Page 73 of Moon Craving

shift most thoroughly. Only every stroke of the soap cake over the fabric was a caress

against the skin below it. He made sure the soap touched every inch of the shift before

putting the bar on the rock ledge of the pool.

"I believe next I am to work the suds into the cloth, aye?"

Too choked to speak, she could merely nod warily.

Using his free hand, he did exactly that, being far gentler than the washerwoman

and her helper in Abigail's father's keep. Indeed, every movement of his hand against the

linen was more a caress than a scrubbing. And each touch left her more and more

breathless.

"You have a strange way of washing clothing in the Highlands."

"You think so?"

A strangled laugh made it past her tight throat and she nodded.

"Then you will be relieved to learn 'tis not something I have ever seen done."

"Only lairds wash their wives' clothing thus?"

"Only this laird."

"Oh," she gasped as all pretense at cleansing her garment slipped away.

Knowing and clever fingers caressed her through the wet shift, causing it to rub

sensually against her skin. She'd never known such sensation, not even when he had

touched her in the tent. This was pure decadence, making her feel more naked wearing

her shift than she had under the furs for the past two nights.

She did not know when he had released her to touch her with both hands, but they

cupped and squeezed her buttocks through the fabric. She felt marked and possessed by

that simple touch. Then one hand slid around to draw indecipherable patterns on her

stomach. Bit by slow bit, his hand moved upward until he reached her breast.

Long, masculine fingers curled around her in an intimate hold that seared her to

her soul. Using the wet fabric, he abraded her nipples until her thighs quivered with the

tension of wanting more. Yet for all the pleasure she knew there was to be had in his

arms, she could not make herself ask for it.

He continued to caress her bottom through the shirt and her legs parted of their

own volition as she fought the urge to return the touch. More out of fear of doing it wrong