Free The Captain's Caress by Leigh Greenwood Page B

beneath all that water made her feel weak.
    “Next to the basin.” The force of her attraction to him was pulling at her, but she was determined to overcome it.
    “Here,” she said, handing him the soap, her eyes directed at the ceiling.
    “I forgot my sponge, too.”
    She dropped the sponge into the water.
    “Thanks,” he said, and she retreated to a chair in the far corner. She meant to keep her eyes in her lap, but they kept straying back to his head of luxuriant, short-cropped hair. Brent washed his feet, raising one after another out of the water. She was so mesmerized by the power of those muscular limbs that she was caught off guard when he stood up unexpectedly. She blushed again and hid her face in her hands.
    “Do you have a headache?” he asked turning around to look at her as he covered his whole body with thick lather.
    “No.” Her voice was no more than a faint whisper. “I feel fine.”
    “Good, then you can wash my back.” He sat down and splashed water all over himself to rinse off the soap. “I can’t reach it.”
    “No,” she said softly.
    “What did you say?” he asked, still splashing. “You’ll have to speak up.”
    “I said I wouldn’t wash your back,” Summer answered, louder this time.
    “Then I’ll wash yours,” Brent replied, smiling at her the way a cat smiled at a cornered mouse. “I’d enjoy that even more.”
    “You won’t do any such thing,” she said, a trifle shrilly, a look of frightened disbelief spreading over her face. “I don’t want a bath.”
    “You have a choice,” he said, still smiling. “One or the other. Which will it be?” He watched her steadily and his strong white teeth seemed to glisten in the light as she shivered with shame. “Make up your mind. The water’s getting cold.”
    Summer dragged herself from the corner, not daring to raise her eyes. Every movement seemed to make her humiliation deeper.
    “If you don’t look where you’re going, you’ll end up in the tub after all.” Brent laughed as she nearly stumbled over the chair. “I’d love to have you join me, but not head first.”
    Summer froze, embarrassed. She felt degraded.
    Brent held out the sponge, but she made no effort to take it from him. “I’ll guide your hand to my back,” he teased, putting the sponge in her palm. “Then you won’t have to look at me.”
    “No, thank you.” Summer trembled from his touch. “I can do it myself.”
    Summer’s scrubbing was so tentative that Brent could hardly feel it. “Put your back into it,” he ordered.
    Summer felt that she was going to die, but she scrubbed harder, covering first one shoulder and then the other. She rinsed them both and then scrubbed his lower back.
    “Mmmm, that feels wonderful,” Brent purred. “Are you sure you won’t scrub the rest of me?”
    Summer dropped the sponge as if it were a burning coal. “I’ve finished,” she said, drying her hands.
    “Hand me that towel before you go.”
    Before Summer could move, there was a great swishing of water and Brent stood up in the tub, dripping wet, but as proud and magnificent as a Michelangelo statue. With an audible gasp, Summer dropped the towel into the water and clamped her hands over her eyes, but not before she had a picture of his overwhelmingly masculine body etched into her brain.
    “Now look what you’ve done,” Brent protested. “You’ll have to get me another towel from the cupboard.”
    “I can’t,” she groaned, keeping her hands over her eyes, unable to move from the spot.
    “I’ll drip water all over the floor if I go.”
    “I can’t!” she said miserably. “I really can’t.”
    “Oh, all right.” He sounded only mildly put out. Summer heard water slosh about as he got out of the tub. Then his feet padded softly on the floor. A cupboard was roughly thrown open, and the barely audible sound of clothing being thrown about came to her ears. “You’re lucky I have some extras, or you’d have to go ask Smith for