"These b.u.t.tons, Ross." She peered closely at one of them. "I noticed this very crest carved into the hearth in your rooms at the Huntsman. And tonight on Jared's and Drew's b.u.t.tons. Is it the Huntsman's official crest?"

So much more than that. "A symbol of freedom, success, and loyalty."

"Ah, the three of you." She went to work on the rest of the b.u.t.tons, admiring them.

"Indeed." A reminder of how precious life could be.

"Perhaps the Adams should have a crest of its own." She opened his waistcoat and toyed with the b.u.t.tons on his shirt. "Our own symbols."

"A book, madam, a protest sign, an d -"

"And Turkish trousers?" She slipped her hands inside his open shirt and slid them across his bare chest. "Oh, my, you're warm here."

He caught her face between his palms and kissed her upturned mouth. "Actually, wife, I had been thinking of a heart."

She put her ear to his chest. "Yours is beating just fine."

And Lord, his pulse was thundering through his veins, churning against his sinew, battering his resolve.

"But your shirt has to go, my lord." A moment later she had shucked him of his waistcoat and shirt, and his braces were hanging at his sides.

And she was appraising him again, the tip of her finger tucked beneath her chin, as though she were considering the purchase of a new vase.

"Heavens, Ross, Aunt Tibbs and Aunt Clarice would think you a marvel of manhood."

Now there were two women who had left their mark on his wife. "They'd approve of me?" That seemed important.

"In her younger days Aunt Tibbs would have thrown herself at you headlong."

"A woman who knew her mind."

"And her in anflesh."

A surge of molten heat shot through him. Sweet-hot antic.i.p.ation. "Indeed."

"You're also recklessly handsome, husband, and Tibbs admired that in a man."

"And in a husband?"

Aunt Tibbs would have thought I was a d.a.m.ned fool for marrying you, Ross.

But with any luck and a lot of work, her remarkable husband would prove that jail hadn't been the better alternative to marriage.

He was certainly the most amazing man to look at. His shoulders wide, his arms powerfully muscled as he ran his fingers through his hair, his chest bare and bronze and corded like a Greek G.o.d's. With a dark swath of hair plunging to well below his narrow waist, like a fine, sleek arrow.

And below all that dizzying maleness, his wonderfully bulging trousers.

"Time for those," she said, pointing to the bulge, still amazed at the size of him, everywhere she looked, everywhere she touched.

But when she reached for the top of his trousers, he grabbed her hands and put them around his neck, then pulled her against him, which only made his rock hard p.e.n.i.s more prominent.

More thrilling.

"You'd best let me do that, wife."

"Why? Yours aren't the first set of men's trouser b.u.t.tons I've encountered."

" Is that so?"

"Well, there wasn't a man in the trousers at the time, but I figured it out on my own." And so she went to work on the topmost b.u.t.ton, hampered somewhat by the fact that she couldn't see what she was doing because the man was kissing her fiercely.

"Have you figured out that I'm bursting for you?"

"Definitely." He groaned against her mouth as she brushed up against his arousal, nibbled at her lips as she slipped the top b.u.t.ton through its hole.

Then, curious beyond measure, Elizabeth dropped to her knees in front of him and reached for the next b.u.t.ton. But Ross caught her hand and drew her to her feet.

"No, Elizabeth."

"Then how am I going to get your trousers off?"

"You're not."

"You simply can't take a bath in your clothes, sir. And your paid-for night in my harem includes a personal bath."

"Personal bath?" He raised his brows, smiled broadly, then, without losing a beat, hauled off his trousers and his drawers, his shoes and socks, all at the same time.

And when he was finished, he stood naked in front of her. Gloriously naked.

"Much better, husband." Though her cheeks were afire and her pulse was thumping against her ears. "Much bigger." Thicker.

Grand!

And waiting for her.

Chapter 18.

And on her lover's arm she leant, And round her waist she felt it fo ld, And far across the hills they went In that new world which is the old. Alfred, Lord Tennyson The Day-Dream, 1842 A nd she really ought to encourage him to get into the tub, but she hadn't any words at the moment. They were stuck in her belly, like a whirlwind of embers.

But he was already making his way there, the muscles of his backside flexing as he moved, as he stepped into the water like a beast out of legend.

And groaning all the way down, until he ducked under the water, stayed overlong, then came up scrubbing at his hair, shaking his head like a water dog.

His skin gleamed gold in the light of the candles, inviting her touch, but sending her heart into a plummeting spin when she noticed a thick, uneven scar running at a downward angle across his left shoulder, fr om the ridge line well into the muscle of his upper arm.

Graphic proof of her husband's vulnerability in his work, as well as his courage.

She went to his side and pulled a candle closer for a better look. "No wonder your shoulder gets sore now and then."

"If it's sore at the moment, wife, I can't feel it." His smile was wolfish as he leaned back against the tub. But as she began ma.s.saging the thick muscles, his head fell back and his mouth dropped open with a moan. "That's jus 't... oh, you're so fine."

She worked on his shoulder, kissing his ear and his neck, cupping his jaw for a better purchase for her kiss against his mouth.

"I like this, wife. Being here in your harem." He held her face with his wet hands, held her mouth against his, romped there. "Pampered and ma.s.saged."

Fondled, my lord. But that was to be a surprise for later .

"A wife's responsibility," she said, her hands soaped now and scented with lemon.

"To create a harem for her husband in their bedchamber?" He sighed even more deeply as she worked the slickness of the soap into his shoulders and along his arm.

"A one-woman harem, sir, though she would, of course, soon come to expect the same intimate treatment from her husband."

"Wise woman."

That's when the soap slipped out of her hands, landed on his chest, then slid downward into the soapy darkness between his widely spread legs, where it hit the bottom of the metal tub with a clunk.

"Oops," was all she could manage.

He looked up into her eyes as though challenging her courage to go after it.

She not only had the courage, but a burning, deeply abiding curiosity.

"I'll get that, Ross." Hoping for the best, yet not quite knowing what that would be, she judged his position under the water then stuck her bare arm between his legs.

"Careful." He was gripping the edge of the tub as though he feared she would pull him under.

She found the soap immediately, but, like the shameless hussy she was, pretended she hadn't while she gathered her courage and kept her hand down there, having to lean her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his knee.

He focused a narrowed, suspicious eye on her. "What are you doing, wife?"

"I'm trying to remember the suggestions from my booklet."

"Which suggestions would tha 't - o h, G.o.d! What are yo u - o h, Elizabeth!"

He bucked.

"Oh, Ross!" Oh, my, his erection was splendid! Hot and thick and stiff beyond her imagination. And his s.c.r.o.t.u.m was a marvelous wonder, along with all the other shapes of him.

"Careful where yo u - a hhhhh! " He was sitting bolt upright, breathing hard and fast, like a tethered beast, holding onto the rim of the tub with a white-knuckled grip.

"Now I remember! 'Tend to his every part in the bath, fondle his manly shapes, linger where he seems to most enjoy your touch.'"

"And that's enough fondling, for now, sweet!"

"So soon?" Disappointment deflated her. But only until Ross grabbed her upper arms and rose out of the tub, drawing her upward with him.

"Barely soon enough!" He stepped out of the water and snagged the nearest towel.

"I should be the one to dry you off, my lord. After all-"

"Not this time. Can't risk it."

"Then you owe me."

"And I always pay my debts." Elizabeth loved to see him in such a tempest of pa.s.sion, striding toward her in full rut, the towel tossed aside, his nostrils flaring.

"But, good sir, I haven't given you anywhere near your donations's worth tonight."

"You will, my love, you will."

A thrilling threat, a breathtaking promise from a man who was huge and stark naked and looking too pleased with himself as he engulfed her with his embrace.

The steaming heat of him seeped through the silk of her trousers, his p.e.n.i.s a rod of fire, rolling against her belly, making her want to reach down for him, to touch him again.

But when she tried, he growled and dipped her backward over his arm, exposing her neck to his mouth, to his trailing kisses, her name whispered again and again.

"Oh, Ross... that's, oh!" Her skin was alive and on fire for him, his hands skimming everywhere along her silky trousers, shaping her bottom and against her belly, cupping her between her legs, a touch that drove the air from her lungs and dizzied her.

Just when she was about to beg him to... to do something more intimate, faster or slower, he hooked his deft fingers through the loop holding her vest together between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and popped the b.u.t.ton right off.

The sides of her vest fell away to each side, and when she looked up he was the wolf again, staring hungrily at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"There they are," he whispered, "the sweet things."

She was ready for anything, but when his mouth closed over her nipple, she nearly fainted with the force of the pleasure. It shot through every part of her. The more he nuzzled and squeezed and tugged, the tighter he was winding her. Like a watchwork spring in her belly, winding and winding, growing hotter and hotter.

He held her suspended backward, exposed to the sweet torture of his mouth and his tongue as she writhed her hips into his steamy hot erection, clutched at his shoulders and called out his name in a most shameless way.

"Is this among your Unbridled Embraces, my dear wife?"

"No, but it should be. Will be!"

Ross wondered how he'd gotten so d.a.m.ned lucky in his brashness. Dutifully rescuing a rebellious woman from a prison sentence and finding a brazen, wanton wife instead.

She was nearly singing his name, taking tiny little gasps of air with his every tug, grabbing his bare b.u.t.tocks and urging his hips and his hardness against her belly.

The vest was long gone, but the woman was still wearing those Turkish trousers, still hiding her scented mysteries beneath the silk.

He straightened with her, pulled her against him, belly-to-belly, roused by the growing urgency of her wriggling.