He took the bottle of shampoo from her and tossed it and the soap on the bank. Then his hands were on her throat rubbing the lather from his hands into her skin with slow teasing skill. She stood perfectly still, almost forgetting to breathe as his hands moved to her bare shoulders rising out of the water. His hands were cold from the water and hard with calluses. Playboys shouldn't have calluses, she thought inconsequentially, but then Beau wasn't a stereotype. He was a law unto himself. His hands weren't really cold either. She could feel the vital heat beneath the surface coolness and it was arousing an answering heat everywhere he touched.

"Give me your left arm."

She raised her arm from the water and his hands moved over it from shoulder to wrist with slow easy strokes that should have been soothing. They weren't. By the time he'd finished the other arm, her heart was beating wildly and her flesh was so exquisitely sensitive that every brush of his hands was actually painful. It was like something from an erotic fantasy to be standing here in this icy water in almost total darkness while a naked shadowy stranger ran his hands over her body in this intimately arousing fashion. Yet Beau wasn't really a stranger. They'd been through so much together that in some ways she felt she knew him far better than she did Jeffrey or Julio.

And now the piece de resistance," Beau drawled. His hands closed upon her breasts beneath the water. She cried out and involuntarily surged toward him.

"I've been wanting to do that since the minute I saw you in that bar," he said thickly- He was squeezing her gently and his thumbs were exploring the pink rims that encircled the hard crests of her nipples. "And I think you've been wanting it, too, haven't you, Kate?"

She hadn't realized it, but she must have. The response was so immediate, the filling of an aching void so evident. "The water has washed all the soap off your hands," she said vaguely through the haze of heat surrounding her. It seemed impossible now that she'd even noticed the coldness of the water.

"It doesn't matter, we'll never miss it," Beau assured her. "They say friction does just as good a job as soap."

"Who says?" she asked breathlessly, not really caring. The nail of his thumb was toying playfully with the swollen tip of her breast.

"I forget," Beau said absently, moving closer, "but I'm anxious to test the theory. Part your legs, love."

She obeyed without thinking. "Why do-" She broke off as his knee suddenly was inserted between her thighs and he was lifting her, one hand moving from her breast to the curve of her buttocks to pull her forward so she was straddling his strong muscular thigh with shocking intimacy. He pressed her back against the bank, resting his other knee against it for support.

"There, that's better." Beau's voice held the same breathlessness she was feeling. "Almost comfortable. " His hand at her bottom was moving her back and forth on his leg. "A very comfortable ride, eh, sugar?"

Comfortable? There was a distinctly mischievous note in that Southern drawl that made her aware he knew just how ridiculous that adjective was. That friction he'd mentioned was burning her with every motion and she felt she was learning by Braille the physical substance and textures of him. The hard bone beneath the resilient muscles, the slightly rough film of hair that was prickling against that most sensitive part of her. Her swollen breasts swung heavy and ripe against the sleek smoothness of his chest with every other movement and she could hear his breathing become harsher and more labored with every touch.

His hand still cupping her breast was squeezing and relaxing in rhythm with the molten friction he was stirring in her lower body. His index finger encircling the budding tip was both inquisitive and arousing. "You have lovely little puckers all around this pretty thing," he said raggedly. "Is that because of the cold or what I'm doing to you?"

"I don't know," she gasped. She didn't know anything that wasn't connected with the liquid aching need that was racking her entire body.

"Then perhaps we'd better find out." The hand that was on her buttocks suddenly moved around and slid swiftly between her and his thigh. "I want you to be sure. It's a matter of personal pride." His fingers started moving, caressing, delving, teasing with a devilish skill.

"Beau!" She arched forward against him, her hands clutching desperately at his shoulders. She uttered a low sound that was half guttural groan and half whimper as she felt two of those diabolically knowledgeable fingers enter, stroke, burn, rotate.

She was so close she could feel the thunder of his heart against her ear and his voice was shaking a little. "It's me, isn't it, Kate? Say it!"

"It's you," she said, hardly knowing what she was saying. She would have said anything he wanted her to at that moment.

"So tight," he muttered. "Oh, God, Kate, I can't wait. I want to be there."

"What?" He'd added another finger with some difficulty and she was only conscious of the sensation of fullness that pervaded her.

"I want to ride, too, Kate." He laughed a little shakily. "With your permission, milady."

She found herself trying to push down harder. "Yes, oh yes." She closed her eyes. "Whatever you like."

"What a fantastically generous invitation. I just may take you up on it. It's going to be a long night." He pinched her nipple gently with his thumb and forefinger, sending a jolt of electricity shooting through her. "But unfortunately I don't want to start here. Maybe tomorrow I'll be ready for aquatics but tonight I want to feel all your silk and heat against me." His hand left her breast and wandered down to her waist. Then his fingers plunged forcefully upward and she gave a low gasp of pleasure. "Remember that," he said hoarsely. "Remember the feel of me. You're mine there now and I'll be back." His hand reluctantly left her and also moved to her waist. He lifted her off his thigh and up onto the bank with easy strength.

She sat there dazed and bewildered. The warm humid air felt almost chilly on her wet nude body, but it wasn't the astringent shock it should have been. For Beau was suddenly beside her on the bank picking up a towel and drying her with careful thoroughness, his hands caressing and squeezing her occasionally through the soft material.

"Bend over. I want to do your hair."

He was thorough with that also and when he was done he combed his fingers through the damp curls before fluffing them lightly. "It's almost dry already," he commented.

"It's so short it dries very fast," she said mundanely. However, there was nothing mundane about the way she was feeling only inches away from him. She could smell the scent of soap and musk and feel the heat of his body reaching out to her.

He handed her the simple white cotton caftan.

"You'd better put this on." He picked up another towel and started to dry himself.

She slipped the caftan over her head and pulled it down over her body. Even the loose folds of material were a teasing provocation against her flesh that Beau had sensitized so expertly. She could barely stand the touch of it against the swelling fullness of her breasts. "You haven't anything to put on."

"The only thing I want against me tonight is you," he said as he gathered the towels, shampoo, and soap. "Grab our clothes, will you? I want to get back to your place with the speed of light."

So did she and her movements were just as swift as his. It was only a matter of moments before they were climbing the ladder to the tree house. Beau dropped the bundle he was carrying on the wooden platform but stopped her as she would have opened the door. "Wait," he said, drawing a deep shaky breath, "I want to hold you a moment before we go inside." He took the clothes out of her arms and dropped them carelessly on top of the pile of towels. "Just hold you. I don't think I'm going to be able to do that once we get inside. I'm hurting too much."

He took her into his arms and held her with loving gentleness. She could feel the hard urgency of his need against her, but there was only affection and tenderness in the strong clasp of his arms and the brush of his lips at her temple. He rocked her and for a moment she forgot about desire as she was drowned in that warm glowing gentleness. Beau. Oh, dear, sweet, wild Beau. She felt her heart swell with emotion as her arms went around him to hug him fiercely to her.

"Hey!" he chuckled. "Take it easy. Your enthusiasm is much appreciated but very arousing." He reached behind her to swing open the door. "We'll continue this later." He pushed her gently into the room. "Much later."

"All right." She watched him dreamily as he followed her into the room. In the glow of the oil lamp he was all sleek muscular power and dominant aroused male. Very aroused.

"Take off the gown, Kate." His eyes were dark and smoky but the golden glints were leaping.

She pulled the caftan slowly over her head but when she dropped it to the floor she realized he was no longer looking at her but across the room. There was a frown on his face and she watched him with puzzled eyes as he crossed the room to the chest against the wall.

He picked up the carousel music box she'd set on the floor when she was riffling through the rattan chest for towels and placed it with great care on the exact center of the chest. "You should be more careful," he said gruffly. "One of us might have kicked it or knocked it over. Treasures have to be taken care of."

She felt a warm glow start somewhere near her heart. “Do they?"

He nodded, his eyes grave. "Yes."