Page 92 of The Formation of Us

“It’s everything I need.” He hooked his hands around her hips and pulled her against him. “I’ll always want you.” He kissed her neck. “I’ll always crave you.”

“Mmm . . .”

“I want to devour you.” He rocked his hard loins against her. “Let’s get in the tub.”

“So soon? I was enjoying your doctoring.”

“I’m just getting started.” He gave her a playful whack on her backside. “Off with your clothes, woman. Doctor’s orders.”

He helped her take off her shoes, then took off his own while she slipped out of her petticoats and stockings. The room was warm from the bath and boiler, but she shivered, missing his arms. He stripped off his shirt, then shucked his trousers. Then his drawers.

Arms at his side, back straight, he planted his bare feet on the stone floor and faced her, all bold and glorious, unmindful of his nakedness and warrior-like pose.

“You sure don’t look like a doctor,” she said, unable to take her eyes off her husband’s virile body.

A crooked grin tipped his mouth. “Looks deceive, sweetheart. But you’ll like what I prescribe.” He tugged the ribbon at her waist and pushed her drawers over her hips and down her legs, kissing her thighs as he slid her undergarment to her ankles. He nibbled his way back up to her neck. Her legs were quaking when he pulled the chemise over her head. Naked, breathing in short, excited gasps, she stepped out of her drawers.

He lifted her into the tub, then climbed in behind her. “I’ve been aching all damned week for you,” he said, drawing her against his hot, slick body.

“You can stop aching.” She hooked her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts to his wet chest. With a growl, he took possession of her mouth.

Water lapped at their bodies as he kissed her, his firm lips and delving tongue stoking the fire in her body. He took it deeper, slower, rubbing his water-slick skin against hers. “I need to get the oil, sweetheart,” he said, his hot breath caressing her ear.

“What oil?” she asked, drugged by his kiss.

“The oil I’m going to rub all over your body”

Oh . . . “I didn’t bring any.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “It’s on the table.”

She remembered then that she’d brought almond oil. “Don’t leave me. I don’t care about the oil.” She tightened her arms around his neck and fit their bodies closer together.

“I’ll never leave you.” He nipped her chin, then rose until her arms slipped from his neck and he stood in the tub, rivulets of water streaming down his bronze, muscled body like tiny rivers cutting down a craggy mountainside.

Mesmerized, she stroked her palm up his rock-hard thigh to the sinewy, rippling muscles in his abdomen, awed and intrigued with his reacting body, with him, with this man who was revealing himself one layer at a time with each look, each caress, each word he spoke. His breath sailed out and he jerked his hips back as if her touch scalded him. He clutched the edge of the tub, leaned over and grabbed the jar of oil off the table, then submerged himself to his chest in the bath.

“Back off, woman.”

She smiled at his playfulness.

He blew out a shuddering breath, uncapped the jar and filled his palm with oil. “Sit on the stool and give me your foot.”

“What?” She laughed. “I’m not concerned with my feet right now, darling husband.”

He pointed to the end of the tub. “Humor me.”

She sat on the stool and lifted her foot out of the water.

He knelt in front of her and slathered the oil over her foot. “Gads, what is this stuff?”

The scent of lavender rose from the water. “I must have I picked up the wrong jar.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Wonderful. I’ll smell like a flower tomorrow. Just give me a dress and I’ll be able to sashay up and cuff the bad guys before they suspect a thing.”

Her laugh sailed through the room. “Want me to run out and get the other oil?”

“No. I want you right here with me,” he said, kneading her foot.