One hand went to the back of his neck. Damn, he was getting too old to sleep in a chair. He glared at the woman in his bed. She stretched, and a small frown formed between her eyes when her head turned on the pillow. A residual headache, he knew, from being stunned. He rubbed the knot on the side of his head before his fingers trailed down to the bruise on the side of his face. Served her right. She was just damn lucky he let her sleep in the bed at all. In his father’s day, slaves slept on the floor or in their quarters when not serving their masters. She shifted again, and this time a tiny groan leaked free as she moved her shoulders. An unexpected jolt of guilt slugged his gut. He straightened, his aches and pains forgotten. He’d kept her arms tied in the awkward position far longer than he’d originally intended. But once he touched her, he couldn’t seem to stop. Her skin was so soft, like the finest spidersilk cloth. She’d needed a lesson, but he feared he was the one who paid the price.
