Arizona Gold by Patricia Hagan Page B

open with her hip, she turned and, with a soft cry, nearly dropped the bucket.
    Whitebear was naked.
    His back was to her, and she was thankful he could not see her face, which had to be the color of blood.
    Transfixed, she stared, her gaze dropping to his muscled calves before slowly moving upward. She had never seen a naked man before, but she doubted many could be as glorious as the one standing before her. She even reached with trembling fingers to part her hair for a better view.
    His thighs were also hard muscled, corded and strong, stretching to his high, well-molded and cupped buttocks. Her eyes lingered there, and she nearly choked, biting back a gasp as he bent forward to scratch his ankle, giving her a brief glimpse of his manhood.
    His back rippled as his moved, and his shoulders were incredibly broad and sinewy. His arms looked powerful, as though he could crush with one mighty embrace, and, for a dizzy instant, Kitty imagined how it might feel to be so deliciously imprisoned.
    She shook her head to clear it, still mesmerized, and he turned and saw and bellowed, “What are you standing there for? Pour the water.”
    She did spill it then, all over her legs, because as he turned around, she retreated a few steps, making the water slosh over the rim.
    “What is wrong with you?” he roared, yanking it from her. He poured the rest in the tub. “For a boy who knows how to shoot a gun like you do, you’re acting like a sissy. It’s a good thing I did take you captive, because you’d likely get yourself killed, foolish as you are.”
    “I…I’m sorry,” she managed to stammer, keeping her eyes turned away as he stepped into the tub.
    He settled into the water, leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and gave a satisfied sigh.
    Kitty just stood there, not knowing what to do. She wanted to turn and run but knew if she did it would only make him angrier.
    “Well?”
    He was glaring at her.
    “I don’t know what you want me to do,” she said in a thin, frightened voice.
    He snapped, “What I want you to do is give me a bath, damn it. Now, listen to me, Billy”—he pointed his finger—“I am not an unnecessarily cruel man, but you try my patience. Annoy me one more time this night, and I don’t care what my mother says, I will give you a sound thrashing to teach you your place.”
    Kitty swallowed nervously. He would do it, too, and then he would discover her secret, and there was no telling what would happen then. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
    He pointed to a small bowl nearby. “My mother makes good soap from the aloe roots. She pounds them to a pulp. Work it into a lather with some water, then soap me all over.”
    “All… over …,” she echoed, heart pounding.
    With an annoyed grunt, he settled back again.
    Kitty picked up the bowl and mixed the aloe into a sudsy paste.
    “Start with my hair so it can be drying,” he ordered. She worked the lather into his dark hair, using her fingertips to work out the tangles.
    “Massage my scalp.”
    She did so, trying to focus on what she was doing and not look at the rest of him.
    “Now shave me.”
    Timorously, she admitted, “I don’t know how.”
    He looked at her—or tried to. Her face was obscured by the mat of hair hanging over it. “I don’t suppose you do. And I shouldn’t trust you with a sharp blade, anyway. Never mind. I’ll do it myself when you’re done. Work on getting done now.”
    She endeavored to work fast, moving her hands in circular motions, not rubbing too hard but enough to cleanse him.
    As she touched his chest, his nipples, she prayed for her fingers not to shake, for something she did not understand was moving over her. Sensations. Feelings. Emotions. From head to toe and settling in her loins, a stirring…a hunger.
    She moved over his shoulders, down his arms. He leaned forward so she could scrub his back.
    And then it was time to go lower, and Kitty wondered if she could do it…if she could actually wash him