Branded as Trouble (Rough Riders #6)(47)

She couldn’t move. She didn’t want to move.


When Colt’s hands began creating suds, she forgot to breathe.


“Relax,” he murmured.


His long, tanned fingers worked the hard bar of soap into creamy softness. The soft lather contrasted with the coarse edges of his fingers. He gathered her right hand inside his, scrubbing the thick soap into her palm, then slowly across her knuckles. He massaged the bubbles from her wrist to her fingertips, threading his fingers through hers, back and forth, his wide palm cradling the back of her hand.


With Colt’s body heat scorching her, she barely noticed the soapy swirls spinning down the drain. How could such simple contact be so unbearably erotic? She sagged into him, her hand slipped from his grasp.


“India?” His husky voice sent a shiver zinging through her.


“Do you want me to stop?”


She shook her head and her cheek scraped his scruffy beard.


Colt switched hands, repeating the process, with more excruciating slowness. Long, sensual strokes. Light. Then firm. Oh-so-painstakingly adept.


Desire swamped her, left dampness on her belly, her spine, between her legs. His breath crested over the wet spots beading on her neck.


After sluicing warm water from the ticklish bend in her elbows, to her fingertips, Colt ripped off a paper towel and dried her as thoroughly as he’d washed her.


She hissed at the abrasive feel of the towel’s nap on her moist, over-sensitized skin.


He turned her around. “I missed you.”


“It’s been one day.”


“One very long day.”


His eyes were blue flames of pure desire. As he traced a rivulet of water trickling down her cheek, India was shocked the heat between them didn’t evaporate the tiny droplet into steam.


Colt angled his head, slanting his mouth over hers.


India felt his breath on her lips. Anticipation hummed between them like an electric current. Her heart raced, her blood ran fast. Her lashes fluttered, her mouth parted slightly. She leaned in, a silent plea for him to close the distance.


He’d almost made contact; she’d nearly experienced the warmth of his tempting mouth, the flicker of his velvety tongue against hers, when Cam’s booming voice echoed into the small space. “Colt! I thought that was you.”


At the sound of Cam’s voice, India jumped back and lost her balance. Rather than letting her smack her head into the bottom of the cabinet, Colt caught her, losing his footing in the process, and hitting his chin on the cupboard door.


“Fuck.”


“Are you all right?”’ “Gives the phrase, ‘taking it on the chin’ new meaning.”


She tried to get him to lift his face. When he finally did, she gasped, “Omigod Colt, you’re bleeding.” She handed him the paper towel. “Here.”


“Lemme see it,” Cam barked.


Colt whirled around. “It’s just a scratch, leave it be. What the devil were you doin’ sneakin’ up on us like that anyway?”


“I wasn’t sneaking. I didn’t see India behind you. She’s such a little bitty thing she gets lost in your shadow.”


“Oh, bite me, McKay.”


Cam and Colt said, “Gladly,” in stereo. Then they laughed in stereo.


“Now I know you’re fine if you can slip in a lewd comment.