Free AWAKENING THE SHY MISS by Bronwyn Scott Page B

determined to stay. Even performing this simple act, he was beautiful to watch. Water streamed down the lengths of dark hair; back muscles flexed, rivulets slipping over muscled planes as he raised his arms and ran a cloth over his body, wiping away the dirt of the day. Oh, those arms! How she wanted to be that cloth, how she wanted to run her hands over that body, feel the ripple of muscle beneath her fingers, trace the breadth of those shoulders.
    Such thoughts were definitely proof she really should step back. To stumble upon him by accident was forgivable. Accidents happened. But to stand here and knowingly watch him bathe was a flagrant breach of his privacy. To see him half-naked and not retreat was an even more grievous sin—or so she had been taught. At the moment, though, Evie couldn’t think why. This was not sinful, it was beautiful. Her eyes were glued to his back, memorising every inch of him; how those broad shoulders gave way to a back tanned from countless hours spent shovelling, hauling, lifting. Prince he might be, but he was no stranger to hard work. Labour had honed every muscle hewn plane of him.
    Her eyes gave in to the final temptation, dropping lower, to where his back tapered to a lean waist before disappearing into trousers. He was gorgeously made even out of his clothes. His tailor might be a genius, but the man had quite the body to work with. Genius would be easy.
    Such thoughts prodded her conscience. She really ought to go back inside now. At the very least, she ought to look away, but there were a lot of things she ought to have done today—she ought to have gone home, ought to have refused the invitation to dine alone even if it was just to discuss cataloguing techniques. What she ought to do had already lost several battles today and it was about to lose one more. Ought was no match for that back. She’d look just a few seconds longer.
    He reached for the clean shirt and Evie knew a moment’s panic. The gesture was too casual. She’d pushed her luck and retreat was no longer an option. She’d been caught. His next words confirmed it. ‘Have you seen enough?’
    ‘I didn’t mean to intrude,’ she began to apologise. He was going to make her take responsibility for her actions and she probably deserved it. She had been staring. But he was not entirely blameless. He’d known and he’d done nothing to stop her, to interrupt her. ‘You knew I was there?’ It came out as part-question, part-accusation.
    Heat prickled low in her stomach as she realised what his knowledge meant. He’d encouraged her voyeurism, the act taking on a higher element of intimacy because it had been shared. He’d been her accomplice, abetting her curiosity the whole while. The best defence she could manage was modest chagrin. ‘What sort of man lets a woman look at him like that?’
    She knew. The man who slept in that decadent bed. The man who was striding towards her, hands smoothing back his hair into a sleek, damp tail as he came, a friendly smile on his lips even while his eyes burned like hot coals. She was not ready for his response as he stopped before her. ‘I could ask you the same.’ His voice was low, sensual, the sort of voice a man used when he wanted to seduce a woman. He was...aroused? By her ? Had she read that right? His next words had her entirely at sea. ‘What sort of woman looks, Evie?’
    A woman who thinks you’re a pagan god come to life, a woman who wants to touch you, who wants to be touched by you in return, a woman who would willingly go to that silk bed of yours and learn all that she doesn’t know if only you would show her . She hadn’t the skill to dissemble, to flirt, to call upon womanly subterfuge. She only had the truth at her disposal and that would not do at all, but she needed an answer. His eyes held hers and this time she could not look away. He was prepared to wait her out, to wait for that answer. What would happen if she uttered those words out loud? Would