Once in Every Life

Jack felt as if he were being strangled. "No." Their gazes met, held. For a moment he thought she was going to mock him, but she didn't. She just stood there, still as a stone, her strangely focused eyes searching his face. He sensed that she saw more?far more?than he wanted her to.

"Your clothes are filthy. Why don't you bathe with them on?"

She was trying to make him comfortable. At the realization, his mouth dropped open in surprise. Amarylis was doing her best to make him comfortable. She moved closer, her hand outstretched. "Come on." He started to say something?he had no idea what?but the words jammed in his throat when her fingers brushed his sleeve. He felt the warmth of her touch, and something inside him, something deep and dark and desperately weak, melted like wax. "Amarylis, I?" "You can hate me again tomorrow." "Hate you?" The words seemed to be ripped from the last remaining portion of his soul. "I wish to hell it was that simple."

She touched his cheek. "I know you're tired."

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He shivered, chilled by the heat of her caress, and squeezed his eyes shut. It was true; he was tired. So goddamn tired . . .

She took hold of his wrist. In a gentle but firm motion that brooked no resistance?even if he had been able to summon the strength for it?she led him toward the copper tub already half-filled with water.

"Get in," she commanded. "I'll get more water."

He shouldn't do it. Of that, he had no doubt. He knew also, and the knowledge caused a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he was going to do it. He was too exhausted to fight her. With a ragged sigh and a hopeless prayer, he climbed into the tub.

Warm water curled around him, lapped gently against his stomach and thighs. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, letting his arms dangle over the tub's metal

sides.

Amarylis shuffled quietly toward him. She stopped by the side of the tub. Tensing, he waited for her to say?or do?something.

She added water to his bath. The falling stream drove between his legs in a gush of powerful heat. His eyes flipped open, but she was already gone. He twisted around and saw her standing at the stove.

Leaning tiredly against the metal rim, he closed his eyes again.

"Jack?"

He heard her saying his name, but her voice seemed to be coming at him from the end of a long, dark tunnel.

"Jack, wake up."

He blinked awake and lurched to a sit. Water sloshed against his chest and splashed over the sides. Feeling like an idiot, he glanced up at her. She was standing beside the tub, holding a bucket of water and a bar of soap. "Yeah?" he said cautiously.

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"I'm going to wash your hair."

He shook his head. "No, thanks."

"You'll notice I didn't ask a question. I made a statement. I'm going to wash your hair." She moved behind him. He heard the metallic clank of a bucket hitting the floor, then the telltale thump of bone on wood as she kneeled.

The moment her fingers touched his scalp, he groaned. He tried desperately to sheathe his emotions in ice. But it was a useless attempt. At the whisper-soft circling of her fingertips in his hair, he shivered. Need and desire merged into a single, red-hot response and sent fire shooting into his groin.

"Relax," she said in a soothing, soft-edged voice he'd never heard before. "Relax." She said the single word over and over again. "Relax ..."

He drifted on the gentle tide of her voice, feeling the fear and anxiety drain from his body. The night just past seeped from his memory and was forgotten.

By the time it was over, Jack was more relaxed than he'd ever been in his life.

"Come on," she said quietly, helping him to his feet. Like a sleepwalker, he allowed himself to be led into her bedroom. She handed him a clean pair of long Johns and a towel. Wrapping himself in the warm towel, he peeled out of the wet underwear and slipped into a new set.

When he was done, she took his hand again and led him toward the bed. Her bed.

One look at her bed and Jack's sense of well-being and relaxation vanished. He stiffened, yanked his hand out of her grasp. "That's your bed."

"Tonight it's yours," she answered. She turned back the coverlet and gestured for him to get in. "I'll sleep on the couch."