Memories of Nicholas’s kisses flooded her, and her body ached, hot and hungry. Rising, Lexie rummaged through in her compact wardrobe. She considered putting on her maid uniform, but after last night, she wasn’t sure she wanted Nicholas to view her as his servant, so she put on the faded red dress she had worn the day he had come to claim her. Her battle with Nicholas Wetherby was over. Oh, she still hadn’t talked to him, had somehow managed to remain silent. She struck that thought: it hadn’t been fortitude so much as simple chance that she hadn’t spoken to him. She’d been so stunned by the passion in his touch she’d been rendered speechless, and once he had stopped kissing her, she’d been afraid her voice would betray her and so held her tongue. So when she spoke to him this afternoon—and she planned to—she didn’t want him thinking of her position in his household. She wanted him thinking of her. She made her way out to the kitchen and fixed herself some tea, hoping that would settle her roiling stomach, ease her aching head.
