Page 75 of A Wicked Game

“So, who won the bet?” He lifted his brows in lazychallenge. “You didn’t tell me to stop. Which meanstechnically, I won.”

“Ah, but I dared you to make love to me up against the wall, which you failed to do. SoI’mthe winner.”

He gave a weary chuckle. “We’ll call it a draw. Satisfied?”

She let her lips curl up in a mischievous smile. “Extremely.”

He snorted, even as he flopped to his back and threw his forearm across his eyes as if acutely embarrassed. “I swear, I can do better. I wasn’t expecting—I mean, you caught me by surprise—God, I still have myboots on.”

She smiled at his uncharacteristic stuttering. His confusion—and masculine pique—was highly amusing.

“Feel free to take them off.”

He growled and sat up, shifting to the edge of the bed, and she was seized with another bout of embarrassment. She was only wearing her stockings.

While he caught the heel of his boot and tugged it off, letting it drop to the carpet with a thud, she retrieved her nightgown from beneath her pillow. She dived into it, glad to have the thin cotton to shield her nakedness.

He removed his other boot and glanced at her over his shoulder, then stilled when he saw she’d registered the faint lattice of pale scars on the beautiful musculature of his back. She couldn’t contain her gasp of dismay.

“Dear God, was that from when you were flogged? By De Caen?”

“Yes. Not a pretty sight, is it?”

She reached out and touched him without thought. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he watched her warily as she smoothed her palm across his skin and felt the raised bumps where the flesh had knitted itself back together. It was hard and knotted, like the bark of a tree.

Her heart squeezed in sympathy. How that must have hurt. And the fact that he’d taken the punishment for another, for his brother in arms, a weaker, younger man? How could she not love him?

He half turned toward her, but she shuffled forward on her knees and pressed her lips to the stripe that curved below his shoulder blade.

“I’m so sorry you were hurt,” she whispered.

He gave a little shrug. “It wasn’t the most fun I’ve ever had. But it healed quickly enough. I was lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“De Montfort told me you diverted attention away from him.”

“De Montford should keep his mouth shut,” he growled.

She gave him a little shove, as she had so often when they were children. “Iknewyou’d do something stupidly noble. I was right.”

“You’re insufferable.”

He made it sound like the sweetest compliment, so she answered in kind.

“So are you.”

He shook his head, but she saw his lips curl before he turned away and made a big show of inspecting their surroundings. “Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed of seeing your bedroom?” The cheeky twinkle in his eye was back. “Too many to count.”

“Yours is nicer,” she said, a little defensively.

“It’s not.”

“It’s bigger, more luxurious.”

“But it doesn’t have you in it,” he said simply.

Her heart gave a funny jolt. Oh, he was so good at saying things like that. Such practiced charm.

“So… what do we do now?”