Chapter 16

Bowen had never felt a particular need to punch the sky, but as soon as the first fat drops of rain landed on him and Tamsyn

and she shrieked, stepping back from what was undoubtedly about to be one hell of a kiss, he was ready to go to war with weather

itself.

Or maybe it was for the best, he reasoned, as they made a mad dash for the house, their coats pulled up over their heads,

their boots nearly sliding on the slick lawn. Telling her the truth about Declan had cracked him open, left him raw and vulnerable

in a way he wasn’t used to being, and kissing her would’ve probably broken him even further, opening up a door he would’ve

had no hope of ever closing.

And he needed it closed.

One of the footmen was there at the door, towels already in hand, and they both took them gratefully as Lady Meredith swanned

in wearing tweeds and a worried expression.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said. “When Emerald said the two of you had headed off to the village, I couldn’t believe it. In this weather?”

“It was my fault,” Tamsyn said, blotting at her sopping hair. “American.”

Bowen wasn’t sure what nationality had to do with this, but Lady Meredith’s expression immediately cleared as she said, “Ah,

yes, of course.”

With that, she turned and flicked her fingers in the direction of the upstairs.

“I’ve started hot baths for each of you,” she said, and sure enough, Bowen could hear the distant clanking of ancient pipes.

“That has to be a handy spell in a house like this,” Tamsyn commented, and Lady Meredith nodded.

“Yes, it’s second only to the spell that alerts me to Madoc digging in the garden the second he starts.”

At that very moment, a distant alarm started ringing, and Lady Meredith rolled her eyes.

“That boy, I swear. Emerald! Go get your cousin!” she called out.

“It’s raining!” came Emerald’s reply, and with one elegant wave, Lady Meredith managed to both send a footman heading out

toward the terrace and direct Tamsyn and Bowen up the stairs. “Tamsyn, the en suite in your room is for you. Bowen, your bath

is through the hidden door on the right side of the bed. Tap the painting of Saint Cian three times and it’ll open.”

Together, he and Tamsyn trudged up the stairs and into their bedroom. He couldn’t be sure, but Bowen thought Tamsyn’s eyes briefly darted to the bed before she opened the door leading to the en suite bathroom, steam billowing out along with the scent of orange blossoms.

“You know, I’ve always thought magic seemed like more trouble than it’s worth, but this? This is amazing.” She turned back

to him with a grin. “Hope your bath is just as good,” she said, and then she shut the door behind her, the steam and scent

still lingering.

Bowen crossed the room quickly, because if he spent a second contemplating her getting naked just a few feet away, slipping

into hot water with an appreciative groan, her tanned skin going that peachy rose from the heat...

Thank sweet fuck Saint Cian was such a grim-faced-looking bastard, because that cooled some of Bowen’s desire as he tapped

three times on the painting, just as Lady Meredith had suggested, and sure enough, a panel in the wall swung open, revealing

a second bathroom.

This one was smaller than the main en suite, but the tub seemed even bigger, a massive claw-footed antique that was nearly

filled to the brim with steaming water. No orange blossoms here, but the deeper smell of bergamot mixed with something woodsy.

The room was lined in dark green tile, the fixtures copper, and the only light came from a small lamp on the corner of the

sink. A thick pile of towels was stacked next to it, and as Bowen got undressed, he realized there was a full-length mirror

in the corner.

He looked like a drowned rat, his long curls still damp as he yanked his jumper over his head, then reached out to turn off

the taps.

Sinking into the water was indeed as blissful as he’d hoped, the heat so intense on his chilled skin that it tingled and burned at first before seeping deep into his bones.

With a low sound of pleasure, Bowen sank lower into the water, his arms braced on the sides of the tub as he leaned his head

back and closed his eyes. He could’ve fallen asleep there, and damn near almost did, before he became aware of a small sound

at the door.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Sitting up so fast water sloshed over the curled sides of the tub, Bowen looked in the direction of the door and fully understood

that saying he’d heard before, “half agony, half hope,” because that’s how he felt as the door swung open and Tamsyn stood

there.

She was wearing a plush robe in a purple so deep it almost looked black in the dim light of the bathroom. Steam had curled

the ends of her long hair, making tendrils of it stick to her flushed cheeks, and for a long while, she just stood there,

facing the tub, facing him, her lips parted, the belt at her waist loose enough that the robe gaped open at the top, but not

enough, not near enough.

From her vantage point, she probably couldn’t see much of his body, concealed as it was by the high sides of the tub and the

water cloudy with oil, but she was breathing hard all the same.

Bowen wasn’t sure he was breathing at all, and when her hands went to her belt, he felt like his heart had stopped as well.

The velvet slipped from her shoulders, and she stood there on the tile, naked—gloriously, perfectly naked. Her skin was as lovely, as golden all over, as he’d imagined; her breasts the perfect size for his hands, her nipples hard even in the warm room; and oh, Saint Bugi, Saint Cian, and every other saint he could think of, but he’d forgotten about the mirror in the corner.

Standing where she was, he had a perfect view of all of her, the curve of her hips, the dimples at the base of her spine,

and the prettiest, plumpest arse he’d ever had the blessing to look upon.

“You’re a wonder,” he said to her, the words strangled and rough, but she must have liked them, because those gorgeous lips

of hers slowly curled into a sly smile.

“You called me that once before,” she told him, taking a step closer and kicking her robe out of the way. “But it was in an

email. Have to say, hearing the words come out of your mouth is a very different experience.”

“Seeing you like this is a very different experience,” he managed to say, and she laughed at that, pushing that long fall

of dark hair back off her shoulders.

She kept coming closer, and Bowen’s hands instinctively clenched around the rim of the tub, his heart hammering, his cock

hard, and every cell of his body aching for her.

“If you’re just in here to prove that you’re even more gorgeous than I’d thought, you’ve succeeded,” he told her. “But if

you don’t leave now—”

“I’m not leaving,” she said, and she was at the edge of the tub now, her eyes moving over him with unembarrassed, unabashed

hunger.

“Your rule,” he reminded her, and then she smiled again, lifting one delicate foot and slowly lowering it into the tub.

Her toes brushed his shin, and Rhiannon’s tits, just that was enough to have him jumping like he’d been electrocuted.

“Bowen, we’re in 1957. There’s a chance you might not even be born. There’s also a chance we could be stuck here forever.

I think my rule should probably get fucked, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer her.

Not with words.

Instead, he reached out and put both hands on her waist, pulling her into the tub and into his arms.

She gave a spluttering laugh, falling against his wet and naked body a little awkwardly, her knees landing on either side

of his thighs, water splashing onto the floor, but then he framed her face with both his hands and kissed her with every bit

of longing, every bit of desire, every bit of love he’d been trying not to feel since that first night back at the pub in London.

It was probably too much, he told himself. Too fierce, too hungry, too desperate, but he’d wanted her too long to hold back

now, and then he realized she was wrapping herself around him, one arm tight around his shoulders, the other hand fisted in

his hair, pulling enough for it to hurt, but god, it felt good at the same time, so good that he groaned, or maybe that was

her.

Both of them were pressing against each other, their bodies slick from the bath, her mouth almost as hot as the water, her tongue as sweet and perfect as he remembered, and he slid a hand down to cup one of her breasts, his thumb brushing back and forth over her nipple as she made the neediest sounds he’d ever heard.

Her arm still locked around his neck, her mouth still devouring his, Tamsyn took his hand and slid it lower down, his fingers

skating over her stomach, her hip, and then he could feel her, the soft hair between her legs, the slickness of her sex, the warmth of her body.

She kissed him and held his hand there, moving her hips shamelessly, and he loved that, wanted her to take whatever she wanted

from him, wanted to feel her make herself come with his fingers, but he wanted a lot more, too.

It was hard, tearing his mouth from hers, but Bowen did it even as she whimpered in protest, her lips seeking his.

He ducked his head, capturing one nipple between his lips and then his teeth, and Tamsyn gasped, her head falling back, the

ends of her hair floating on the water.

Her hand fell away from his to reach up and clutch the side of the tub, but Bowen kept his fingers right where they were.

“Tell me what you want,” he ground out against her breast, still touching her, but more gently now, softer.

“You,” she gasped, her eyes closed, and Bowen’s heart felt like someone had just tightened a fist around it.

“Picked up on that when you walked in here and dropped that robe, love,” he said, and she tried to laugh, but he pressed a

little harder between her legs just then so it turned into a moan instead. “I mean what you like. How you want me to touch

you.”

She raised her head and laid a hand on the back of his wet curls again, fingers tightening.

“I want you to fuck me,” she told him, breathless, and all the air seemed to leave his lungs, too.

“Ah, calon bach, ” he muttered before kissing her again, the taste of her every bit as good as he’d remembered.

As he’d dreamed.

“It’s been a long time, cariad, ” he said as his lips slipped down her neck, finding the spots that made her tug his hair even harder. “I want to. Believe

me, I do.”

“And you seem more than capable of it,” she replied, her free hand slipping beneath the water to wrap around his cock in a

way that had him dropping his forehead to her collarbone and struggling very hard not to embarrass himself.

“I am that,” he said, even as her hand began to move, stripping the last bits of sanity and control from him.

“But...”

Lifting his head, he placed one hand on her cheek, loving the way she instinctively bent toward his touch, her whisky-brown

eyes hazy and soft, her lips swollen. “Tamsyn, I haven’t taken a lass to bed in nigh on five years now.”

“You’re not taking this lass to bed,” she said, and her fingers tightened around him, pumping gently. “You’re taking her to

bath.”

Bowen gave a choked laugh, closing his eyes and reaching down to still her hand. “I just mean... I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you. I’ve thought about this a thousand times. A million even. And I don’t know... I could be too rough with you. You make me feel... Christ, girl, you make me feel wild.”

Her eyebrows went up. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“You deserve better,” Bowen said, and he knew he wasn’t just talking about sex now. “Soft sheets and... chivalry or summat,

I don’t know.”

The smile on Tamsyn’s face was as soft as her skin, as warm as the water surrounding them, and she laid both palms on either

side of his face. “Bowen,” she said, one cheek dimpling, “please trust me when I say soft sheets and chivalry are the last

things on my mind right now. I don’t want that. I’ve had that. What I want is you. Wild you. Rough you. All of you.”

His hands slid down under the water to cup her arse, and she leaned in close, her teeth nipping his bottom lip.

“And I want it,” she practically purred, punctuating the words with another nip that had his fingers flexing on her bottom.

“Right. Now.”