The Widow Vanishes by Grace Callaway Read Free Book Online Page B

and buckets of steaming water to fill the tub, she plotted her getaway. Mayhap when McLeod was asleep … The image of the big Scot sprawled in the bed lured other thoughts into her head. Her pulse quickened.
    Was he going to expect her to sleep with him?
    She wouldn't, she told herself. She wasn't a whore any longer. She wouldn't be bedded at any man's whim.
    Even if said man possessed the devil's own attractions.
    McLeod shut the door behind the last maid. Annabel swallowed when his glittering gaze fixed upon her. He advanced toward her, and she backed away. The dip of her spine hit the edge of the table; in two steps, he had her trapped. Loomed over her, his features carved in granite and utterly unreadable.
    Refusing to be intimidated, she drew back her shoulders. "We should talk."
    "Take off your clothes first," he said.
    "I beg your pardon," she said indignantly.
    "You smell like you've been rolling around in a rubbish heap. You need a bath."
    This, unfortunately, was true.
    Lifting her chin, she said, "Fine. If you'll leave and give me privacy, I—" She broke off with a gasp when his fingers hooked the edge of her bodice. He didn't even exert pressure: the tatty material simply parted like the Red Sea at his touch, the torn halves fluttering to the ground.
    He lifted a brow at her chemise. "Do you need help with that as well?"
    Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at him. "You've helped enough already! Now will you please leave me to bathe in peace?"
    "And have you run on me again? Not a chance, beauty." A faint curve softened the stern line of his lips. "Now take off that rag and get in the tub. Water's getting cold."
    "Do not tell me what to do," she said through her teeth.
    "Then don't be daft. Get in the tub, or I'll put you there."
    "You wouldn't dare—"
    Before she could finish, McLeod swooped in, capturing her in his arms. She struggled against his hold, but to no avail. Her chemise went the way of her gown, and with a small splash, she was deposited into the tub. Sputtering, she wavered between irritation at his high-handedness—and pleasure at the silky embrace of hot water. Heaven.
    "Feels good, eh lass?"
    She hunched forward, wrapping her arms around her knees so that her essential parts were hidden from view. She glowered at him.
    For some reason, this made the oaf chuckle. "Now there's a killing look if I ever saw one. Relax, Bella." He dragged a chair over to the tub. "Though it's not gentlemanly to mention it, I had the privilege of a preview last night."
    "You're right—it's not gentlemanly. The minute I—what are you doing ?" She twisted her neck to look at him.
    "Washing your hair."
    To her stupefaction, he continued to drizzle sweet-smelling soap onto her hair. He massaged it in, his strong fingers working against her scalp, sparking pleasure at her nerve endings. She bit back a whimper of bliss. With a firm yet gentle touch, he guided her head to rest on the tub's edge as he worked his magic, washing and rinsing her tresses.
    "Ease up, lass. Not going to hurt you."
    "What do you intend to do?" Her voice trembled as she eyed his upside-down visage.
    "It depends."
    "On?"
    "The truth." His palms cradled the sides of her head, his gaze intent upon her face. "Why'd you run from me, Bella? Take my coin?"
    She bit her lip. Looked away as shame flooded her. What difference would it make if he knew the truth? At this point, how much worse could he think of her? In all likelihood, he probably wouldn't even believe her: from his point of view, she was nothing more than a strumpet and a thief.
    "I'm not a whore, McLeod. I know that's hard to believe after what we ... after last night." Though her cheeks flamed, she went on resolutely, "I've never done such a thing before, and I'm never doing it again. I—I would rather die."
    He grew still. "Was it ... bad, then? I swear I didn't know. I thought ..."
    At that, she sat up. Turned to look at him properly. His features were set in stark lines, his