his own passion for her, a passion that shook him until he had to clench his fingers around the brush’s slender handle or lose it to the wildness ripping through his body.
Unable to speak, barely able to breathe, Caleb forced himself to continue the slow, seductive rhythms of the brush moving over Willow’s hair, caressing her scalp, her nape, the slender length of her back. He very much wanted to stroke the golden veil over her breasts again, but he didn’t trust himself not to drop the pretense of the brush and slide his hands beneath her camisole until he could feel her hard nipples nuzzling against the exact center of his palms. He wanted that so much his hands shook.
But the knew it was too soon. Even the most trusting trout couldn’t be taken by storm. Willow wasn’t completely trusting. Caleb sensed the ambivalence in her quite clearly. If he brushed over her breasts right now she would flee. The certainty of her wariness was all that was keeping his hands where they were, stroking her back with slow sweeps that belied the passionate blaze of his narrowed eyes.
«Once your hand is in the water and things have settled down,» Caleb said, «you begin easing closer to the trout. You do it so slowly the fish accepts your presence as natural. While you ease closer, you have to read the trout. Is it getting restless? Is it worried.?»
«How can you tell what the trout is feeling?» Willow asked huskily.
«As my daddy used to say, you have to watch the wee beastie very, very carefully.»
Willow smiled at the faint Scots burr in Caleb’s voice. Soundlessly, she let out her pent-up breath and relaxed a bit more with each slow stroke of the brush.
«You see,» he continued in a deep, lazy voice, «the trout has to think your hand is just a part of the stream, nothing more than a current flowing over her. If you move too quickly, the trout will flee. Then you have to start all over again. Patience is the key. That and the fact that trout just naturally love the feeling of the current stroking over their sleek bodies.»
«Do they really?» Willow asked, her voice unusually husky.
«Why else would trout seek out the fastest currents and just hang there, transfixed, with water caressing them from all sides?»
The weight of Willow’s hair lifted as Caleb began to brush from beneath once more. He caught up all the silky strands and twisted his wrist slowly, wrapping her hair around it. Frissons of pleasure moved over her when she felt the warmth of the sun on her bare nape.
«Think of it,» Caleb whispered against Willow’s neck. As he spoke he brushed his cheek very gently over her nape. «Suspended in rushing currents…»
At first, Willow thought it was her own soft brush whispering so delicately over her skin. Then she felt the warm rush of Caleb’s breath and knew it was his beard caressing her.
«…all that sensitive skin being stroked all at once…all over.»
Willow’s heart began beating so violently she was certain Caleb could hear it. He repeated the exquisite caress again, drawing a low sound from her.
The sound was like a knife slicing through Caleb’s self-control. The tiny feminine cry could have been passion. It also could have been fear. He couldn’t tell without touching her more intimately, and he was too good a hunter to do that just yet. If it was passion making her tremble, further seduction would only make her more eager. If it was fear, further seduction was in order.
No man ever made a meal of the trout that got away.
When Caleb released Willow’s hair and began using the brush again, she was trembling too much to conceal it.
«Aren’t the t-tangles gone?» she asked, shivering.
«Not quite, honey. We’ve got a few to work out yet. Then I’ll braid it for you. One of the Army wives taught me a fancy French way to do it.»
Willow made no more objections, because she didn’t know quite what she should do. Caleb had done nothing that displeased her. Nor had he pressed her for any greater intimacy than that of simply combing her hair. There was another problem, too. If she stood up to leave, she would lose the cover of the blanket over her legs.
And, she admitted silently to herself, she would also lose the sheer pleasure of feeling Caleb’s big, gentle hands smoothing over her hair, enjoying the caresses as much as she did.
Sighing, Willow again gave herself to the golden sensation of having his fingers trailing through her hair and tugging very gently, almost lovingly, on the strands. She no longer felt tense, for she was certain if she asked Caleb to stop, he would.
And knowing that, she felt no need to ask.
The uneasiness that had claimed Willow slid away, leaving behind a shimmering kind of peace that expanded with each slow movement of Caleb’s hand over her hair. Closing her eyes, smiling, Willow wondered if the trout felt half so good while suspended in a stream’s caressing currents.
«So after the trout accepts your hand as part of the water,» she murmured, «then what?»
Caleb released his breath in a soundless rush of air. The relaxation of Willow’s body told him that her previous trembling had been as much wariness as passion. The knowledge simultaneously chastened him and increased the intensity of his own desire. She was worried, uncertain, almost frightened, yet she could no more refuse his sensual lures than the trout could refuse the intimacy of the caressing currents.
«Then you slowly and carefully stroke the trout,» Caleb said in a deep voice, setting aside the brush, «until it’s bemused by pleasure.»
«Is that possible?» Willow whispered. «Can you feel so much pleasure you forget to be afraid?»
«It’s possible.» Caleb gathered her hair again and slowly kissed the nape of her neck. «It just takes gentleness and patience.»
He released her hair so that it fell over his own shoulder. Softly, slowly, as though he could absorb her through his palms, he ran his hands from her shoulders to her fingertips and back up again, this time stroking the sensitive inner skin of her arms.
«Caleb?» Willow whispered, trembling.
«It’s all right, little trout.» He lifted her, turning her until she faced him. His thumb skimmed over her lower lip, then pressed sensuously in a touch very like a kiss. «I’ll be gentle as sunlight with you.»
Luminous hazel eyes watched Caleb. Their beauty fascinated him, color shifting between splinters of blue and green and gold, never the same twice, more beautiful every time he looked.
«Are you afraid of me?» he asked huskily.
Willow’s head moved in a slow negative that sent light twisting through her hair and desire twisting through the man who knelt so close to her.
«Some men are rough,» Caleb said, lowering his mouth to Willow’s, stopping a bare fraction from completing the caress. «I’m not one of them. I’ve never pushed a woman who didn’t want me. I never will. Share a few kisses with me, southern lady. If you decide you don’t want me, I’ll let you go.» He lowered his head a fraction more and whispered against her lips, «Do you believe me?»
The delicate caress of Caleb’s breath sent shivers over Willow. «Yes,» she sighed.
The sudden blaze of his eyes was unbearable to her. She lowered her lashes, shielding herself from the golden fire. When his lips brushed softly and repeatedly over hers, she trembled. The few times she had been kissed in the past had been nothing like this. The boys had been as eager as puppies, and as clumsy.
There was no clumsiness in Caleb’s kiss, nor in the lean hands that held her face so gently she was barely aware of them. The brushing contact of his mouth over hers continued slowly, rhythmically, teaching her to anticipate the next warm pressure of his lips, the next shiver of delight when his mustache would stroke the increasingly sensitive peak of her upper lip.
When the anticipated pleasure didn’t come, Willow opened her eyes and whispered Caleb’s name.
«Yes?» he asked, forcing himself not to kiss the mouth that trembled so enticingly beneath his lips.
«Would you…kiss me again?»
«Those weren’t kisses.»
«They weren’t?»
«No more than a handful of sunlight makes a whole day. Do you want me to kiss you?»
She nodded, sending fragrant, silky hair spilling over his hands.
Smiling, Caleb bent down to Willow once more. His lips brushed over hers again in the caress that had
