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“Good idea,” he murmured without opening his eyes, and lifted his hand from the water to give her the bar of soap.
“Let’s start at the top and wash your hair first.” It reeked of smoke as she knelt beside the tub. Her hand curved itself to the back of his neck, feeling the taut, sinewy cords. Reluctantly Benteen shifted his position in the water and yielded to the pressure of her hand that forced his head underwater. She lathered it hard with the strong soap. There was a wiry feel to the ends of his hair where it had been partially singed by the extreme heat. Lorna shivered inwardly again, realizing how very close he must have been to the fire. Then she was forcing his head underwater again to rinse out the soap.
Wiping the soapy water from his eyes, Benteen resumed his former position in the tub. “I think you did that on purpose to wake me up,” he accused.
“I just want to be sure you’re alive.” Her voice had a husky pitch. She lathered a cloth to scrub his back.
His flesh was solid beneath her rubbing hand, even with the powerful muscles at rest. After bathing the boys so many times, it was a novel experience to have the full-grown width of a man’s tapering back to wash. There was a slight play of muscle as he resisted the pressure of her hand, pushing against it. It became important to cover every inch of his spine and shoulders. Lorna didn’t realize how much time she was taking to wash the back of one shoulder until she happened to catch the gleam in his dark eye. Suddenly self-conscious, she made a couple more swipes at it, then attempted to briskly hand him the soapy washcloth.
“Don’t stop now,” Benteen murmured. “I was just beginning to enjoy it.”
“I think you can do the rest,” she tried to insist.
“I’d much rather you did it,” he replied, and leaned against the back of the oblong tub.
The look in his eyes made her warm. She felt a little bit naughty, pleasantly so, as she began soaping his flatly muscled chest with its dark crown of hairs. She stole a glance at his face and saw that he was enjoying it. His ease at having someone else bathe him made her wonder.
“Has anyone else given you a bath before?” Lorna asked with more than just curiosity. “Other than your moth
er, of course.”
Benteen seemed to stiffen under her touch. With guilt?
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you don’t act like this is the first time.” Her scrubbing motions became brisk, a little jealousy showing as she washed the flexed muscles of his arm. “How about that time in Dodge City when you claimed you took a bath at one of the saloons? Maybe you had one of the ladies scrub your back.” She remembered the brass token she’d found in his bedroll, and she began rubbing harder.
“Hey!” Benteen protested her roughness and caught hold of her wrist, water dripping from his hand. Her dark eyes were snapping when she met his puzzled gaze. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Does the name Miss Belle mean anything?” She hadn’t forgotten the name printed on the token.
His frown deepened. “Not a thing. Why do you think it should?”
“Because I found a dollar token in your bedroll with her name on it, and portrait.” Lorna confronted him with her knowledge and dared him to deny the evidence. “And you know you stayed out late both nights we were in Dodge City.”
“Do you think I spent those nights in the company of some other woman?” His eyes narrowed.
“How else did you get the token?” she challenged.
“It’s accepted as coin. I probably got it back in change when I paid for the drinks I had at the saloon on one of those evenings,” he said. “No woman gave it to me. I was trying to get myself drunk enough not to want you.”
“Is that true?” She had drawn warily back from the tub to study him.
A hardness flickered across his expression. “I can’t prove it, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You wanted to make love to me and I …” Lorna stopped, not wanting to remember why she had been so reluctant to have him touch her. It was best left in the past. “You could have gone to another woman to satisfy your needs.”
“Perhaps.” There was a grimness to his mouth. “But it so happens since the night I undressed my bride, I haven’t been interested in the satisfaction some other female might provide. It seems you have done too good a job at that.”
There was an underlying thread of anger in his voice that seemed at odds with his assertion. “Why does that upset you?” She frowned.
“Because…” His wet hand pulled her back to the edge of the tub as his other hand came up to grip the nape of her neck. “… I can’t get enough of you.” He breathed the words into her mouth, filling her with the heat of his desire.
His hands tried to draw her closer, attempting to arch her against him despite the barrier of the tub. A responsive need clamored within Lorna, turning her body pliant to his will while her pulse raced. His mouth traveled in a series of rough kisses over her face and throat. In a brief moment of sensibility, she felt the spreading dampness of her dress.
“You’re getting me all wet,” she murmured in halfhearted protest.
“Take it off, then.” His fingers partially unfastened the back of her dress and impatiently pushed it off her shoulders so his lips could explore their round curves.
