“Truly?”

He shifted her again, and went about washing her hair with renewed vigor. “There is more to a sexual relationship between a man and a woman than intercourse.” Mrs. Robbins taught him that…thoroughly.

“In my time, a woman’s innocence is only to be given to her husband. Yet no man ever comes to his marital bed innocent. Seemed to me it wasn’t fair.”

“Which is why in time all that changes. I suppose Liz and Tara told you that.”

“Aye, they did. Yet Liz reminded me often how a woman carries the burden of a night of pleasure while a man will often leave her to it.”

He lathered the shampoo in her hair and messaged her scalp. “Preventing pregnancy was a woman’s burden, as you call it, until about fifty years from now.”

“Oh? What changes?”

“Male birth control.”

“You mean the plastic thing that goes over…well, you know.”

His “you know” was pressed against her back as she finally relaxed against him.

“Condoms… yes, there are those. But I’m talking about medicine similar to what a twenty-first century woman might use.”

“I wondered if they might have invented something like that. When Liz told me about it, I thought she was jesting. Then I thought…if the physicians of this time could come up with a solution for a woman, they must be able to come up with something for a man.”

“They did. The government funded the research as a way of controlling the population. For years, they added the steroid as a part of a routine physical for young teens. Once word got out that doctors were giving the drug to unaware patients, there was a huge revolution. After a decade the drug was re-introduced as a way for a man to never be accused of fathering a child that wasn’t his.”

“What about disease? Is that not a concern in your time?”

“We have a pill for everything.”

“Oh…” she leaned her head back and closed her eyes as he rinsed the soap from her hair. “I guess your Mrs. Robbins didn’t worry about anything then.”

No, she didn’t.

With the suds washed free, Kincaid leaned against the back of the tub and shifted one leg to lie over Amber’s. At the same time, he nudged her back until she rested against his chest. Her hand fell to his leg, and he felt the timid stroke of her fingers.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

Her eyes were closed, her lashes lay on her cheeks, and her skin smelled of the jasmine soap. The whole package warmed him in a way Mrs. Robbins never could.

“For this moment. Your shield has brought me more peace than I ever thought I’d have in my life. And you shared your most innocent moment to ease my discomfort.”

He leaned his head back and smiled. “You’re welcome.”

The words in her head filled his. I can now die a happy woman.

His eyes shot open, his jaw clenched. He searched her thoughts and found them cut off.

The image of a stream filled his mind. Instead of working past it, he envisioned it to keep Amber from his feelings. How can she think of dying? What could he do to distract her and keep her thinking of tomorrow?

Kincaid traced her arm with his index finger and enjoyed the small tremor it sent over her skin. Maybe a distraction would be the best medicine.

Though his body had relaxed against hers, it wasn’t unaware that a desirable woman was tucked between his legs.

He walked his fingers up her arm and noticed her gaze drift to his touch. He stilled his hand and tilted his lips to the top of her head. The image of the stream shifted, and he knew it was something she’d placed in her head to keep him out of her mind. When he touched her, she couldn’t concentrate and keep him away.

It wasn’t fair, he knew, but he kept touching her and wiggled deeper into her thoughts.

Perhaps it was time for Amber to learn there was more to a sexual relationship than intercourse.

Though intercourse sounded damn good to him right about now.

Chapter Fifteen

The memory of the stream close to MacCoinnich Keep kept Gavin on the very edge of her thoughts. Oh, he knocked and peeked behind the closed door, but she only allowed a shadow of her thoughts to sift through. It was amazing, really, how quickly she’d learned to filter the information he silently heard from her. It was a blessing to be using her birthright, instead of it killing her. She’d forgotten so much about life in the past decade.

I can now die a happy woman. On one level, the thought saddened her, on another, she was thankful. She wasn’t going to die in a puddle of tears without any redeeming memories of the past ten years.

Gavin drew in a breath behind her, and she thought harder about her home…about the Highlands and the endless green hills and streams she’d left behind.

The edge of Gavin’s fingers traced her arm and caught her attention.

He’d been a gentleman while he attended to her hair…a naked and aroused man, but certainly in more control than she’d thought possible.

“You have the most beautiful skin,” he told her. “Soft, silky.”

She felt his desire through her gift, but didn’t open her mind for him to hear her thoughts. For if he knew how wonderful every inch of his skin touching hers felt, he might use that information to his advantage.

Maybe his advantage wasn’t a bad option.

After all, this was most likely the last night of her life. She wasn’t about to force Gavin into a bond, and the longer they held hands, the more he’d feel obligated to keep her. His convictions toward her family had deep roots, roots she saw when they spoke. Bonding, however, was an eternal commitment, and perhaps someone else was meant for him in his life. Someone who wasn’t as broken as she was.

“Is that a practiced line, Gavin Kincaid?”

His chest rumbled next to her back, making her smile. She felt his breath against the lobe of her ear and trembled.

“That depends,” he whispered.

She closed her eyes and asked, “Depends on what?”

“If it’s working.”

Oh, it’s working. She felt, but didn’t acknowledge his hand that rested on her hip in the water.

“Tell me…how would I know if it’s working?” She wasn’t sure who was teasing whom, but she enjoyed the game.

He cleared his throat, and his hand at her hip pulled her tighter against him. “Well…the words make you ask yourself if my touch…” he ran his hand with a feather-light touch along her neck, “makes your insides warm or cold. If the words make my touch feel cold…then you know it’s a line. If it makes you warm, makes you picture other places my hand can go…what it might do…then you know it’s not practiced, but sincere.”