The Loner by Genell Dellin Page B

muscle she had and soon she was melting into the bed.
    Her eyes drifted closed in spite of her wanting to keep looking at him, even though he wasn’t even meeting her gaze anymore. The breath she had slid right out of her body and she wasn’t sure if she could take another.
    â€œHave to get you clean,” he said, beginning to pull the soap through the length of her hair. “Might even be a bird’s nest in here, who knows?”
    She meant to giggle but all she could do was smile.
    â€œMore likely to find a stray bullet,” she said lazily, “judging from the smell of gunpowder in it.”
    His hands were mesmerizing her. No one had ever washed her hair but her mother. And no one had touched her in so long a time.
    Tears sprang up behind her eyelids. She had forgotten what it was like to be touched—gently—by another person.
    Even as she had the thought, though, she knewit was a false comparison. This was nothing like her mother washing her hair when she was a little girl. This was nothing like any other person’s touch to her.
    A heat was starting to build and spread throughout every inch of her body. Was this desire?
    â€œYou’ll do,” he said. “No wonder your hair smells like powder. I couldn’t believe it when you started firing.” He was referring to the gunfight at the cave.
    She looked up into his dark eyes.
    His fingers slowed in their circling, but they seemed to reach for her more.
    â€œI was scared they would kill you,” she said.
    He brushed some soap from her temple as she closed her eyes. For one long heartbeat, he let his hand linger against her cheek. At least she thought he did.
    She couldn’t know anything for sure or think about it, either.
    All she could do was float beneath Black Fox’s hands.
    â€œWhy would you care if they killed me?” he asked.
    His tone was idle but there was something in it that made her open her eyes. He met her gaze and held it as if he really wanted to know.
    â€œLike you told me out there, I knew you’d protect me,” she said seriously.
    They couldn’t seem to look away from each other.
    Finally Black Fox picked up the pitcher of rinse water and moved to the side so he could pour it through her hair without splashing it onto his legs. Gently, he sat on the bed and leaned over to cradle the back of her head.
    His face hovered close, very close, to hers. She wanted to touch his cheek like he’d just touched hers. No, she wanted to trace the aristocratic shape of his cheekbone with her fingertip and draw it down along the hard, chiseled line of his jaw.
    She wanted to touch the pulse beating hard in the side of his throat.
    â€œBut what really made my decision,” she blurted, “was how handsome you are.”
    Surprised, he glanced at her and the blood rose to flush his skin even darker. He looked suddenly shy as a boy. It was so endearing that she lifted her head and kissed him.
    Right on the mouth. She put her hand on the back of his neck and kissed him before she even had a scrap of a thought about what she was doing.
    He froze, as if he were as surprised at her action as she was, then he dropped the tin pitcher, clattering, into the pan on the floor and held her head exactly there so she couldn’t move.
    Not that she wanted to. His mouth was hot andsweet and the taste of him spread through her like a fire.
    What had she done? What was this?
    This was kissing a man, which she had never done before.
    This was a man kissing her back. How could she have known that it held such power?
    But soon she realized there was more. At first it was a light kiss as she’d begun it. His lips were soft and gentle, as if fearing to hurt her, but then he held her closer, sliding one big hand beneath her wounded shoulder to support it, and he deepened the kiss until it grew stronger somehow, much stronger, and he trailed the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips, demanding