Page 34 of Road Trip With a Rogue
“With your hand?” He let out a good-natured sigh. “That’s so lonely. And also, never as good. Someone else’s hand is always better.”
She couldn’t help it. Her gaze dropped to his hand. The heat of the bath had turned the scars on the back of it a deeper pink, but all she could think about was how good it would feel to have his fingers between her legs. Her body clenched in response, and her gaze slidhelplessly sideways, to the unmistakable bulge at the front of the bath linen.
Oh God.
He was aroused, impressively so, and heat swept over her in a fiery wave even as she told herself it wasn’t forherspecifically. Any woman ogling his semi-naked form would provoke the same reaction.
She forced a mocking smile to her lips. “Are you offering me your hand, Vaughan? Or asking for mine?”
He took another step, and she forced herself to stay still as he reached out and traced a light, teasing pattern on her knee. The heat of it seared through her breeches and sent tingles up her thigh.
“Either. Both. Whatever you want.”
She ignored the desire pooling in her stomach and caught his hand to still it, and the sudden shock of skin on skin almost stopped her heart. Her thumb slid over the raised, knotted texture of his scars, and for a brief, delirious instant she fought the urge to lift it to her lips and kiss it.
Or to press it between her legs.
And then blissful sanity reasserted itself.
“Tempting, but no.” She pushed his hand away, releasing him, and he turned away with a low laugh, as if he’d fully expected her refusal. Beast.
“Pity. I’m sure we’d both sleep much better if we were relaxed.”
Daisy scrambled up the bed and dove under the covers. “I’m going to sleep perfectly well, thank you. Andyou’regoing to sleep on top of these sheets.”
“Or what? You’ll stab me in the night?”
She slid her hand beneath her pillow and felt the reassuring solidity of her knife. “Don’t tempt me.”
He shook his head with a chuckle and she turned herhead away as he pulled on a clean shirt and breeches. She did her best to ignore him as he pottered around the room, but when he sank into one of the armchairs by the fire, she watched him through half-closed lids, her nerves jittery.
This was ridiculous. She was exhausted, but how could she possibly sleep with him in the same room, let alone in the same bed?
“I’m going to sit here until my hair dries,” he said. “Go to sleep, Hamilton. I promise to stay on my side of the bed.”
Daisy yawned. The bed was outrageously comfortable, the weight of the covers pressing her down, and she fought the pull of exhaustion. Vaughan’s perfect profile was outlined in the fireglow, and her last surprising thought was thattechnicallyhe was going to be the first man she’d ever slept with. As in, slept beside, all night.
He was never going to let her hear the end of it.
Chapter Sixteen
Lucien stared deep into the fire and concentrated on regulating his breathing. His blood was thrumming in his temples, his cock still aching with arousal, and the infuriating cause of it all was fast asleep in the bed behind him.
He’d never seen anyone fall asleep so quickly. Daisy might claim to mistrust him, but a stupid, gloating part of him felt insanely pleased that she’d let her guard down with such astonishing speed.
Or perhaps she really was just too exhausted to fight him.
Her breathing was soft and even, and he let out a long exhale of his own as he turned his head to watch her. She lay on her side, her hands tucked neatly beneath her chin, her small body barely making a lump beneath the covers.
Awake she seemed larger, somehow, her fiery presence filling the space, filling his brain, but asleep he was reminded of how just slight she was. How fragile.
A wave of fierce protectiveness made him clench the arms of the chair. God, she was a hoyden. How in God’s name had they ended up here, in this ridiculous situation?He shouldn’t have anything to do with her, she wasn’t his responsibility, and yet he couldn’t have left her alone in that lane if his life had depended on it.
Bloody woman.
He’d known physical agony, when the charred skin of his arm had peeled off along with the bandages, but this was torture of a different kind. To have Daisy Hamilton so close that he could smell the faint floral scent of her skin, count the individual freckles on her nose, and yet be unable to touch her. The universe had a wicked sense of humor.
When the pain of his wounds had made him want to scratch his own eyes out, he’d pictured her face. Imagined her in his bed, over him, under him, in every conceivable position, just as a distraction. And now here she was, in a room they shared, a single bed, and she’d rejected his teasing suggestion of a tryst with insulting ease.