Highlander Most Wanted (The Montgomerys and Armstrongs #2)(27)

Then he stalked forward again, angered that he was allowing this slip of a lass to rule his thoughts and actions. She was a manipulative deceiver and he would not be taken in by her sad eyes any longer.

When he topped the slight rise that looked over the stream, he was not prepared for the sight before him, even though he well knew what he might encounter.

Genevieve was rinsing soap from her hair, and Jesu, she looked like a goddess. Her right side was turned toward him, her face arched into the sun as she poured water over her head from a clay jug.

There was such contentment, a visible sigh puffing from her lips, and the sun shone over her features, illuminating every beautiful line of her face and body.

She was small and delicate, her features tiny but lush. A gently curved waist, plump bu**ocks, rounded hips, and her br**sts … A hot flush traveled through Bowen’s body and his breath came in ragged spurts as he took in the sight before him.

She was stunning. So beautiful that his cods ached. His hands fair itched to touch her, to caress her sleek flesh and coax sounds of pleasure from her lips.

The moment she turned her face and he saw the ravages of all that had been done to her, he went cold, and guilt surged through his veins.

He was acting no better than Ian McHugh, staring at her with lust in his eyes and heart. Thinking that she was no better than a vessel for his pleasure. He should not be here, intruding on her privacy. There was no honor in making a woman feel unsafe.

Before he could retreat, she looked up, as if feeling his gaze on her body. Her eyes were startled, and yet she didn’t move. Perhaps she saw the foolishness of trying to hide now when she was in plain view.

Heat crawled over his cheeks. It brought him shame that he stood staring at her even once his presence was known. And yet he drank his fill of the vision before him. Aye, her face was scarred, but somehow it didn’t matter. The lass’s beauty could not be denied.

Or maybe it was her calm courage. The way she faced him, unwilling to flinch or play the shy maiden. She utterly fascinated him, and that was troublesome given his doubts about her.

’Twas true the lasses always paid him extra attention. His brothers teased him about his looks and his charm. He knew women found him comely and were eager to invite him to their beds.

He was used to the attention and could shake it off when there were more serious matters to attend to. But he did enjoy a warm, willing lass in his bed, and he’d never had to go without when he desired one.

But Genevieve didn’t look at him with lust or a teasing glint to her eyes. There were no coy mannerisms or come-hither looks.

She merely stared back at him, as if unwilling to be the first to blink in their silent standoff. There was false bravado in her expression, as if she’d steeled herself for whatever was to come. Almost as if she fully expected pain or humiliation from him.

It made what he’d come to confront her over even more distasteful, and a pang of unwanted guilt nagged at him. He hadn’t realized until now how much he wanted to be wrong.…

Finally, he started down the incline, breaking the visible tension between them. The lass was likely freezing, standing there hip-deep in the water.

He tried very hard not to let his gaze wander, but he was inexorably drawn to her br**sts and down the flat line of her belly to where the dark curls of her womanhood were barely visible above the waterline.

Jesu, but he was breaking into a sweat and the morning air still had a decided chill to it.

Her body was perfect, and simply made for a man’s hands to appreciate. Her br**sts were plump but not too much so. Just enough to fill his palm … and his mouth.

And ah but he could well imagine cradling her luscious backside in his hands as he stroked in and out of her.

As he neared the water’s edge, Genevieve lowered herself in the water, her eyes hooded and wary.

“I would speak to you, Genevieve,” Bowen said, his voice graver than he intended.

“I would prefer our conversation to take place when I’m at least covered,” she said in a tart voice that gave him hope.

A saucy Genevieve he could take. A beaten-down, frightened Genevieve made his stomach knot.

“I’ll turn my back and allow you to leave the water so you don’t grow chilled,” he offered.

When he didn’t immediately proffer his back, she frowned and made a circling motion with her hand.

Smothering a smile that surprised him by twitching at his lips, he swiftly turned his back and stared at the keep looming in the distance.

Damn it but he didn’t want to be soft toward her. He didn’t want her to make him smile—or anything else. But he was a liar if he suggested such. He could tell himself all he wanted, but there was something about the lass that was compelling.

His body and mind were not in accord on this matter, and his body was fast winning the battle.

Soft splashing sounds reached his ears, and a shiver stole down his spine at the idea that she was rising from the water. Rivulets would be sliding down her sleek body and, even now, chill bumps would dot her torso, hardening her ni**les, and water would cling to the damp curls between her legs. Hiding all that warm, moist womanly flesh that he ached to explore.

A blistering curse burned his lips. It was absurd for him to carry on like a lad who hadn’t yet reached manhood. He stood there fidgeting like a nervous boy who’d just laid eyes on his first naked woman.

“You can turn around now.”