“Speaking of swearing, I didn’t get the fifth one. What was it?” she asked.

Greylen lifted his head, sorry that he had when her hands fell away. “Persian,” he answered. “Know you the others?” he asked curiously.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” she all but boasted. “Do you know only the colorful words, or are you more versed?”

“I speak each fluently,” he bit out, unable to return her playful tone. ’Twas the absence of her touch aggravating him so.

“Are you going to keep growling at me? Or are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” she asked as she reached out to him. Her hands landed on his shoulders and her fingers at once started kneading into his muscles. “God you’re wound tight—what happened?”

“I can do no more than growl at present.” Though, he was thankful for her touch once again. “And as to what happened? You happened. And you happened to be wounded. The reason for my current mood.”

Her hands stopped. “You’re angry that I’m wounded?”

Greylen moved his shoulders until she began massaging again. “I’m angry your eyes are covered,” he grumbled. “Otherwise, I’d not have given Lady Madelyn my word I’d leave your bandages till the morn.”

“And the significance of my bandages,” she asked him, digging deeper with her fingers, “if you don’t mind?”

“The significance is simple, Gwendolyn. I’ve every intention of making you mine.” His hands encircled her wrists and moved them to her shoulders. “I’ve every intention of making love to you till you’re reduced to nothing more than whimpers.” He leaned forward, placed his lips against her ear, and whispered in a dark promising drawl, “Till I’ve had you so many times, you’ll be able to do little more than lift a finger…if that.” He paused before leaning back. “But I’ll not have you with your eyes covered. So keep your hands removed from my person before I lose what little control I have left,” he snapped.

A blush stole across her face, at least up to where the bandages covered her eyes. “Hmm, I see your problem.” She burst out laughing, hiding her embarrassment in her hands.

“Oh no, you shall suffer as well,” Greylen warned, though he, too, smiled now. “And if you saw my problem, you’d take pity on me, not enflame me.”

“Excuse me for being direct, but well, with your last sentiments and all, I think we’ve moved past the formalities. My intention was to wait by the fire,” she explained. “So we would have a chance to talk when you returned. I didn’t mean to upset you by wearing your shirt.”

“I’m not upset you’re wearing my shirt. I’m upset I can’t rip the damn thing off.”

“And I thank you for that. Very much at the moment, I might add.”

“Because you’d not like me to touch you…or because you’re not wearing anything beneath?”

“I am not going to answer that,” she said, holding up her hand in emphasis.