THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

over using Lamb’s Ear leaves—and your little black cases of much-needed Chanel.
    “What ails ye?”
    She cleared her throat. “Nothing.” She checked his temperature with her palm. “It’s time to sponge you down again.” He said nothing, which she took as consent and readied the bed.
    As she placed sheeting under each of his limbs he started to scowl. When she soaked a cloth in cool water and wiped his face, his gaze never wavered from hers. What was he thinking?
    She bathed his neck then his arms. Still he remained mute.
    Realizing she’d put off the inevitable for as long as she dared, she lowered the sheet to his hips. Feeling a blush creep up her neck, she glanced away.
    She’d thought nothing of touching his body intimately while he lay unconscious—it simply had to be done—but now her handsome husband-in-name-only stared at her, quite aware of where her hands and gaze traveled. She took a deep breath. Get a grip, Beth, and just do it.
    If he has a problem with her bathing him, he’ll let you know in short order. Then you can get huffy and tell him it’s for his own good and to just shut up.
    He said not a word as she sponged the broad, muscular planes of his chest and arms. As she readied another cloth to wipe down his well-delineated stomach she dared to glance up and found him staring at her through hooded eyes. She caught a slight twitch of his lips. Suspecting he was near to grinning, she cleared her throat and put on a stern face. Better he think her annoyed by having to do this, than suspect the depth of her embarrassment. Unfortunately, touching him while he was fully aware was a decidedly new experience. Totally unnerving, in fact, since his body was the first adult male’s she’d ever touched, seen naked outside of a movie. And he was breathtaking.
    He murmured, “Dosth ye approve?”
    Her face suddenly felt like a blast furnace.
    She chewed her lower lip. What the heck should she say? If you were healthy, I’d kill to spend one night in your arms? Not likely. “Aye, you’re being very good, staying so still.”
    This time his lips did curl into a grin.
    Duncan, she wished, why don’t you just close your eyes and let me finish with this before I expire. Good gravy.
    Her hands shook as she wrung cool water from the cloth. She grabbed a lung full of air and placed the cloth on his muscular abdomen. Her fragile confidence wavered when glorious muscle rippled under her hands.
    You can do this, she silently chided. Hell, she’d done it for five days. Today should be no different.
    Right.
    Her hand grazed the fine, curly hairs on his lower abdomen, and a steeple appeared within the sheeting covering his privates. She nearly swallowed her tongue.
    Oh, good Lord. Now, what? She couldn’t just stop. He had a fever. Was this...reaction...simply a biological thing that happened whenever cold water came too close to a man’s plumbing? Probably. Yes. It certainly couldn’t be a response to her.
    Though the tenting was surely a temperature issue, she retreated, wash basin in hand, to the end of the bed. She lifted his left foot. As her hands rose along his leg, she kept her gaze locked on the cloth in her hand. Minutes later Beth accidentally glanced up to find the steeple decidedly taller.
    To her horror, hot blood flair in her cheeks.
    God, if you get me through this, I swear I’ll never curse again in my life.
     
     
     
    Chapter 8
     
    To Duncan’s amusement, his ladywife’s complexion bore a strong resemblance to a freshly cut beet. As he watched her labor over his body he dared not laugh for fear she’d expire on the spot or run from the room screaming.
    And her hands felt wonderful, as did the cool water she kept applying so carefully. She had a gentle touch. A good trait in a wife.
    Wife. Something he’d not wanted but now had, nonetheless.
    He felt relief knowing there was a possibility he could bed her, in knowing his cock hadn’t been adversely effected like the rest of his body by the ravishes of Eleanor’s blade.
    When Beth’s hands fluttered against the inside of his left thigh, he closed his eyes and nearly groaned. Had he the strength, he would have reached out, pulled her on top of him and gladly tupped her, greasy hair and all, just to relieve the pressure she’d created in his groin. Had he tupped her the night they wed, he might even suggest she use those incredible hands to relieve his anguish, but that, unfortunately, was currently out of the question.