By His Majesty's Grace
“He bathed because he could no longer stand himself. The miserable half pail of cold water provided by the guards at high price was a far cry from the sumptuous bath Isabel had prepared for him after the tournament. He missed the full, big tub with its comfortable linen liner, missed the scented soap, missed the linen toweling, missed, most of all, the tantalizing touch of the lovely female who had knelt to bathe him and that he had dragged into the water with him.
God, but Isabel had been w...arm and tender, her skin like satin over ivory. If he closed his eyes, he could escape the stone walls that enclosed him, could imagine himself in their chamber once more with her in his arms. Her mouth had been so sweet, her hair a silken wonder, so soft he wanted to bury his strutted length in it. And he had, yes, he had.
Wrenching from the rough mattress and coming erect, he shook himself, cursing viciously in English, in French and the lingua franca of the mercenaries in European armies.MoreLess
God, but Isabel had been w...arm and tender, her skin like satin over ivory. If he closed his eyes, he could escape the stone walls that enclosed him, could imagine himself in their chamber once more with her in his arms. Her mouth had been so sweet, her hair a silken wonder, so soft he wanted to bury his strutted length in it. And he had, yes, he had.
Wrenching from the rough mattress and coming erect, he shook himself, cursing viciously in English, in French and the lingua franca of the mercenaries in European armies.MoreLess
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