VirtualDesire by Ann Lawrence Read Free Book Online

leave.” Vad stepped over the side of the tub. His foot
slipped in the slick mess of water and suds. He skidded across the room, his
arms flailing.
    Gwen thought of a hockey goalie stretching for a save. She’d
never again be able to attend a Flyers game without picturing the players
naked. There was something quite magnificent about a well-honed man in motion.
Any motion.
    He righted himself and reached for his furs. Around his
beautifully sculpted right biceps were three silver arm rings. Then light
glinted off the long blade in his hand.
    “Oh, my God,” she said with a gasp. Her throat dried.
    Then the man lifted one of the towels and wiped the blade.
“Water plays havoc with fine steel,” he said. She remembered to breathe when he
turned away and inspected the knife’s leather sheath. Tension flooded through
her again as he swung back to poke the sodden mass of fur at his feet.
    “Put the sword down.” She hated the tremor in her voice.
    Puddles of soap and water slowly crept in her direction.
They would soon soak the robe she’d brought for him, but she couldn’t make
herself move.
    His sword pointed toward the floor, he came to her. “I wish
you no harm.”
    How she wished she believed him. He was too big and too near—and
way too naked. His steady blue gaze held her frozen in place. The touch of his
fingers to her cheek was gentle, but she could not stop herself from flinching.
    “A warrior must think of his weapons first, and ‘tis naught
but a small knife. Nothing to be afraid of, woman.” Her head bobbed in assent,
but she took a step away from him, then another. He bent and lifted the robe.
It was heavy and soft. A floral scent clung to the fabric. His body responded.
    With as much disdain as possible, he donned the robe. Still,
she stood in the door as if ready to flee. Her ale-dark eyes were huge in her
face. Her fear insulted him. He had never harmed a female in his life.
Well…there had been that time he had dropped his shield on a slave’s foot. But
surely that did not count—it was an accident. She had recovered quite nicely
once the healer had stitched her up. Perhaps this one, too, might regain her
humor, given the opportunity. It was not often his weapons gained more
attention than his manhood.
    Shaking out a white cloth, he once again lifted his blade.
He began to stroke the cloth up and down its length. “Unless you wish to polish
my other sword, woman, be gone.”
    She flitted away. A cold breeze replaced her. He sheathed
his knife and, although it was the work of slaves, he tossed cloths upon the
floor to sop up the mess he’d made. There were piles of cloths, cloths enough
to dry many bathers. In a cupboard he found more. They joined the others on the
soapy floor.
    He donned the robe to conceal the knife sheath and sighed
over the dampness of the leather. Unbidden, his fingers stroked the green
fabric. It was like none he had ever felt before. It had a nap like fur, yet
inside it was woven, proving it to be cloth of some kind. He shrugged and
scooped up his sodden cloak.
    A commotion brought him from the bathing chamber, dripping a
trail of water from his furs. So…she had feared him enough to fetch the snake
man. The woman half hid behind her champion and prattled something about his
knife.
    “By the gods, woman! Are you so spineless you quail at a
small blade?” Keeping one eye on the snake man, he heaved his cloak onto her
table.
    Her shriek burned his ears.
    “How dare you! That was my mother’s table. She loved that
table. I learned to write at that table.” Before he could stop her, she dragged
his cloak off the battered wood and, after twisting and turning the silver knob
on the glass door, heaved the furs out like so much refuse to be discarded.
    He shoved the snake man aside. The man went down like a sack
of feathers. Vad leaped to the deck and snatched up his furs. He clasped them
to his chest. Anger warred with compassion. The woman was scrubbing the water
from