Eileen Wilks - The Loner And The Lady

He knew better. Especially with a beautiful woman. Especially considering the white powder he’d found on her.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t notice his scars, either. She’d seen them first, just like everyone did. But she saw the rest of him, too, saw both sides of his face, not just the half the surgeon hadn’t patched together all that well.

The thump from the bathroom nearly stopped his heart. “What the hell are you trying to do?” he demanded as he jerked the door open and saw her sitting on the platform that skirted the big sunken bathtub.

“I slipped when I sat down, that’s all.” The expression she faced him with was mule stubborn. “There’s dried blood in my hair. I’m smelly. I have to take a bath.”

Forget it, he started to say. But her expression told him he’d do better to outsmart her instead of arguing. “You can’t do it yourself,” he said. “I’ll take your clothes off, lower you into the tub, and stay in here with you.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. She looked at the deep, oversize tub he’d specially ordered when he was building the cabin. Then she proved him a fool. “Okay.”

He should have known better. Seth pointed that out to himself as he filled the big tub while she waited, at his insistence, back in bed. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. He’d turned on the wall heater to get it warmed up in here for her. The amount of fuel it burned was negligible, after all. As for the fuel used to heat the water—well, he’d turn the hot water heater off again once her tub was ready.

He should have realized how contrary she’d be. She reminded him of the mare he’d owned years ago, back in high school. That mare had been a sweet-natured beast, affectionate and biddable. Every once in a while, though, she zigged when she was supposed to zag. That was how his collarbone got cracked the weekend before graduation.

He scowled at the faucet as he turned it off, then took his time rolling up his sleeves before testing the temperature of the water. Was it too hot? She was so soft. Delicate. How hot was too hot? Maybe he should let some of the water out, add more cold—

“Seth?” she called from the bed. “Is the water ready?”

The water was ready, he admitted silently. He wasn’t ready, but he stood anyway. He’d better go get her before the stupid woman tried to hobble in here on her own.

She wasn’t smiling at him now. In fact, she couldn’t seem to get her gaze past the third button on his shirt when he stooped down and picked her up. “Listen,” he said, “if you’re having second thoughts—”

“No. No, I’m embarrassed, I’ll admit, but I’m dirty, Seth. I have to have a bath.” Shy as a butterfly, her glance lighted on his for a moment. “I trust you.”

Well, now, that meant they were both fools, didn’t it?

She was as perfect as he remembered. Exquisite, with her soft, white curves peeking out here and there as he unbuttoned the blue shirt. He tried not to look—tried, at least, not to get caught looking—while he helped her ease her incredibly naked body into the tub.

Her nipples weren’t hard now, as they had been the first time he saw her breasts. Which was good, he told himself as he released her to the water. He must have gotten it warm enough in here for her to be comfortable. God knows his own temperature was nothing to judge by. It had shot up with the first button he’d unfastened while she sat there, docile and patient.

The little moan of satisfaction she gave as the warm water closed around her almost had him groaning, too. He turned away quickly. “There’s soap and a washcloth on the ledge,” he said gruffly. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

She thanked him and started bathing. She made little splashing sounds, which had him picturing the way the water beaded on her bare skin. After a minute she started humming. It was a country tune. Well, he told himself, desperate for distraction, she was from Texas, judging by her accent and the way she’d recognized her location. Everyone in Texas knew some country songs, whether they—

A splash, too big and too loud, made him spin around.

She was all the way under the water.

Probably she would have been okay anyway. Probably. She hadn’t knocked herself out again or anything, and was already pushing herself up when he got his arms around her and pulled her sopping body up against his chest.

“Dammit, woman.” His heart galloped like that blasted mare had the day she refused the jump and broke his collarbone. “Dammit all. You’re getting out right now.” But he didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

“No, listen—” She pushed against him in the feeblest way. He managed to relax his hold a little. The face she tipped back to look at him was as pale as milk, like it had been when she was unconscious. The smile she tried on wouldn’t stay put. “I’m all right. Really. I bent over to get my hair wet so I could wash it, and I got dizzy for a second. But it passed. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you’re fine and I’m Little Boy Blue.” He grunted as he shifted, needing to get his legs under him better before he lifted her. Kneeling like this made his thigh hurt.

“No-please!”

He paused. His shirt clung to his chest, wet with water from her very naked body. Her breasts—the breasts he’d been trying not to look at—just brushed his chest. His blood sang a hot, hot song.

“It’s the blood,” she said. “I can’t stand having that dried blood in my hair any longer, Seth. Please.”

This was a mistake. He was positive this was a mistake. So he was stern with her. “All right.” She was getting some color back in her face already. That was good. “I’ll wash your hair, though, not you. You took twenty years off my life when you went under like that. I won’t let it happen again.”

This Wouldn’t take long, he told himself. Her hair was already wet, so he just had to do the shampooing and then pour some water over her head to rinse. He dug around under the sink until he came up with an old mason jar to pour with.

Bracing her with an arm at her shoulders while he poured shampoo into the palm of his other hand was awkward. It brought him much too close to—well, to everything, all those warm, bare inches of her. Shoulders. Arms. Skin that looked even more delectable all wet, with little drops of water beaded on it, than he’d imagined it would.

“Seth? I can sit up.”

Did she sound any different? Uncertain? She wasn’t getting scared of him, was she? “Sure.” He took a quick peek at her face, which was flushed. But the bathwater was pretty warm. No wonder she was flushed.

She was also very close. His soap definitely smelled different on her.

He cleared his throat. “I guess you can’t tip over while I’ve got my hands in your hair,” he agreed, and straightened enough to use both hands to lather the shampoo into her hair.

Mistake. Oh, yes, this was a huge, glaring, enormous mistake. He hadn’t made one this large in years. He hurt. He was hard, and hurting, and he had to sound…normal. Unaffected.

“Almost done,” he told her with dreadful, forced cheer. He urged her head back and poured water over her sudsslick head, water that ran down her back, glistening with soap bubbles. Quickly he rinsed again. He ran his fingers through her short, water-darkened curls to check for lingering soap, doing his best not to look below her forehead in front, but that left his gaze traveling down her back, down her straight spine to her narrow waist and on to the round cheeks of her bottom.

His skin was too tight and too hot. His thoughts thinned and his hands lingered rebelliously at their task as the rest of his blood went south to that most willful, demanding part of his body.