Free A Lady's Pleasure by Robin Schone

base of her neck where her pulse wildly drummed. "I drove the second drumstick into his throat. The moment I did it I wanted to take it back. I will never forget the look in his eyes. He pulled the stick out and stood there staring at it while blood and air gushed out of his throat and I thought,
he's not going to die.
But it was too late, there was no stopping it, the blood, it kept coming even when the wheezing breath stopped."
Hot, salty steam ran down Abigail's cheeks.
"When my commander saw what I had done, he gave me a rifle. The rebellion hadn't really ended; wars never do. We weren't there to establish peace, but to establish British rule. I killed my first man three months to the day of my enlistment, Abigail, and I have been killing ever since."
"You had no choice, Robert." The words that were meant to be a practical condolence were curiously thick.
Something flickered in his gray eyes. His chest moved against her headhis left arm came up. He cupped her face in both hands, thumbs smoothing her cheeks.
Abigail tensely waited, willing him to say it all.
"When my enlistment was over, I went back to England , quite prepared to take whatever work I could find. But it wasn't the same England . I wasn't the same man. I couldn't tell my family the horrors I had committed, fighting for their beloved country. I couldn't take the same pleasures they did in their simple day-to-day lives, knowing what so-called God-fearing men were capable of doing. So I reenlisted."
He bent his head. A whisper of a kiss closed Abigail's eyes; hot breath caressed her lashes.
"In hand-to-hand combat there is a certain closeness; you almost feel an affinity with the enemy. Black man, white man, brown man, yellow man, it makes no difference. When a man is stabbed, or shot, his eyes open wide in surprise. Surprise that the impossible is indeed possiblethat they should die while the enemy lives."
TearsAbigail distantly recognized the hot, salty substance that spilled down her face as tears, not steam. She was crying the tears that he was unable to.
"Four months ago, I didn't shootso I got shot." His thumbs continued smoothing her slippery cheeks. "They shipped me back to England . The leg healed and I knew I would go back to the Army. And I knew that the next time I looked into the eyes of a man, that the surprise would be in mine. And I found out something about myself while I was laid up, convalescing."
She had to strain to make out the rest of his words, feeling them rather than hearing them. "I found out that I did not want to die without knowing what it is like to lose myself inside a woman."
He raised his head and rested his chin on her forehead, a soft prick of stubbly beard. "I am not indulging you, Abigail. You are indulging me."
Dear God, she had wanted to know, and now she knew.
Abigail swallowed the lump in her throat. "Robert."
"Hmm?" His response was a low rumble in his chest.
"I think the sponge is growing."
The rumble grew, until it erupted full force into a shout of laughter.
Her head fell back from loss of support.
Robert leaned over the tub and extended long, brown fingers.
Without a moment's hesitation, she placed her hand in his. And was hauled up in a cascade of water.
"No. Don't stand. Squat down."
She stiffened, tears forgotten.
"Trust me."
The stark gray eyes were warm pewter.
She squatted.
"Spread your legs."
"In case you have failed to notice, Robert, this is a hip bath. There is no room to spread my legs."
Before she could divine his intentions, he bodily picked her up and faced her sideways in the tub.
"There is now. Lean back against me and spread wide, sweetheart."
Sweetheart.
No man had ever called her by an endearment. Five-foot-nine-inch-tall women were not endearing. Yet this was the second time he had used the word. Once in the dark of night, and now in the light of day.
Excitement coiled in her stomachand spine-melting vulnerability. Spreading wide her legs, she pressed her back against his chest, trapping her hair