Choosing the Highlander by Jessi Gage Page A

her to places she did not want to go.
    “I hardly think that’s proper,” she said, lifting her chin. “Thank you for the water, but I. Intend. To. Bathe. Myself.” She echoed the command in his voice, a tactic that usually made men think twice about how they spoke to her.
    Wilhelm only grinned. His eyes hooded.
    The look caused her a pulse deep between her legs. No man had ever looked at her that way before. Nor had her body ever reacted so obviously to any man before.
    She couldn’t allow the novelty to distract her. She must keep her distance from Wilhelm but she must also take care not to offend him. His cooperation was vital to her returning home. Maybe she should be more respectful when addressing him. He probably didn’t have many women challenge his authority.
    “Think you I would trespass on your person in any way while we take shelter in a holy place?”
    “Trespass on my person?” Was he saying he wasn’t going to do more than actually bathe her?
    “Aye, lass. Trespass. Take liberties. Touch you with unseemly intent. Ye ken my meaning.”
    She nodded, her mouth gone dry at the thought of Wilhelm taking and touching and doing whatever the heck he pleased with her. “Y-you said you won’t , um, trespass on my person?”
    “You have my word I shall not defile you in any way. Now undress for me, lass.”
    She believed he was a man of his word. His promising not to molest her should be a comfort. Instead, it caused a bitter pill of disappointment that she swallowed down along with her temptation to capitulate.  
    Did he really not want to “trespass on her person” because they were in a holy place or was that just an excuse? Did he not find her pretty enough or feminine enough? Was she too bitchy? No man had ever shown more than a perfunctory interest in her sexually. This had never really bothered her before, but at the moment, the words Wilhelm likely meant as a comfort left her feeling rejected.
    Never mind. It shouldn’t matter. He shouldn’t matter.
    Crossing her arms over her chest, she countered with, “I don’t show my body to just any man.” Truth. She had always been selective. In her twenty-eight years, she’d taken only three lovers, all of them chosen carefully and compatible with whatever life goals she’d had at the time.
    “I am not just any man,” he said simply, and everything about him from his posture to his actions backed up his claim.
    He wasn’t just any man. He was regal and impressive, strong and genuine. He valued honesty and fairness. He moved in political circles. He was special. And alluring in the extreme.
    If she didn’t have her sights set on Inverness and finding her way back to Leslie, she would consider trespassing on his person, holy place or not. If he weren’t part of a world five hundred years in her past, he would be just the kind of man she might select for herself.
    “Nevertheless,” she said, making her voice firm. “I would prefer to wash myself.”
    He took the final step to close the distance between them and cupped her face in his hand. His touch was warm, and it weakened her resolve.
    “You may leave your small clothes on, if you wish, and I will wash only what skin you choose to show me. But I long to bathe all of you, lass. You’ve still the stench of smoke to you, and you’ve Aifric’s blood on your hands. I’m fair proud of you for your hard work today and your bravery yester eve. You have earned a thorough bath. You have earned my service.
    “There is no fireplace to warm you, and there is no hipbath for you to sink into and thus preserve your modesty. These things you deserve and much, much more. Would that I could give them to you here, but I cannot. Will you trust my word, lass, that I intend nothing untoward?”
    His words sank in slowly, like the soothing heat from his hand. His pride in her meant more than it should. His humility in wanting to serve her meant even more, especially since she suspected he’d worked all day