The Amish Heart of Ice Mountain by Kelly Long Page A

covered as possible with her arms. After a few minutes, he saw her shiver. He immediately rose and moved near the tub while she floundered, sloshing water over the sides, still trying to cover herself from his view.
    â€œ Kumme . Enough of this foolishness.” He picked up a towel from the pile on the floor and opened it wide. “You’ll catch a chill if you sit there much longer, and I’ll not be responsible for the healer becoming ill.”
    She stared at the outstretched towel with a doubtful look. “Close your eye,” she demanded.
    He obliged with a smile, but not before taking a quick peek as she hoisted herself from the water to her feet.
    Rosy breasts, the curve of her hip and bottom, and long, long legs all caught in a flash in his mind, forcing him to grip the edges of the towel hard as she stepped into its embrace. He swore he could sense the warmth of her freshly bathed skin through the towel between them. Unconsciously, he inched the fabric closer to him so that she nearly stumbled to reach for it as she stepped on the floor.
    He caught her close, breathing in the heady scent of citrus and rain, all of which struck him with painful familiarity. It was her own beautiful scent, one that reminded him of deep kisses and stolen touches. He dipped his head toward her neck so that he might breathe more deeply of her; then he opened his eye.
    â€œEdward,” she squeaked, her small hands against his chest, burning like twin brands. “You said no touching—remember?”
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    Sarah felt herself grow both more aroused and frustrated. He thought this was a game, one that she didn’t necessarily want to play on his terms. She looked up into his face and saw the faintly teasing glint in his eye. She realized with vague intuition that he probably enjoyed playing with her as much as a cat did a mouse. But he was crossing a line—one he had drawn himself.
    He smiled down at her lazily. “I’m not touching you,” he said, holding up the towel a bit and forcing her nearer his tall frame. “At least not now.”
    She gasped as she was caught by the rapidly dampening cotton against her back and the press of his body at her front. She shifted nervously, inadvertently rubbing her hip against his waist.
    He winced, and she felt him. He was more affected than he was letting on—just as she was.
    She looked up to see his blue eye flash with pain and passion, mingling in a simmering heat that brought her restless hands to a stop as she grasped his blue shirtfront.
    But then he drew the towel across her shoulders and purposefully stepped away. “Go to bed,” he growled with abrupt hoarseness.
    But she couldn’t move, not even when his gaze raked her bare front from head to toe. She was being bold. Brazen, even. Yet a part of her somehow realized she wanted him to look. She wanted him to see her.
    â€œSarah.” His tone held warning and want.
    She bit her bottom lip, watching his reaction, still not making a move to cover herself.
    He muttered a curse and snatched up a second towel, tossing it over her. “For Gott ’s sake, Sarah, I’m not a saint.” He turned his back to her, raking his hand through his hair. “I’ll sleep out here by the fire tonight.”
    A sudden flush of shame came over her as she grasped the towels to her body. His words released her from the enchantment that had thrilled and confused her at the same time. But now embarrassment drove her from him. She wanted to get away from him as soon as she could. She hurried to the bedroom, pulling the curtain closed behind her, wondering what she’d done.
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    Sarah squirmed on the hard church service bench, trying to discipline her thoughts into some semblance of worship. But even the usual hymns, sung low and without music, did little to soothe her when she thought of her husband’s body so close to hers after last night’s bath.
    I’m