Free Eden's Pass by Kimberly Nee Page A

each hand. Kneeling, she dunked the rag into the hot water before mangling the soap with it. “Captain?”
    Without a word, Iñigo sat up, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his drawn-up knees. She had to tighten her grip on the soap to keep from dropping it as the water sloshed to accommodate Iñigo’s big body. It rose above his hips and was still quite clear, giving her more than a bit of an enticing peek at the firm curve of his backside.
    Her hand trembled as she splopped the rag against his smooth skin and began washing him. She pressed into his flesh, lathering his golden skin to a foamy whiteness, struggling not to notice how solid he was, how broad his shoulders were, how wide his back was. Tried not to notice the way those thick bands of muscle bunched with the tiniest hint of movement.
    Scrubbing the back of his neck, she was nearly overcome with the maddest urge to lean forward and nibble swarthy skin she’d bared. The soap slipped from her grasp, plunking into the water to send up a showering spray of droplets. “Oh, bloody hell!”
    “Take care, Finn,” Iñigo growled, lifting his head to peer over one shoulder. “You’d not like it if I thought my life might be in danger.”
    “I—I apologize.” She thrust her hand into the water to scrabble about for the soap. Gritting her teeth against her rising curse, she managed to snag it on the third grab.
    Iñigo let out a long, low purr of satisfaction as she resumed scrubbing. Water beaded along the swells of muscle on his shoulders and down his back. Instead of making his hair limp, the steam made the black waves curl about his nape and his temples, appearing to make it even thicker.
    She clutched the rag and soap in a fist as she moved around to the side. The groan teasing her lips was even harder to suppress. Her hunger forgotten, she leaned over to drag the rag over his chest. One whiff of his clean, masculine scent, and her knees almost buckled.
    He leaned back and she hesitated, glancing down at the now sudsy water hiding his most secret part. Nothing ventured . She dipped down to scrub his inner thigh.
    Iñigo lunged forward to seize both soap and rag, nearly toppling her face-first into the tub. Catching herself on the tub’s rim, she managed to regain her balance, sputtering, “What the devil—?”
    Iñigo's expression was one of pure disgust as he snarled, “Get yourself dressed, boy. I can finish this myself.”
    A firm hand to her breastbone accompanied his order, shoving her back and away from the tub. Landing on her backside with a jarring thud, she stared, unable to decide whether she ought be angry or confused. A sudden giggle rose in her throat. He reacted only when she’d ventured down between his legs, and she swallowed it as quickly as possible, not wanting to anger him further.
    Iñigo ignored her as she sat there, a hand pressed to her mouth. His mind had yet to figure it out, but his body knew he was not in the presence of a boy. Instinct at its most basic level had somehow known it. Still, his obvious discomfort amused her, as she hadn’t missed the way he sucked in his breath, nor had she missed the sudden tension in the thigh her fingertips brushed against. A mere graze and he jumped as if stabbed with a blade. Of course, she understood why it was appalling to him. How could she not? It offered no comfort, but the urge to laugh was a nice one—one she had not had in a long time. It died only at the slosh of slopping water and the patter of wet feet on the floor, followed by a growled, “Into the tub with you, Finn.”
    She turned slowly, relieved to see he’d wrapped himself in a silk robe of midnight blue, and was now seated at the table, glaring at her as if he’d like to throttle her. “Captain, ah…”
    His eyes flicked from Finn to the tub and back. “Still feeling priggish?”
    “A mite.”
    He sighed, shoving up from his chair. His sigh was annoyed, but she could see the disgust still lining his face.