Only Mine

by Lowell, Elizabeth

  When Wolfe looked down, he wished he hadn’t. His body hardened in a rush that would have brought him to his knees if he had been standing. But he wasn’t. He was kneeling next to an aristocratic little nun who had worked so hard at unaccustomed tasks that her arms had given out. He would have felt worse about being such a savage taskmaster, except that Jessica’s revenge, while unintentional, was complete. The memory of her breasts tipped by tight coral crowns would haunt him without mercy.

  “Useless blue-blooded nun,” Wolfe said through gritted teeth. “Take another breath.”

  “I didn’t mean to do this,” Jessica said, stung by the tone of Wolfe’s voice. “Between the clothes and the kitchen floor, I—”

  The words ended in sputtering sounds as Wolfe lowered Jessica’s head into the water. Moments later, he hauled her into an upright position once more. With swift, efficient movements, he lifted her long hair and squeezed water from it.

  “Where is your towel?” he asked.

  There was silence followed by a sigh as she admitted, “I was so eager to get into the water I forgot about getting out again.”

  “Hold your hair out of the water while I get—damn, you can’t lift your arms.”

  Wolfe draped Jessica’s hair over the edge of the tub and down onto the bricks.

  “Don’t move. If you slipped under the water, you’d probably drown. I’ll be right back.”

  Moments later, Wolfe came back into the room carrying linen towels and a soft cotton flannel blanket. He dried Jessica’s hair as best he could, wrapped it in the length of linen, and tucked everything on top of her head in a neat turban.

  “How are your arms doing?”

  “Fine, as long as I don’t try to move them.”

  Wolfe turned aside, picked up the sponge, and began soaping it. He washed her back, shoulders, and arms, rinsed her, and began soaping the sponge once more.

  “Don’t panic, little nun.”

  “What?”

  The breath stopped in Jessica’s throat as she felt the sponge gliding over her collar bones, her breasts, her ribs, her belly.

  “Lift one leg,” he said as he soaped the sponge once more.

  “Wolfe,” she said faintly.

  “Just brace your foot against the lip of the tub the way I did. Don’t worry. I won’t let you drown.”

  Slowly, Jessica lifted her right leg. As though it was something he did every day, Wolfe washed the delicate, high-arched foot, slender ankle, and calf. She watched him with a sense of stunned disbelief as the sponge slid beneath the water and on up the length of her leg.

  “Now the other.”

  Dazed, Jessica obeyed, lowering one leg and raising the other. The sponge began moving over her once more. When it went from foot to calf to thigh, she shivered. But the sponge didn’t stop there. It swept over the triangle of hair and then down to the soft flesh below. An odd sound squeezed from Jessica’s throat. Instantly, the sponge stopped moving, remaining tucked between her thighs.

  “Is something wrong?” Wolfe asked blandly, looking up.

  Jessica made another small sound.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  She blushed brightly enough to put dawn to shame. “Wolfe, please.”

  “Please what?”

  Putting her hands against his wrist, she tugged, but her arms didn’t exert any force. His hand stayed where it was.

  “Do you want me to move my hand?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, shivering.

  “Then unclamp your legs.”

  Belatedly, Jessica realized that she had pressed her thighs together in an instinctive effort to shield herself from Wolfe’s touch. The sponge, and his fingers, were caught between her legs.

  “S-sorry,” she whispered.

  Wolfe wasn’t. He had loved being pressed into the secret, silky warmth of her.

  Hurriedly, she shifted, releasing him. The slow withdrawal of the sponge and the hint of a sleek, intimate caress made her feel faint. She flushed from her breasts to her forehead.

  “There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Wolfe said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Even if a husband and wife never share a bed, a certain amount of intimacy is inevitable between them.”

  Jessica swallowed and watched with huge eyes as Wolfe stood and shook out the soft cotton flannel blanket.

  “Can you stand up?”

  Her eyes became even bigger. “No.”

  “Then I’ll help.”

  “But I’m not wearing anything!” she said frantically.

  Wolfe sighed and said in a very patient tone, “I know. It’s the usual practice to be naked when in the bath. Can you stand or do you need help?”

  “But—”

  “Jessica,” he interrupted, “quit dithering and get out of the bath before you take a chill.”

  “Close your eyes.”

  “This is foolish,” he muttered, but he closed his eyes.

  Despite her largely useless arms, Jessica thrashed around until she managed to get to her knees. She was almost to her feet when she slipped.

  “Wolfe!”

  He caught her, lifted her out of the tub, and stood her on the bricks. With as much disinterest as he could manage, he began drying her briskly.

  “Close your eyes!” she wailed.

  “I can’t see what I’m doing with my eyes closed. Why don’t you close yours, instead?”

  Jessica blinked. “What good would that do?”

  “Just a thought.”

  Wolfe stifled a smile and closed his eyes. Almost immediately his hands slipped, fumbled, and ended up sliding over her hip without the towel between.

  “This isn’t working,” she said breathlessly.

  He thought it was working quite well, but said only, “Do you have a better idea?”

  “Hold out the blanket tightly and I’ll dry myself on it.”

  Within seconds, Wolfe knew it was a bad idea…and a good one. The feel of Jessica’s small, utterly female body rubbing against the cotton in his hands inflamed him as much as bathing her had. When the blanket slipped and he felt the unmistakable texture of a nipple dragging against his palm, he had to fight to draw air into his lungs.

  “There, that should do it,” Jessica said finally.

  Wolfe didn’t know whether to be glad or sad that the lovely torment was ending. He turned his back and went to the bed. A sweeping motion of his arm opened the fur cover so that it lay flat over the bed.

  “Come here and lie down,” he said, carefully not looking at the naked, intensely female nun who stood trembling next to the tub. “I’ll see if I can rub the knots out of your arms and back.”

  Uncertainly, Jessica looked at the tall man who stood by the bed. Naked but for the strip of white linen he wore wrapped carelessly around his loins, caressed by light and brushed by shadows, Wolfe’s body was both beautiful and rather frightening in its obvious strength.

  “Your ladyship, if I had intended to attack you like Lord Gore, it would have happened ten times over by now.”

  The cold anger in Wolfe’s voice made Jessica flinch.

  “Yes,” she said faintly. “I know. It’s just…new to me.”

  “It’s new to me, too.”

  Jessica gave him a startled look. “It is?”

  “I’ve never bathed a woman before. But then, you aren’t a woman. You’re a nun.”

  Without a word, Jessica went to the bed and lay face down. The silkiness of the fur against her nude body made her gasp.

  “Now what?” Wolfe asked impatiently as he threw the cotton blanket over her.

  Jessica shivered. “It feels strange to have nothing against my skin but fur.”

  “You’ll warm to it.”

  She let out her breath and shifted experimentally. The fur warmed and stroked her in return. A shivering little sigh went through her.

  “You’re right. The fur feels quite…extraordinary.”

  Without realizing it, she moved again, stroking her body against the luxurious cove
rlet. The sensuality implicit in the movement went into Wolfe like a knife. It occurred to him that Lady Victoria had a point worth considering: Teach the little nun not to fear a man’s touch.

  Wolfe had been trying to ignore the passion in Jessica. At that moment, he decided it would be more intelligent of him to awaken that passion. Then the thought of a man’s bed and body wouldn’t be so horrifying to her. Then she would agree to end this sham marriage and find a union more suitable to her station.

  Then Wolfe could find a marriage and a woman more suitable to his own desires—a strong, resilient mate who could match his passion, work by his side in the wild land, and give him children. Next to those vital things, an amusing elf was simply that.

  An amusement.

  And if the thought of another man taking Jessica’s untouched body made Wolfe angry at some primitive level of his being, that was too bad. Life had taught him that the hunger he felt for a female was temporary; a true marriage was not.

  Until death do us part.

  “First, I think some brandy is in order for you,” Wolfe said thoughtfully.

  “Brandy?”

  “Umm.”

  His rumbling sound of agreement made Jessica smile. “Thank you, but I don’t really enjoy spirits.”

  “Think of it as medicine.”

  “Medicine?”

  “Yes. I’ll bring a bit extra for the parrot, too.”

  “Parrot? Oh, that parrot. Indeed, it must be on the loose in here.” She laughed softly and rubbed her cheek against the fur, forgetting for a moment the aches and alarming weakness of her arms. “This fur has the most heavenly texture.”

  Wolfe stood for an instant, transfixed by the sight of Jessica smoothing her skin against the fur as though it were a lover’s body. Abruptly, he turned and walked out of the room. When he came back, he carried a small snifter of brandy in his hand.

  “Sit up, Jessie.”

  She rolled onto her side, but when it came time for her arms to push her body upright, they weren’t equal to the task.

  “I don’t think I can,” she admitted.

  Wolfe set the snifter aside and helped Jessica sit up. The cotton blanket started to slide to her waist. She made a startled sound and grabbed. Her reflexes were very slow, for her arms simply didn’t want to move. The blanket fell below her breasts before she caught it.

  Closing his eyes, Wolfe told himself that he was a fool to react as though he had never seen a woman naked to the waist before. Yet the image of Jessica’s creamy curves and rosy nipples burned behind his eyelids, making his heartbeat deepen and increase as though he had been running uphill.

  With a stifled curse, he opened his eyes, jerked the blanket up over her breasts, and pressed the snifter’s rim against her soft lower lip.

  “Drink.”

  Wolfe’s voice was thick with desire, but there was no mistaking the command in it. Grimacing, Jessica opened her mouth, drank, and swallowed. An instant later, she was gasping for air and coughing. Calmly, Wolfe poured water from a carafe on the bedside table and offered the glass to her. She drank quickly. Even so, the brandy left a fiery trail from her tongue to her stomach.

  “Better?”

  Jessica nodded, because she couldn’t speak.

  “Lie down on your stomach again.”

  Casually Wolfe took the blanket off Jessica, shook it out, and let it flutter down over the tempting curves of her bottom and the shadow cleft between.

  “Where is your rose oil?” Wolfe asked.

  “In the crystal bottle on your dresser.”

  “There are nine such bottles.”

  “The one with the stopper that’s the color of my cheeks,” she muttered into the fur.

  “Ah, that one.” Wolfe looked at the fiery color of Jessica’s face. “Blushing again, elf?”

  She turned her head and slanted him a narrow look. Against the intense color of her face, her eyes looked like gems.

  “You’re enjoying this,” she accused.

  Wolfe turned away before Jessica could see him smile. He retrieved the proper bottle from the dresser.

  “Be careful,” she said. “It’s fragile.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not clumsy with small things.”

  She laughed softly and confessed into the fur, “I know. You’re the only man I’ve ever seen who can take a handful of roses from a bush and never know the bite of thorns.”

  Smiling, Wolfe coaxed the fragile stopper free and poured a small amount of oil in his palm. When he sat next to Jessica on the bed, she made a startled sound. She made another sound when he began rubbing his hands up and down her body.

  As he had suspected, Jessica’s back was as knotted as her arms. Warmed by his hands and the friction of skin against skin, the rose oil gave its fragrance to the silent room. When his hands kneaded up her back from waist to nape, Jessica made a low sound.

  “Too hard?” Wolfe asked.

  “Too…wonderful.” Jessica sighed. “Ah, that feels like heaven.”

  He smiled and continued working the stiffness out of her back. Each time he worked down her spine, he took in more of her sides, coming closer and closer to her breasts. Each time he approached her waist, he eased a bit lower. The soft flannel retreated to the small of her back, then to the beginning of the velvet cleft of her bottom. The temptation to run his finger over the intriguing shadow was great, but Wolfe resisted it. He knew Jessica would panic.

  “Tell me where it’s sore.” Wolfe moved his hands to Jessica’s shoulders. “Here?”

  She nodded her head without opening her eyes. When she felt the pressure of his strong fingers kneading out the clenched tension of the muscles, she groaned.

  “Pleasure or pain?” Wolfe asked in a low voice. Jessica nodded her head.

  “Which one?”

  “Yes,” she sighed, uncurling her hands along her sides.

  He laughed softly, poured more oil onto his palm, and resumed rubbing.

  “What about here?” he asked.

  The gentle glide of his hands across Jessica’s upper arms felt wonderful. She groaned and relaxed even more beneath his touch. As he worked on the knotted muscles of her left arm from shoulder to fingertips, his hands kept brushing between her arm and her body. The first few times it happened, she tightened and tried to move away. Then she forgot to be self-conscious about his touch, for it simply felt too good to object when the back of his fingers brushed the sides of her breast, her ribs, the inward curve of her waist, and the smooth swell of her hip.

  The third time Wolfe’s hand traced Jessica’s body without her withdrawing, he smiled and switched his attention to her other arm. In order to reach it, he straddled her thighs. As he worked down her right arm, he slowly dragged the blanket lower and lower until the full curves of her buttocks were revealed. The breath in his throat caught as he looked at the creamy, fine-grained skin and feminine promise that lay so close at hand.

  “What about here?” he asked, tracing the long muscles that ran along either side of Jessica’s spine. “Stiff?”

  “Yes,” she sighed.

  Wolfe tested, agreed, and bit back a comment about his own stiffness. The loin cloth he had wrapped around himself could not contain the change that passion had wrought on his body. The sight of Jessica’s graceful hips rising from the rumpled blanket was a sweet torment. The thought of opening her legs and easing into her soft body with the fur all silky around her made him groan.

  “Wolfe?”

  For a moment he didn’t answer. Then the talons of need eased and he could breathe once more.

  “What?” he asked.

  Jessica shivered with pleasure as Wolfe’s hands kneaded down her back to her waist, lingered, then eased upward again with a combination of gentleness and strength that was magic on her aching body.

  “That feels so good.” She sighed and unconsciously arched against his touch. “It makes me dizzy.”

  “Must be the brandy.”

  “I don’t think so, my lord.
I think it’s your hands. I didn’t know anything could feel so wonderful.”

  “Are you sure? A moment ago you couldn’t tell the difference between pleasure and pain.”

  “I’m sure.” The sound Jessica made was more like a soft moan than a sigh. “It’s like fire without pain, a pleasure that goes to the center of my bones.”

  Wolfe’s breath caught before it came out in a soundless rush of air, for what she was describing was the essence of true passion.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “It’s like that, fire without pain.”

  For long minutes, there was no sound in the room but the subtle whisper of flame and the glide of Wolfe’s palms over Jessica’s rose-scented skin. When his hands continued past her waist to her hips, she didn’t notice for a few moments. Then her body stiffened.

  “Wolfe?”

  “You have sore muscles here, too,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Hush, Jessi,” Wolfe interrupted firmly. “Pretend I’m still working on your shoulders.”

  “But you aren’t!”

  “That’s where the pretending comes in.”

  For a time there was a silence that was like the flesh Wolfe was kneading—silky, taut, quivering with possibilities.

  “You’re not pretending.”

  “How do you know?” Jessica retorted.

  “The parrot told me.”

  She giggled, then giggled some more, imagining a parrot darting brightly about the room telling secrets.

  “I’m muzzled,” she said after a moment.

  “On that little bit of brandy? I doubt it.”

  “I’m a little bit myself, remember? You’ve said so often enough.”

  Not everywhere, Wolfe thought silently, sinking his fingers into Jessica’s resilient flesh. There are parts of my self that are quite lush.

  Jessica’s breath broke on a ragged sigh.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rough,” Wolfe said, smoothing his palm over the tender curve of her bottom. “Perhaps more oil…”

  “You weren’t rough,” Jessica said lazily.

  “Then why did you make that small sound?”

  “I didn’t.” She smiled. “The parrot did. It’s muzzled, too.”