She still held his face in her hands. Her thumb dabbed a salty drop from his cheek. “I know what you need, Bram.”
Sweet heaven. Perhaps she did. And what else did he need, that he couldn’t have known to put into words? He was desperate to find out. Wordlessly, he slipped away from her. Covered the distance to the boulder in strong, purposeful strides. Returned to her, splashing his way through wave and foam, to stand breathless with need and longing.
“Again.”
This time she reached for his hand. She lifted it to her face, curling his wet fingers over the curve of her cheek. Then she turned her face, nuzzling into his caress. Her breath rushed over his chilled flesh, rousing his every nerve to attention. And then she pressed a kiss to the exact center of his palm.
A bolt of bliss streaked from the spot, rushing straight for his core. Bloody hell. A tiny kiss on his palm. He felt it everywhere. His knees went weak. He wanted to fall at her feet, lay his head in her lap for hours. I am your slave.
He withdrew his hand, flexing it to disperse the sensation and get a grip on himself. Who could have guessed a fully grown man could be utterly felled by such a tiny, precise assault? Did the army know this? Maybe they ought to issue plate armor to protect soldiers’ vulnerable palms.
“Susanna.” He reached for her.
Quick as a fish, she wriggled away. “If you want more, you must work for them.”
He retreated again, making his way to the boulder more slowly this time. Partly out of fatigue, but mostly because he needed time to calm himself. His heart thudded loudly in his chest, battering his ribs. He couldn’t let her see, didn’t dare let her know that with those two tiny kisses, she’d shaken him to his soul.
On his way back to her, he tried to shrug off the sensation and find a way to regain control. He was a soldier, he told himself. Not a supplicant. As he slashed his way through the water, his blood rushed through his limbs, hot and powerful.
But just as he neared her, he misjudged his step. The chain caught on a rock, and his ankle turned. He lunged forward, loosing an involuntary growl of pain.
She dashed to him, fighting her way through the water. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” he said, denying the fresh stab of agony. It wasn’t his knee that hurt so fiercely, but his pride. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“You’ve done enough for tonight.” She unlooped the ribbon and key from his neck and disappeared beneath the water. After a bit of tugging, he felt the cuff release.
“Put it back,” he said, once she’d surfaced. “I can do more. I’m not even fatigued.”
“Be patient with yourself.” She pushed the water from her face. “You’ve made a remarkable recovery, and you’ll get stronger still. But you were shot, Bram. You have to accept that your leg will never be quite the same.”
“It will be the same. It has to be. I can’t accept anything less than a complete recovery.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to lead.”
She choked on a laugh. “You don’t need a perfect knee for that. You have more leadership in your great toe than most men have in their whole bodies.”
He made a pained face that was meant to indicate modesty.
She took it as Do go on, please. “Truly. People just naturally want to please you. Take Rufus and Finn. You don’t know them well enough to see it yet. But I do, and those boys worship the ground you limp on.”
“Those boys just need a man to look up to.”
“Well, they couldn’t have chosen a better one.” She wreathed her arms around his neck.
Cool water swirled around them, emphasizing the heat where their bodies met. Right now, he felt closer to her than ever, and still he wanted more. Every cell in his body craved that perfect union of bodies they’d achieved under the willow tree. But if he ignored the frantic clamor in his loins and took time to hear the insistent, steady message of his heart . . . simply holding her was lovely. Peaceful. Right.
“If I’m such a remarkable leader,” he said, “why is it I can’t bring you in line?”
“Because you don’t want to. You like me this way.” She smiled the smug little smile of a woman who was utterly convinced she was right.
But she was wrong. He didn’t like her this way.
He thought he might love her this way.
Damn. Love. It wasn’t something Bram had much experience handling. The very idea of it seemed dangerous, unsafe. So he dealt with it the same way he treated other hazardous, explosive things. He tucked it away in a cool, dark place inside him—to be examined and measured at some later time. When his hands weren’t trembling, and his loins weren’t aching with unspent lust. And his heart wasn’t pounding so damned loud.
“I’m going to marry you,” he said.
“Oh, Bram.” Her features screwed into an expression of dismay.