suddenly Justine became part of a family. She had an older brother and sister who had an impressive house in town along with a titled uncle, aunt, and cousin who owned a beautiful country estate.
    Brandon was her elder step-cousin. Oh, for God’s sake, he was her husband now.
    That sensuous half-smile faded from his lips, and his impenetrable stare bored a hole through her. Droplets of water dripped from his slick, raven hair down his forehead. On an impulse, she reached out and wiped at one with her fingertips. He grabbed her wrist with his