"And cut hair," she said.
He ran his fingers through his hair. She watched and inhaled sharply knowing she had no business wishing for what she couldn't have.
"Bertram enjoy your fingers running though his hair?"
The sharp edge in Slade's voice made Lainie flinch. Unable to look at him she turned away for a moment.
Giving up, and feeling the bitterness crawl deep into her soul. "Aye," she said, throwing his taunt back to him, her heart thundering at the implication of Slade's words. The thought of touching Bertram willingly in any way left her stomach churning.
I shouldn't bait him. He thinks the worst of me without my sarcastic words. And why on earth would I want him to think differently? He is nothing to me save my captor and tormentor.
Fool. Because he has somehow touched your heart.
Then, hoping to change the direction of his thoughts, she added. "It was my brothers. I used to cut their hair. I've never touched Bertram in that way."
"And who else? Did the little gang of thieves you ride with enjoy your hands as well?"
Her brows furrowed together. It seemed he wouldn't let it go. "No, everyone knew I kept my dirk close and wouldn't hesitate a moment to use it." Then she inhaled sharply. "How dare you accuse me? You don't know me, and you don't want to know me."
Slade shook his head. "Quit fighting this battle you won’t win. I do want to know you. I know how you looked a few minutes ago, little fox. You were standing in the moonlight, naked, all glistening from the water droplets on your skin, with curves that make a man have thoughts that are anything but innocent or pure."
"You had no right to watch."
"But I did. I wanted to see what Bertram saw. And I want to touch what Bertram touched"
Lainie flinched once again at the harshness of his words and turned away. Even the darkness and the dancing shadows didn't mask Slade's opinion of her. His words told it all. Lainie wasn't deceived. Her shoulders squared and she forced herself for the distance she knew she should keep between them. Wearing her heart where he could rip it apart was for a fool.
"I never sold myself, Englishman," she told him, her anger flaring despite the hopeless despair settling in the darkness of her soul. “Bargain or no bargain, I won’t be your plaything.”
Slade's smile flashed sardonically. "I want to believe you, little fox. But my gut instincts all cry out little liar. No, I don't blame you. Someone dealt you a rough hand and you've got to play with those cards. But you don't have to lie to me."
Abruptly Slade turned and walked to the smooth blunt shelf that Lainie had used as a table for her basin of water. He sat on the rock ledge, put the clean clothes aside, and started undoing his shirt with quick, angry motions of his hands.
"What do you want me to use?" Lainie asked, watching him. She knew what he meant to do, seduce her. She knew better than to let that happen.
"Is that little dirk you carry all the time sharp?"
She nodded, "Aye, my brothers taught me well. What good would it be if it wasn't sharp?"
"Then use it. And try not to slit my throat."
Lainie moved closer to the dark man who by his words seemed so far away he had become a stranger to her once again. She was afraid to touch him, yet she knew she had to show Slade she had more courage than good sense. She wet Slade's hair and heavy beard stubble and began to work soap into both.
In the past, she always stood behind her brothers to do this, but Slade was making that impossible. He sat on a smooth stone outcropping rather than a chair. She had no choice except to stand in front of him.
And, Lainie thought to herself, she had no real desire to stand elsewhere. Despite her hesitancy, she liked watching Slade's closed eyes, seeing the expression on his face and knowing her touch seemed to please him.
Before she realized what Slade was doing, he had shifted position as she worked. Suddenly without her understanding what had happened, she found herself standing between his legs.
She made a startled sound, her knees buckling. "What--?" she began, but she couldn't finish the sentence.
Slade's hands conveniently rose to her waist to steady her. He played games she didn't understand--games she knew she could never win.
"Steady," he said, his fingers gently and ever so slowly flexing around her, teasing her with subtlety and finesse. Touching her and sending an intense rush of heat through her.
"Slade," she whispered and swallowed hard, her hands shaking.
His eyes opened. "What did you say?"
"Nothing," she murmured. "I forgot--"
Slade raised a single black eyebrow and flexed his hands again, one more time sending slivers of penetrating heat through Lainie. She felt the fire from his fingers clearly. There was only one fragile layer of cloth between his hands and her skin. Beneath the shirt, she was naked and he was taking exquisite advantage.
Lainie's breath rushed in and remained until she felt dizzy. She had never imagined there would be pleasure in a man's hands on her waist. And she had never thought she would want him to keep them there.
"Your touching me," she said, her voice wavering. "Should you do that--touch me?"
Slade grinned and flexed his fingers again. Slowly he moved his hands higher and then back down. "Of course," he said his voice warm.
"But," she meant to object.
"Remember our agreement? I intend to touch you a whole lot more," he told her. Then he leaned towards her and spoke softly against Lainie's breasts, "Where else would you like me to touch you? I'm sure you have favorite places."
"I don't--"
She turned away, stepping beyond Slade's reach. She watched him for a long moment.
"Have you changed your mind?" he asked. "Have you lost the courage I've come to admire?"
"Nay," she spoke softly. "But it might be in your best interest to keep your hands to yourself." She closed her eyes for a moment as if that gesture would give her the courage he taunted her with and then opened them to face her adversary.
Slade laughed then watched her with narrowed eyes as if he was calculating his next move. However, he did move his hands away and settled him on his thighs.
Lainie knew nothing would keep him from trying to seduce her when he chose to. She turned her attention to his scalp and washing his hair.
The feel of Slade's soft hair made gooseflesh ripple over her body. In the silence of her mind, she cursed her response to the one man who held her life in his hands. But she said nothing. If she could not ignore the way he made fire burn inside her, she wasn't about to call attention to that fact.
She wanted to give him no more hold over her than he already had. Lainie felt Slade shiver, heard a low groan come from deep in his chest. She watched his fingers flex on his massive thighs.
"Are you cold?" Lainie asked when she sensed the faint tremor in Slade. "Perhaps you should get a jacket."
"No." Slade's voice was low and husky.
She gave him a wary look before she bent over and pulled the dirk from its hiding place. The small sound the knife made when it was unsheathed seemed almost loud in the silence of the still night. She tested the knife's edge delicately. Despite her care, the knife sliced a shallow line in her skin.
"Guess it's sharp.' She muttered. "Don't make any sudden movements or I might slice you."
Slade's smile was long and narrow.
"Hawke sharpened it for me," Lainie repeated herself, unable to think of anything else to say. “I haven’t had a need to use it.”
Lainie squared her shoulders. Her eyes closed for a moment while she held her breath and prayed for the strength to touch Slade, to feel his skin beneath her fingertips. She didn't want him to have any more hold over her than he already had.
"Now what's wrong?" he asked impatiently.
"Don't do anything to, er, startle me," Lainie told him. "I don't want to have your death on my conscience." She paused. “I mean it.”
"You mean you don't want to have one more thing for Bertram to put
on that wanted flyer," he corrected. "Can you find your way home from here?" he asked.
"Nay," she shook her head, hands trembling too much to use the dirk to shave this man. "I would be lost."
"What could I do to, er, startle you?" he asked, smiling.
"Touch me."
"I've been waiting a long time for you to ask," Slade said, lifting his hands from his thighs and letting them rest on her waist once more. His thumbs made gentle circles as he moved his hands lower to settle on her hips and then back.
"Nay, that's not what I mean," Lainie said, stepping back out of his reach. "Well, it is, but not that way. I dinna think ye should touch me when I'm holding this dirk so close to your neck," she said agitated.
"Don't confuse me," Slade told her.
"Then don't touch me."
Slade's entire body became still, his eyes narrowing almost as if he were angry at what she'd told him.
"You made a bargain, little fox. Or have you forgotten so soon?" he asked. "If my memory serves me right, I can touch you any time I please."
Lainie shook her head, her eyes closing for a moment.
"I haven't forgotten. Sometimes that is all I can think of. But in this case it might be in your best interest to show some self-control."
"All you can think about?"
"Aye," she said.
Slade's feral smile grew. He reached up and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. "Don't forget. You gave your word." He gave warning.
"I keep my word. It's not that. It's just that this knife is sharp," she continued, "but if you start touching me, I'll get nervous. I don't think that would be in your best interest. I could slice your neck before you had a chance to defend yourself."
With a wariness she'd learned during the last few months, Lainie watched the man who sat so still, watching her with a raw hunger that even the darkness of night couldn't conceal.
He grinned again. It came from a man who knew what he wanted, and would find a way to have it. "I'll sit very still," Slade promised her in a deep voice. "But when you are finished--" he let her fill in the rest, his meaning clear. Once again, he let his hands rest on his thighs, his fists in a tight ball.
"Good."
She inhaled a long steadying breath, hoped for courage, and brought the dirk to his chin.
Slade never let his gaze shift from her and she felt the heat of it burn through her, melting her resolve.
"Ready?" she asked.
He threw his head back and laughed. "You have no idea how ready I am."
Lainie bent and began shaving Slade with deft, neat motions, wiping the blade on the cloth every few strokes. As she worked, she tried to tell herself this was just like a hundred other times when she had shaved her brothers. She told herself that Slade was just a man.
"Don't move one little muscle," Lainie cautioned in a low voice. But Lainie knew Slade was not just a man. He was more man than she knew how to handle. Her fingers trembled.
"I wouldn't think of it," Slade promised, holding still, seeming to watch the blade.
She pushed his chin up and ran the knife over his throat with light, even strokes. When she finished, she heard the long breath he let out. Gingerly she touched his neck and felt a tremor sweep through him.
"I didn't draw blood," Lainie said indignantly. "Were you afraid I might seek revenge for the wrongs you've done me?"
"Wanted to make sure. I don't think I would have even known until I saw or felt the blood."
"If it worried you that I'd slice your neck," she said tartly, "why did you want me to shave you in the first place?"
He shrugged slightly, reaching out to hold her hand in his. "I wanted you to touch me."
Lainie hid her smile as he let go of her. She rinsed the rag in cool water. She was still smiling when she turned back to him with the wet rag between her hands. His breathing hesitated, then resumed more deeply as she rinsed his face once, then again.
While Lainie worked, she hummed softly to herself. Small droplets of water dripped onto Slade's chest and tangled in the dark hair, gleaming like liquid silver. The temptation to touch a drop was so intense it surprised her.
"Something wrong?' Slade asked as if he could read her thoughts.
Startled once more, Lainie shook her head too hard. Her hair spilled over her shoulders and across Slade's chest. His breath hissed in as though he had been burned.
She closed her eyes, afraid to say anything, knowing she should apologize. "Sorry," she said.
"For what?" he asked, picking up a strand of her hair and holding it between his thumb and finger. "I'm not the least bit sorry. I like the way your hair feels on my skin. I want it wrapped around me just as I want all of you the same way."
She slanted him a weary look, then tugged on the strand he held. When he let it go, she gathered it together and tied in into another knot at the nape of her neck.
"You should leave it free," Slade said. "Like you, it's too beautiful to be imprisoned."
"It's in the way."
"Not for me, little fox."
Lainie tried to ignore his words and what they might mean. She poured more water into the basin and rinsed him thoroughly from crown to collarbones.
"Not a single cut," she said with satisfaction. "You can finish your bath."
Not giving Slade time to object, Lainie hurried back to camp.
"Bloody Hell," he muttered. She wants me to finish my bath. Yet the thought of stripping, bathing, and waiting naked for her to return tempted him. The thought of someone, Jericho, coming upon him stark naked told him how damn foolish he was and that he was letting a sly little fox get under his skin.
I never sold myself to Bertram.
He wanted to believe Lainie the way he wanted his heart to keep beating. He smiled grimly. He would have sold himself to the devil himself if it would have made Lainie half as innocent as she had seemed as he remembered her standing naked in the moonlight as moonbeams spilled over her shimmering hair.
The intensity of his desire to believe Lainie had never sold herself to Bertram or anyone shocked Slade. Yet he could no more deny his futile wish than he could control his primal response to something as simple as watching her move around the campfire.
Swearing silently, Slade stripped, washed himself, pulled on the clean clothes he brought with him, and yanked his pants back on. Only then did he begin on his chest. He was reaching for his clean shirt when Lainie's voice came from the darkness.
"Slade?"
"I'm dressed," he said tightly. The strain of his heated emotions overwhelmed him. His self-control vanished.
Slade could not fathom the depth of his reaction to Lainie. He had never felt this way before. He had always been careful not to align himself with women who walked a dangerous line--women who sold themselves to make a living. He preferred to go without rather than to dally with soiled doves. Yet he wanted Lainie like hell burning, no matter how many other men she might have had.
"Thank you," she said.
"What for?"
"Not dishonoring me."
"Your choice of words is unique for a…"
He watched her stiffen and saw the smile vanish from her face.
Slade choked in the back of his throat and didn't finish the sentence. He didn't like thinking of Lainie as Bertram's mistress. With an irritated sound, he turned his attention back to straightening out his shirt so he could put it on. Then he had a better idea. He wanted her to touch him again.
"Help me, would you?" Slade asked, holding out his shirt. "I'm still damp from my bath and the shirt keeps sticking to my skin."
Lainie cocked her head sideways and looked cautious.
"Why?" she asked, with a curious note to her voice. "Ye will be dry soon. Then ye can slip it on."
"Never mind. It wasn't part of our agreement, was it? Dressing me--" Yet he held out hope. He wanted to think she had begun to like touching him.
She shrugged her shoulders and took the shirt from Slade, shaking it out. He watched
with eyes that burned for her. To Slade it was obvious just how familiar she was with men's clothing.
"Where did you learn that?" Slade asked.
"I have two brothers," Lainie reminded him. "And people in our keep that I was responsible for. There were times," she began on a wistful note.
"Then you won't mind helping me?"
She smiled slightly as if she was unsure where this was going. He thought she looked as cautious and weary as a deer ready for flight.
Highland Song Page 17