To her horror, his hands dropped to the crotch of his trousers, unbuttoning the first button of his falls as he did so. “By all means, you can, but I intend to have my bath. With or without a saucy, mouthy urchin in it.”

“I beg your pardon?” she spluttered.

“Stay or leave, the choice is yours.”

He grinned at her and winked, his fingers popping another button. She gulped. The man’s arrogance knew no bounds. But as he swaggered closer, she couldn’t look away if she tried. She’d seen snake charmers in the village market, the cobras hypnotized, and she felt much the same—helpless to do anything but watch as his fingers flicked open another breath-stealing button. Sarani licked dry lips, a thoroughly shameless part of her wishing to see him in all his nude glory.

And judging from the snug-fitting fabric, it would be glorious.

Her breath refused to come, every nerve in her body screaming with tension as a lighter swath of pale skin was exposed where the sun hadn’t bronzed him. When the last button unsnapped, the waistband loosened and rustled over his narrow hips, snagging on the deliciously flexing muscles that formed the shape of an arrowhead.

Pointing right to…

Sarani’s breath fizzled.

“Like what you see?” he asked, his voice feathering across her overheated senses and jolting her into horrified action.

Mortified beyond belief—she was so going to kick her own arse later—Sarani reached over and grabbed a length of toweling, hurling herself over the far edge of the tub and averting her eyes just as he shucked those diabolical trousers to the floor. Lava-cheeked, she covered herself with the thin drying cloth and didn’t look, not even when she heard the sounds of water being disturbed. That didn’t stop the mental images from assaulting her.

She didn’t know which was worse—seeing the reality or fantasizing about it. Her brain, as it turned out, was deviously creative. Not that those thin trousers had afforded any dratted modesty. His sex had been large and thick and long.

Holy heavens, why was she fixating on his sex?

There should be no thoughts of sex, parts or the act thereof.

No sex, not his sex, never any sex, she chanted in her head.

Desperate to make a hasty exit without further humiliating herself, Sarani snatched up her discarded clothing and dragged her night rail over her damp body, nearly strangling herself with the ties. She made the mistake of turning around and immediately wished she hadn’t. Whereas the copper tub had almost hidden her from view, his bulk dwarfed it.