"And I'll just bet that you're happy to volunteer."
Making his tone aggrieved, he sighed, "If I must... Now lean back so I can rinse your hair."
She hesitated, then finally did. He rewarded her by using the water he'd warmed in his canteen. "Ooh," she softly moaned, making his shaft throb harder.
"So responsive." Once he'd rinsed her hair clean, he lowered his voice to say, "If you were no' so tired, I'd make you come a few times."
She jerked upright, her hair whipping across her chin and neck. "That won't happen! I learned my lesson about you." She backed away from him. "The bloom is definitely off that rose."
"How's that?"
"Got lost in a kiss - got locked in a tomb with an ancient evil bent on making me drink blood. It's all about causality. The bottom line is that you are bad news."
"I'll make you believe differently in the time you've given me."
"And how do you expect to do that?" she asked, her tone scoffing. "By bathing me really, really good?"
"No, I plan to use my roguish charm to seduce you."
"But you're not charming."
He gave an arrogant half laugh, though he had been worried on that exact score. "I've no' even begun to try with you. Now come back here - you're to bathe me."
Mari frowned at him. She didn't like this new flirty side of MacRieve because, damn him, he did have a certain rough charm. "Like that's going to happen. I'm getting out, and I don't want you to look."
He gave her a brows-drawn look of disappointment, as if she'd taken away a toy - and for no good reason.
"It really is the least you could do."
When he finally turned his broad back to her, she found herself again getting caught up staring at the damp skin and muscles. With a hard shake of her head, she hurried from the water, then bent for the towel he'd laid out, covering herself.
Kneeling beside her bag, she rifled through it, searching for something to sleep in. She'd had a roomy T-shirt in there. Where was it? Wait... She narrowed her eyes in his direction and found him running a shaking hand over his face, his eyelids heavy.
"You watched me get out, didn't you?" she asked absently, realizing that she could not see his right hand below the water - and that the muscles in that arm were moving.
"O' course, I did," he replied with no shame. "And I'd describe the sight as life changing. It's also made me ponder if a male can have a cockstand that's so hard, it canna be tamed."
She glared at the ceiling, irritated that he was getting to her like this. "Did you take the sleep shirt from my bag?"
"Aye. Found some silks in there that I want you to wear for me." Shameless, tricksy wolf.
Mari bit her lip as she surveyed the three underwear sets he'd seen - and probably felt, and who knew what else: recovering nymphomaniac, hooker, and playful hooker. Just ducky. The last time she'd ever go lingerie shopping with Carrow.
She stood, marched over to his bag, and rummaged inside for the largest shirt she could find. When she pulled one out, she spied a folded letter with a broken wax seal. The script had faintly bled through and was feminine.
What female was writing him letters? And why was it so special that he would bring it with him on this trip?
She thought he was climbing out, so she closed his bag. Behind her, she heard him shaking his hair out, wolflike, and felt a few drops of water hit her as she stood.
With her back to him, she maneuvered the towel, endeavoring to dress without revealing anything.
"Though I could watch this all night, you should no' bother with it, witchling. I've seen every inch of you by now."
She glanced over her shoulder, not knowing if she was pleased or disappointed that he'd slung on his jeans. "How's that?"
"I'm tall enough that when I was behind you, I could see straight over you. And my eyesight's strong enough to easily see through the water."
She wasn't modest, and this hiding her body like a blushing virgin wasn't her front anyway. "In that case... " she said, dropping the towel.
He hissed in a breath. As she set about dressing as usual, he grated, "No' a bashful one, then?"
Bashful? She and her friends made Girls Gone Wild look like a quilting circle. "Just being charitable to aging werewolves."
18
Pert, plump arse, smooth thighs, slim back and waist...
Bowe had never seen such a tantalizing figure in all his life. And he'd lived a long, long time. He was well aware that he'd been rendered speechless by the body of a twenty-three-year-old witch.
And when she'd bent over naked for her towel? If he hadn't been braced for what he'd known was going to be a heart-stopping vision, he'd have drowned, thunderstruck.
Now, as he watched her slip into her wicked silk underwear and bra, he just stifled a groan and instead observed, "I never thought the saying 'bounce a quarter off her arse' could be literal."
"I didn't think you cared for my ass. I believe you said I was scrawny where it counts."
"You said the same about me. Obviously, we were both mistaken. And I care for your arse verra much. My affection for it grows by the minute."
She shot him a glare, then dressed in his shirt, rolling up the sleeves because it swallowed her. He frowned when she drew out that second patch, applying it to a spot on the inside of her elbow. He'd had no idea what it was for or he'd have thrown it out in an instant.
Contraception in a patch. And the damned thing seemed to be taunting him.
After putting more wood on the fire, he sat beside it on the pallet, coaxing her to join him there. "Come, witchling, I'll dry your hair."