Chapter 14 #2
Nathaniel stood in profile to her, shirtless, at the washbasin.
As he twisted to reach for the soap, she was confronted with the sight of his bare back.
She was struck by the broadness of his shoulders, contrasted with the narrowness of his waist. She squinted at his upper back.
What was that muscle? The one that formed a triangular dimple just over his scapula?
She had studied human anatomy, mostly from books, as it was not considered appropriate for young ladies to participate in figure drawing.
But Nathaniel’s muscles were better defined than any artist’s model she’d ever seen depicted on the page.
Soap in hand, he turned back toward the mirror and began lathering a washcloth.
The artist within her appreciated the contours of his arms, which were sculpted without being bulky.
Or… maybe that was the woman within her.
Perhaps a bit of both? The fact remained that his arms were very nice and made her want to reach for…
her drawing pencil. Yes! Of course, it was her pencil that her hand was itching to reach out and clasp!
Washcloth ready, he began soaping the broad planes of his chest. He closed his eyes and stretched his neck as he lathered himself, a sound of pleasure rising from his throat.
Kate’s heart was racing. Pounding. Throbbing, even!
But the strange thing was, the place she could feel it throbbing was between her legs, and surely that wasn’t normal!
He raised an arm overhead, revealing a small tuft of dark hair on his otherwise smooth torso.
His arm muscles bunched and flexed in ways that did nothing to restore Kate’s sense of equilibrium.
He scrubbed himself there, then washed the other side before starting on his back.
Oh, but this was somehow even worse. He had difficulty reaching certain spots, which necessitated a great deal of reaching and stretching and twisting, and Kate suddenly found it difficult to breathe.
Nathaniel was apparently satisfied that he had scrubbed as much as he could, because he set the washcloth down and leaned over the basin, rinsing his face.
Straightening, he began splashing himself with cupped handfuls of warm water.
Time seemed to slow down. He brought to mind a Renaissance painting, naked to the waist, bathed in soft, golden light from the window, with drops glistening like diamonds upon his beautiful mahogany skin.
Who would be the subject? Nathaniel could never serve as the model for someone as shallow as Adonis or Narcissus.
Perhaps a young King David, as wise as he was handsome…
He reached for the soap again, but it squirted out of his palm.
Chuckling, he turned away before bending at the waist to retrieve it.
He had not shucked his trousers, but they fit snugly enough that the view of his backside was literally stunning.
Kate did not realize that her knees had given out until her back collided with the door behind her.
She was just able to grab the knob, preventing herself from sliding in a heap to the floor.
The thump of her body hitting the door drew Nathaniel’s attention.
He straightened, rounding on her. “Kit! My apologies—have I been monopolizing the washstand?” He stepped to the side and gestured for her to join him.
“Please, I know you must be as eager to get cleaned up as I am. Come, there’s plenty of room. ”
Kate clutched a fistful of shirt directly over her heart. Had she thought the view from the side was impressive? It didn’t hold a candle to the sight of Nathaniel facing her straight on, his stomach carved with fascinating ridges of muscle.
He stared at her expectantly, and she recalled that he had asked her a question. “Oh, no! I couldn’t possibly. You go ahead, I’ll have a wash… later.”
“I insist,” he said, turning back toward the washstand.
Kate watched with a combination of fascination and horror as he began flipping open the buttons on the placket of his trousers.
Oh God, oh God, oh God! It was one thing to stand there ogling his chest, but, although she could not deny that she was extremely curious, Kate found that she was not quite prepared to see Nathaniel displayed in the altogether.
She wracked her brain, searching for a plausible excuse.
“Is that my trunk?” she screeched, striding across the room. “It is! What a welcome sight!” Well done, Kate. Very natural, and not at all asinine.
“Good idea,” Nathaniel called from behind her. “I fancy a fresh shirt, too.”
“Not me!” Kate yanked at the latches. “What I want are my watercolors!”
“Your watercolors?” She could hear the bemusement in Nathaniel’s voice, could picture him tilting his head to the side in the way he so often did. Not that she dared to look. “Right now?”
“Yes!” Her voice emerged a little too chipper, but she supposed that was better than a lust-addled purr. “I need to commit the things we’ve seen thus far to paper before I forget the colors.”
Behind her, she heard a soft thunk that had to be his trousers dropping to the floor. “You don’t want to have a wash first?”
Yes! “No!”
Maybe?
Kate was feeling overly heated—a first, surely, for March in the Outer Hebrides—lightly dizzy, and thoroughly confused.
She could admit that she was utterly infatuated with Nathaniel, with his handsome face, his beautiful body, and his even more beautiful mind.
But she was entirely innocent. She’d managed to reach the age of two and twenty without having ever been kissed.
And while the thought that the man who fueled her daydreams was standing naked behind her was appealing, it was also overwhelming.
A small part of her wanted to peek, but mostly she wanted to bury her head in her hands and cry, especially when she considered that somehow, she was going to have to figure out how to share a room, and a bed, with this man for the foreseeable future without revealing that she was not Kit, but Kate.
He must have sensed her unease, because his voice was gentle as he said, “Is everything all right?”
“It is.” A pregnant silence ensued. After a beat, Kate added in a small voice, “I think I suddenly realized just how far I am from home.”
She heard the soft pad of his bare feet on the floorboards. A warm hand touched her arm. Startled, she turned before she recalled the reason she had looked away in the first place. She was relieved to see that he had wrapped a towel around his waist.
Nathaniel’s warm brown eyes were immensely kind as he said, “I know precisely how you feel. I felt the same way after I left Jamaica.” He gave her arm a squeeze. “It gets better. And you’re not alone. We have each other.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, unable to tear her eyes from his.
He squeezed her arm one more time, then stepped back. “I’ll leave you to your work. I think I’ll head downstairs and ask around for some likely spots we can visit tomorrow.”
Kate heard him unlatch his trunk behind her, followed by a soft rustling as he pulled out a fresh change of clothes. She kept her eyes fixed on the colors she was mixing on her palette.
But when she heard the door click shut behind her, she allowed her head to sag into her hands. This was a disaster in the making. Nathaniel was handsome, clever, and so very kind. How was she supposed to share a bed with the man of her dreams without giving herself away?
She stared sightlessly out the window, wondering what on earth she was going to do.