Ignacio sat up straighter and Rafe heard the click of the safety being released on the revolver. “Mierda! You don’t need no bath. Sit down where I can see you.”
“Take it easy now. You can keep me in your gun sights. I just want to bathe. I have enough sweat on me to salt a ham.”
“But the blister I just bandaged — ” Helen started to say.
“You can redo it,” he said impatiently. “C’mon.”
Helen grabbed a small cake of soap from her pack, along with the ointment and gauze, following Rafe slowly toward the small stream. They both held their arms away from their bodies and moved in a nonthreatening manner so Ignacio wouldn’t be tempted to shoot.
The bandit leader slitted his eyes suspiciously and stood, watching them intently, his guns now aimed at both of them.
“I’m just going to wash up a little, pal. No quick moves. No escaping. A bath, that’s all. Okay?”
Ignacio nodded, sitting back down. Then he called out lewdly to Helen, “You want I should wash your tetas for you?”
She ignored him, turning to Rafe. “Don’t you think…” Her words trailed off, and her jaw dropped.
The brute was already taking off his clothes, with total lack of modesty, of course. She got a real good rear view of Rafael Santiago in the buff. Her eyes traveled involuntarily from wide shoulders, down the muscled planes of his back, to a narrow waist and slim hips. Over his well-toned, hard buttocks. And long legs covered with soft-as-silk-looking dark hairs.
Helen liked what she saw. A whole lot.
He bent and took the bandage off his behind, placing it carefully on a rock.
Her mouth snapped shut. “What do you think you’re doing?” Her voice had a shrill, panicky ring to it.
“Taking a bath,” he informed her calmly. “We have to bide our time. Act normal. Wait for the opening. Timing, Helen, remember?”
“Right,” she said, nodding. Maybe I’m the one who’s certifiable.
“Can you throw me the soap?” he called over his shoulder.
She pretended not to be looking. But she had to look when she tossed him the soap.
Which was a mistake. Spinning on his heels to face her, he reached out one arm and caught the bar with the ease of a seasoned pro.
And Helen got a 360-degree picture of the most gorgeous male this side of heaven.
She tried not to gape. In fact, she squeezed her eyes shut.
Rafe laughed.
She peeped.
Another mistake. Now she got a full frontal view of a man who had a knack for turning her knees to jelly and her brain to mindless, who-cares-if-he’s-a-jerk mush.
And he knew it. But Rafe wasn’t laughing anymore. Instead, he studied her as intently as she avoided studying him. Then, as if making a sudden decision, he spun around and walked out to the middle of the knee-deep creek. With a splash, he sat down, bringing the water up to his chest.
“Get back to work,” Ignacio yelled at Pablo and Sancho, who’d stopped gathering firewood and preparing dinner to stare at her and Rafe. “Ain’t you never seen a hombre scrub his hairy arse? Hen, heh, heh.”
“We were just waiting to see if Elena would join him,” Pablo muttered, stomping back to the cook pot. Sancho shuffled off to gather more twigs.
“Hey, this is great.” Rafe sighed loudly, beginning to soap his chest and neck, then his face and hair, ducking under the water repeatedly. “How ’bout joining me?”
Standing near the edge of the bank, Helen shook her head, although she was tempted. Her blouse stuck to her back and underarms. She felt sticky and incredibly hot. “Is it cool?”
“Very. C’mon, Prissy, live a little.” He flicked a handful of water at her playfully.
She glanced back at the three bandits. They weren’t paying much attention, for the moment. “Well, maybe I’ll just wet my feet.”
“Chicken.”
She took off her boots and socks and rolled up her pant legs. Then she waded into the deliciously cool water. “Ooooh, that feels wonderful.”
“Come closer and I’ll show you something that feels even more wonderful.” His eyes danced playfully.