Christmas On The Silver Horn Ranch. Stella Bagwell

some slow, careful maneuvering, she worked the sweatshirt over his head and tossed the garment aside.

      “What word do I say a lot?” he asked.

      Deliberately ignoring the sight of his naked chest, she began to soap the wet washcloth. “Fun. That’s the word.”

      “What’s the matter? You object to having fun?”

      “No. But everything isn’t fun and games.” She wrung out the cloth and turned back to him. “Now don’t move. Otherwise, I’ll get soap and water where it doesn’t belong.”

      “I’ll be as still as a statue,” he promised.

      Stepping closer, she decided to start with his good arm and save the more problematic areas for last.

      Wrapping her hand around his wrist, Ava held his arm out straight and washed the corded muscles. As she worked, the erotic male scent of his skin and the faint caress of his warm breath against her arm were impossible to ignore. Over the years, she’d done this very same thing to hundreds of male patients. None had made her so aware of being a woman. None had made her feel as though she was touching a man for the very first time.

      “I didn’t think you’d show up today,” he said. “There’s quite a bit of snow on the ground.”

      Ava wasn’t going to explain how his father had made plans beforehand to make sure she got to the ranch. From what she could see, Bowie wasn’t the sort that appreciated being coddled by his family.

      “The drive took a bit longer,” she admitted. “But I made it without any problems.”

      “When the weather is bad, you should stay out here on the ranch instead of driving back and forth to Carson City. We have plenty of empty rooms.”

      His invitation took her by surprise. Mainly because she wasn’t a friend or even an acquaintance. She was hired help.

      “Thank you for offering, but I couldn’t do that. I work six nights a week in the ER at Tahoe General.”

      Finished with his arm, she rinsed the washcloth and started on his shoulder. It was thick and padded with heavy muscle. Even through the thickness of the wet cloth, she could feel the sinewy curves beneath her fingers. The sensation caused her breathing to slow and her hand to linger.

      He looked up at her and Ava’s gaze dropped to his lips. What would it feel like, she wondered, to have those lips skimming over her skin, to be kissing her mouth until she couldn’t breathe?

      “No one told me that. I thought you worked freelance or something. Six nights a week. That’s a grind, isn’t it?”

      No, it was a relief, she thought. Working that many nights gave her a reprieve from an empty house and a lonely bed. But she wasn’t about to admit such a thing to him. Not for anything did she want this man to pity her. She was living the life she’d chosen. And it was all she wanted or needed.

      “Not really. I love my work. I’ve been a nurse since I was twenty-two—a long time. And it’s rewarding to help people. Especially those too sick or injured to take care of themselves.”

      “Like me?” he asked with a grin.

      In spite of her chaotic senses, she managed to give him a faint smile. “You’re injured, but not helpless. You just want me to think you are.”

      “And why shouldn’t I? You’re a beautiful woman, Ava. And you have hands like an angel.”

      Ava couldn’t remember the last time her heart had raced like a stock car, but it was definitely breaking the speed limit right now.

      “Like I said before, I’m not here for your amusement.”

      “That doesn’t stop me from looking and feeling,” he said huskily.

      By now Ava had forgotten what she was supposed to be doing, until the heat of his skin began to burn through the washcloth. Heaving out a heavy breath, she tossed it into the sink, then tried her best to glare at him. But she simply couldn’t come up with enough anger to pull it off.

      “Bowie, have you forgotten everything I told you yesterday? I’m thirty-five years old. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

      His green gaze traveled lazily over her face and down the vee of her dress. The intimate search caused Ava’s cheeks to burn.

      “Sure,” he replied. “It means you’ve had time to grow wiser. And more beautiful. And more womanly.”

      Those were hardly the answers she’d expected to come out of his mouth, and for a moment she didn’t know how to respond. Finally, she asked, “Did the nurses in the hospital have this much trouble with you?”

      Although a grin tilted one corner of his lips, there was a serious look in his eye. It bothered Ava far more than all the words he’d said to her.

      “The nurses in the hospital weren’t you,” he said simply.

      Struggling with the effort to keep from groaning out loud, Ava grabbed the washcloth and scrubbed the bar of soap against the terry fabric until lather was spilling over her hands.

      When she turned back to him, she lifted his head until it was out of the way, then plopped the cloth against his chest. Bubbles and water meshed with the golden-red hair matted between two flat brown nipples. Ava pushed the washcloth up, down and across until his skin was slick.

      Over and over, she kept reminding herself that she was only doing her job. Yet nothing about it felt like a job. Touching him this way was taking her on an erotic journey, unlike anywhere she’d ever traveled before.

      By the time she reached his navel, she heard him draw in a sharp breath. The sound caused Ava to lift her head. Which was a big mistake. The movement had brought her lips a scant inch away from his.

      Her gaze fluttered up to his and suddenly she realized if she didn’t take a quick step backward, she was going to be in trouble. But the warning bells clanging in her head weren’t enough to make her legs move.

      “Am I hurting you?”

      The question came out as a whisper and Ava wished she’d not said anything. At least that way he might not have guessed how deeply his nearness was affecting her.

      “I’m hurting like hell to do this,” he murmured.

      Before she could ask what this was, his hand was at the back of her head and the next thing she knew her lips were being captured by his.

      Stunned by the contact, she started to pull back. But after a split second, she recognized that resisting was the last thing she wanted to do. He tasted like a hot summer night. Like tangled sheets and endless passion. And she wanted his kiss. Desperately.

      Her lips yielded to his, then quickly began a search of their own. How long she stood there, her head bent down to his, their mouths fused together, she didn’t know. She wasn’t sure about anything until the hand at the back of her head finally fell away and cool space separated their faces.

      Sanity suddenly rushed in to replace her foggy senses, and she glanced down to see the washcloth she’d been holding had slipped to his lap. Soapy water had soaked the front of his jeans and a dark stain spread out from the fly. “Oh! Damn it! Now look what I’ve done! What you’ve done!”

      * * *

      She whirled her back to him and dropped the washcloth into the sink as if it were aflame. As she sagged against the vanity counter, Bowie stared at her as he tried to digest what had just happened. Kissing Ava had set off a series of explosions in his head, blasts that had been so strong the aftershocks were still ricocheting through his body.

      “This isn’t going to work, Bowie,” she said in a low, firm voice. “I’m going to tell your father he has to find a different nurse for you.”

      “No!”

      Before he could stop himself, Bowie reached out and snatched her arm. The