“I was thinking about you.” The words rushed right out of her mouth with no consideration at all. What was there to think about? He made her happy, why should she deny him the same?

His arm tightened, and he pressed a harder kiss against her throat and then several more. “Sweet English wildcat, come share a bath with me.”

“Share?”

He released her and pulled his shirt over his head, baring his body. There was an arrogant look on his face, one that spoke of experience she discovered she was jealous of.

Jemma crossed her arms over her chest. “Not if you invited Anyon into that tub.”

He laughed, and she felt her temper simmer. “I mean what I say, Gordon. I’ll not be the next in line for your riding.”

He closed his lips to contain his amusement, but his eyes were still filled with mischief. “Ye’re jealous, Jemma.”

“You may be certain that I am, sir. Why is it I am forced to stand bare while every inch of my body is inspected and the bed, too, all for the sake of proving that I am innocent, yet my groom is allowed to ride often?”

His eyes darkened. “ ’Tis unfair, I agree, but I suppose it is a matter that men kill over jealousy, lass, and I swear that I feel like I’d gladly choke the life out of any man who touched ye.”

“Barbarian.” She sniffed at him. “Take your bath alone.”

He placed his hand over his heart. “I swear to ye, Jemma, I never had another woman in this tub.”

“On your honor?”

His voice had turned somber. “Aye, lass. Now take yer dressing robe off. I want to see if me memory is playing tricks on me or if ye are more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever met.”

His gaze was fashioned on her, unwavering and completely devoted. Excitement flowed through her, waking from where she had thrust it down when fate had taken him from her. Reaching down, she pulled the single tie that held the dressing robe closed. Rolling her shoulders sent the heavy garment slipping down her arms, past the curve of her hips, and down her legs.

Gordon watched her intently, his keen eyes following the fabric as it bared each new part of her.

“Ye are stunning, Jemma, and ye are mine.” His raised his attention back to her face. “And I enjoy that fact, lass, more than I can tell ye.”

He swept her off her feet, cradling her against his chest, and carried her to the tub. He lowered her gently to make sure the water wasn’t too hot. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and he chuckled.

“Aye, it’s a fine thing, isn’t it?”

He knelt down to move one of the coal baskets out from beneath the tub.

“Where did you find such a thing?”

He lifted one leg over the edge and then the other, sinking down into the water next to her. The water level rose as he displaced a large portion of it. The tub wasn’t just wide, it was deeper than any other she had ever seen, but she realized why when Gordon leaned against the back of it. The side of the tub rose high enough to support his back. He sighed and offered her a satisfied look.

“’Twas made here by one of my own blacksmiths. I read about one in a book brought back from the holy land.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “It told a tale of a sultan who had one of these for traveling. It seems the man liked his concubines to attend him at all moments.”

“Right in his bath?” Her voice had turned husky and low, but she couldn’t help but be captivated by the forbidden topic. Gordon reached down and grasped his cock.

“Aye, lass. Those Moors teach their concubines that men can nae experience pleasure unless the female rides him to it.”

“You are toying with me . . .” But the idea was exciting her. Her passage was alive with need and her clitoris begging for the chance to try what he was suggesting.

“Ye’re sitting in the tub, are ye not, lass?” He reached out and captured one of her feet. “That book had many suggestions, Frenching a woman among them.”

He began to rub her foot, working over her arch with small kneading motions.

“And it also mentioned pressure points that build passion in a woman.”

“On her foot?”

“Aye.” His fingers worked some more. “Here I believe.”

He pressed and rubbed and sensation shot up her legs. It tingled and awakened feelings that twisted through her.

“Such a book must be forbidden by the Church.”

“Ye can be sure of that.” He reached for her other foot and treated it to the same massage. Her body was growing warmer, the water suddenly becoming too hot for her taste.

“But ye want to know what else was in it, don’t ye?”

“Yes,” Jemma answered quickly, drawing a cocky smile from him.

“Ah well, the book mentioned a few things about nipples.”

He pulled her forward and right up onto his lap. She squealed because the hard length of his cock pressed against her slit, the folds of her flesh opening to lie on either side of his thick member.

“Now put yer hands behind ye so that yer sweet breasts are thrust forward to please me like a good concubine.”

“That would be brazen.”

“Aye, and ye sound breathless with the idea, wife.”

She was. Hunger was flooding her, and her own thoughts were helping to drive it. He grasped her arms and gently folded them behind her back. Her breasts did thrust out toward him.

“Ah, the perfect picture of submission. Ye know those Moors insist on their concubines being slaves to their every desire. Will ye stay there, waiting for my touch with yer little pearl pressed against my cock?”

His hands cupped her breasts, the water making it a delightful sensation. His fingers smoothed over her skin, and he lifted his fingers to drip water on the top of her breasts where the skin was still dry. She made a low sound of approval, and he offered her a male one in return.

“Sweet, sweet wife. I am looking forward to the winter.”

She laughed. A single sound but her cheeks brightened once more. She felt pretty. It wasn’t due to flowery words or thoughtful gifts, but the feeling stemmed from the look in his eyes and the way his attention was focused on her breasts. He was still happily toying with her breasts, thumbing her hard nipples and spreading his fingers out around the tender mounds. Soft arousal continued to build inside her, making her more and more aware of the hard flesh pressing against her clitoris. It became an effort to remain still, her hips wanted to twitch and move. She bit her lower lip but lost the battle to remain still.

“Aye, I could nae agree with ye more, lass. A bit of action is called for.”

He moved his hands down to her hips, cupping her curves with his hands and pressing her down onto him harder. He thrust his hips up in soft, tiny motions that moved his cock against her slit.

“Gordon . . .” She was truly breathless now, the motions of his hips rubbing against her clitoris. The pressure from his hold on her hips kept his member against his body and away from the opening to her passage. By thrusting up and holding her steady, his hard flesh worked against her slit, rubbing back and forth. Pleasure spiked up into her. The water splashed against her breasts and nipples while he continued to thrust. She couldn’t maintain her position and reached for him as need began to force a moan past her lips.

“Gordon . . . stop . . . before—”

“Take yer pleasure, Jemma, I want to see ye cry with it.”

There really was no choice. She was powerless to hold it back. Her thighs grasped his hips, making sure that their bodies were even tighter against one another. He thrust faster, and she felt her fingers clawing into his shoulders. The cry he desired broke from her lips as pleasure tore through her. It raced into her, where it became a glowing knot of tension that held for one blinding moment and then broke apart into tongues of white-hot flame touching every part of her. She gasped, and her head lowered onto his shoulder. Her heart was beating too fast, and the hands holding her hips were almost too tight, but they held her steady while she drew in rapid breaths and felt her sanity return.

He cupped her chin and raised it to meet his eyes. They were full of bright need that made the water feel cold.

“I enjoy pleasuring ye, but the next time ye cry out, I am going to be deep inside ye, Jemma.” He leaned forward to press a hard kiss against her mouth, his hands raising her up so that his cock sprang up to position itself for entry into her body.

“Not yet.”

She reached forward and clasped his cock while scooting down to sit on his thighs. The water made it easy to work her hand up and down the thick staff. His face tightened as she moved her hand faster. His cock grew harder, and his hands gripped the sides of the tub until the knuckles turned white.

He suddenly caught her hand, forcing her to stop. “Enough, Jemma. I want to be inside ye.”

His eyes were bright with need, the same hunger that was coiled up inside her belly.

“Not here. We need to go back to the bed.”

She stood up and stepped out of the tub before he realized her intention.

“Come back here, wife. I’ve waited too long to claim ye.” His voice was strained, and there was a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“No. In the bed.” The frustration on his face drew a soft laugh from her.

“It’s not comical, wife. The moment is now.”

Jemma tried to compose herself, but failed. His demands reminded her too much of how need made her feel. She enjoyed knowing that he was just as susceptible to passion for her; in truth she was proud of her ability to push him to that edge. It fortified her confidence and made her bold enough to stand completely nude in front of him. He liked her in such a way, and she enjoyed seeing his enjoyment.

Her husband growled.

“Admit it, Gordon.” She plucked up a length of toweling and wrapped it around her nude body to prod him into following her. Her action drew a fresh round of snarls from her companion.