Page 32 of Road Trip With a Rogue
His taunting snapped her out of her trance. “I’ve seen a naked man. More than one, in fact.”
That was technically true. She’d seen Tom without his clothes. And she’d seen the ancient eighty-year-old Duke of Wansford naked, when he’d died on Tess’s wedding night and they’d had to carry him into his own bed. Unfortunately, neither of those experiences bore any resemblance to the magnificent sight that was Lucien Vaughan, shirtless.
Tom had been handsome enough, but he’d still been a youth, muscled yet gangly, all elbows and knees. The old duke had been a pasty, withered sack of bones and skin.
Vaughan was… heart-stopping. A creature in his prime, a man in full possession of strength and vitality. The only thing marring all that tawny, sleek perfection was the scarring that ran from his left hand up his forearm to his elbow. That, at least, made him seem more like a human and less like an immortal.
With an effort, Daisy wrenched her eyes away and swung round on the bed so she was sitting cross-legged, facing the wall. She concentrated on the scrolling green tendrils of vine decorating the washbowl.
Vaughan let out a soft laugh beneath his breath. Arrogant swine. He probably thought he’d left her breathless with desire.
Unfortunately, he was right. Her skin felt all hot and itchy, and her stomach seemed to have butterflies trapped inside. She wanted to bang her forehead against the solid oak pillar of the bed. Maybe that would knock some sense into her.
She couldn’t see with her face averted, but she could still hear, and her ears strained to decipher every soft, tantalizing scratch of fabric as he undressed. She bit herlip as he clearly unbuttoned his falls and pushed the soft buckskin of his breeches down his thighs. Water splashed as he stepped into the tub, and she squeezed her eyes closed tightly against the urge to peek. Maybesheshould have taken that bloody sleeping draught and spared herself this exquisite torture.
No, being defenseless with Vaughan in the room would be a terrible idea.
His low hum of contentment made her blood thrum in her veins. She reopened her eyes and turned even further away, but a flash of movement in her peripheral vision made her pause.
Oh.
Oh no.
She could see him reflected in the mirror.
A wicked, guilty thrill made her shiver. This was completely unacceptable. She ought to look away, not spy on him like some perverted voyeur. And yet…
He’d spied on her, hadn’t he? At dinner.
His back was to her, his arms resting along the top rim of the tub. Light from the fire licked lovingly over his wet shoulders as he rested his head against the back of the bath.
He’d drawn his knees up in front of him, as she’d done, and her eyes roamed over the intriguing swirls of dark hair on his legs. Her cheeks burned as he sat forward, took the soap, and ran it lazily over his chest and upper arms, following the movement with the washcloth. The play of muscles in his back was mesmerizing.
She was just about to look away—shewas—when he grasped the edge of the tub and stood. Water streamed in rivulets down his back, over the curves of his rear and the thick columns of his thighs, and every good intention fled.
Bloody Hell.
She felt almost winded, as if she’d been elbowed in the stomach. Onlystatueslooked like that. Idealized, marble versions of heroes, battle-honed and cold to the touch. Not glistening flesh and blood.
He reached for one of the bath linens on the chair, drying himself with brisk, efficient movements, then stepped out of the tub and wrapped the fabric around his waist.
“Seen enough, Hamilton?”
Daisy almost swallowed her tongue. She whipped her head around and found him standing, hands on hips, laughing at her.
“Wh-what?”
He pointed toward the corner. “In the mirror. Did you enjoy the show?”
Guilty heat scorched her skin. The monster! Had he known she was watching him, this whole time?Oh God.
She willed her flush away and produced a careless shrug. “No harm in looking.”
A few droplets of water still glistened on his skin and she made a concerted effort not to look any lower than his chest.
“Ah, but are you tempted to touch?”
Yes. Absolutely.