Fans of Eloisa James & Julia Quinn discussion
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June 6 Puzzler
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I really like this. I do not have a guess, though. I have not read it, but would like to. Good luck ladies :)
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You know, it sounds familiar but I don't know. I read lots of Scottish Highlander series a couple of years ago but haven't picked one up in a while.
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Quickly she peered through, and could just as easily have been looking at a sculptured statue of sleek, shiny bronze, like Neptune rising out of the sea. Water dripped down the length of Hero's spectacular muscled form in clean silver rivulets.
She'd never seen a naked man before. She'd seen works of art, of course, but never a true flesh-and-blood masterpiece of virility. And Hero was most definitely that.
Lips parted, she stood gazing at his narrow tapered waist, his solid, firm buttocks and broad thighs. Her pulse burned with both shock and fascination, and even when she knew she should turn away, she could not. She was rooted to the floor, staring through the narrow space between the curtain and the wall, powerless to even swallow or blink.
Then, as the gleam of water streamed over the the brawny bands of muscles on his shoulders and upper arms, she noticed the scars. Some were small, like nicks in the flesh, while others were thick and deep. One was a long as her arms, from wrist to elbow, carved in the shape of the half-moon.
How many battles had this man fought and survived? Was he made of steel? He seemed invincible. No wonder he was such a legend. No one could crush or kill him, not with a knife or sword or stone.
For some unbidden reason, she imagined him naked with a lover. We're not afraid to grunt and thrust and use our mouths to pleasure our women.
Her insides burned with heat. She had not forgotten those words, or how he had pressed his body to hers and pinned her to the ground on the morning of her abduction.
He had grunted and thrusted. She remembered every heart-stopping moment of it- every movement, every sensation...
Hero reached for his shirt, pulled it on over his head, then donned his tartan and belt, fixing the brooch in place over his shoulder. He was just reaching for his weapons when Heroine shook herself out of her stupor and realized he would soon push through the curtains. She backed away, looked around for something to do, nearly knocked over a milk jug with her elbows- then crossed to the basket of eggs on the table. But what to do with them?
The curtain swept open with a barely audible swish, but she did not turn. She could do nothing but listen to his light footsteps across the floor, coming closer...closer...approaching from behind.
The scent of him filled her head. It was not rosewater she smelled, however. It was just him and the musky smell of his clothes, the plaid and the leather. It was the smell of Scotland.
She felt his presence-so close, his chest touched her back. His hands came to rest on her hips, and her skin erupted in gooseflesh.
"You were watching me, weren't you?" he whispered in her ear.
There was no point in lying. He would know. "Yes."
Her bones seemed to melt beneath the sudden scorching heat of her skin.
"You've not seen a man naked before?"
She shook her head. "Of course not. That's not how we live where I come from. Ladies are sheltered form such things."
"Even after marriage?"
"I wouldn't know."
He did not move, but she could still feel his warm, humid breath in her ear. A strange pulsing began within. Outside her body, the whole world seemed to go silent and still.