As if his organ could sense her interest, it jerked for attention. Whatever scars covered the rest of his body, these parts of him were healthy indeed.
None that would inhibit his normal male function, at any rate. And then she lifted the side of the sheet and bent her head to peek beneath. Stealthily, she tugged at the folds of the bedclothes, drawing them loose from his midsection. He gave a little groan-one that hinted at pleasure, not pain. She wondered if she was in the dream he was having now. He released a soft sigh in his sleep, one that melted her deep inside, and his lips curled in a little half-smile. When his fists uncurled at his sides and his breathing steadied, she withdrew her hand and began to breathe again herself.įor a quarter hour or more, she knelt there, watching him return to a peaceful slumber and allowing her own heart rate to slow. But she kept shushing and soothing in quiet tones and simply kept her hand there, pressed lightly against his heated flesh, until the tension in his body released. At his sharp wince, she almost withdrew the touch. She forced her fingers to cease trembling and laid one hand to his shoulder. She crept to the bedside and crouched by his sleeping form. How exactly did a reedy waif of a servant’s daughter protest the lord’s maltreatment of his own son?īut she wasn’t a girl any longer, and she could do something to ease Rhys’s suffering now. There’d been nothing she could have done, then. In her girlhood, she’d been witness to his pain and never done a thing about it. She didn’t know what form of agony he was enduring in that dream, but she knew she couldn’t stand by and watch him suffer a moment longer.
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