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"Do you want some soap or not?"
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"Sure," she said, trying not to sound nervous, and failing miserably. "Leave it there."
"Give me your hand." The rich burr of his voice warmed her in spite of the coolness of the water.
Reluctantly she reached out. He took her hand, curled his warm, strong fingers around her slick, cold ones. At the contact, so unexpectedly hot against her wet flesh, she shivered and tried to draw back. He held her tightly. When she stopped fighting, he said, "Open your fingers."
She let her fingers relax. Her damp palm lay open in his.
She felt his gaze on her body, hot and pointed, slipping through the glassy shield of the water. Beneath the cold water, her body felt trembly and hot, her insides knotted.
He pressed a small, well-worn bar of soap in her hand. The unexpected scent of sandalwood lifted to her nostrils.
She immediately closed her fingers around the soap and yanked her arm back. It splashed in the water. "Th-Thanks," she managed, hating the breathy softness of her voice.
His knees creaked again as he got to his feet. Wordlessly he walked away from her. She heard each snapping crunch of his bootheels on the sandy dirt, and with each step he took, she felt a slowing of her heartbeat.
Then suddenly he stopped, and her heart lurched into her throat. She stared directly across the pond, trying to pierce the darkness. She could see his broad smile. "What are you doing?" she asked.
He wrenched off one boot. Then the other. "Taking a bath."
She gasped. "Oh, no, you're not."
He laughed, a rich, rumbling sound that slipped
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across the water and touched her as he started unbuttoning his jeans.
Lainie squeezed her eyes shut. Oh, God, oh, Jesus. This is it.. . .
He slipped into the water; she felt his entry as a gentle rippling of water against her skin.
She sat crouched in the water, tense and waiting, her heartbeat a thudding hammer in her chest. He said something. Her heart was beating so fast, she couldn't make out his words.
"What?"
She heard a rippling splash, and then nothing.
"Killian?"
He came up beside her, flipping his wet head back. Droplets sprayed her face. His naked chest, glistening with water, filled her gaze. She froze, her mouth gaped.
She edged away from him, her arms pinned across her breasts. "Wh-What are you doing?"
He glided toward her and took hold of her shoulders, gently turning her around. "I'm going to wash your hair."
"N-No, thanks."
He pulled the soap from her fingers and dipped it under the water. Letting go of her, he scrubbed the soap to create a foam, then started washing her hair.
At the touch, she stiffened. She wanted to pull away, knew it was the smart thing to do, but suddenly she couldn't move. She was paralyzed by the jumble of emotions his touch sparked.
She stood there, motionless, breathing hard, afraid to stay, unwilling to pull away. Foamy peaks of soap slid down the sides of her face and puddled on the surface of the water. His fingertips moved thro
ugh her hair, caressed her scalp, and kneaded the knots from the back of her neck.
