"Just take a handful of food," he coached. "They've really had enough, but we'll give them an extra treat today in honor of accepting you."
With his warm smile of encouragement, Esme only made a slight face as she dipped her hand in the bucket. Leaning forward, she felt him right behind her.
"Put your hand just a couple of inches under the water," he told her, "and open it up about halfway."
Esme followed his instructions exactly. She shivered slightly as her hand descended into the cold mountain pool. Stiffening herself against the chill of the water, she tried to tamp down an inexplicable trickle of fear. But she failed, however, to control the sudden jerk of her shoulders when the first big brown brooder greedily grabbed a bite.
"Easy," Cleav cautioned as he laid his hands familiarly on her shoulders. "They won't bite your fingers off," he whispered close to her neck. ''You've got to trust them, just the way you want them to trust you."
Feeling the warmth of his hands as they soothed her, Esme felt herself begin to relax. The big fish pushed each other aside and tickled her fingers with their fins as they vied for their share.
"Come on, Pearly," she coaxed the mole-faced fish. "My hand's not as big as Cleav's, but the food tastes just the same."
Cleav's breathy chuckle raised the hairs on her neck.
"Oh, it's wonderful," Esme whispered, her heart pounding from more than the exhilaration of fish feeding.
Cleav agreed, however neither his thoughts nor his senses were focused on the fish. At Esme's startled quiver, his palms had so naturally found their way to her shoulders to reassure and comfort. Now his hand sought only to caress.
Her firm, square shoulders felt unerringly feminine under his fingers. With a pretense of carelessness, he moved his thumb toward her collar. He felt a warm stab of desire.
Stop it! he ordered himself angrily. The woman had asked to feed the fish, not be fondled by the fish handler.
"Look at this big one!" Esme's quiet whisper bubbled with excitement.
Cleav leaned forward to follow her gaze. His chest eased up against the back of the worn wool of her coat. His chin was so close to her neck, he could have counted the tiny trickles of errant curls that had escaped the thick blond braid. He took a much-needed breath, only to be assailed by the sweet scent of her. Plain brown soap and woman; it was a combination he'd never fully appreciated before.
Quite naturally his hands slid down to her waist—only to steady her, he swore to himself. He couldn't allow the young woman to fall into the water. That the water was no more than three feet deep and that she was seated firmly on the shoreline were facts he didn't bother to consider.
Her waist was not the tiny handspan that was still the rage of fashion, nor was it bound with the usual corsets that both disguised and protected it from men. Cleavis could feel the gentle give of real flesh. And it lay beneath his hands, thinly separated by her coat, dress, and chemise. His fingers tingled with the wish to dispose of those few garments. He knew he should take his hands from her person, but she felt too good.
Her charges fed and her palm empty, Esme took her hand out of the cold water. The warm comfortable feel of Cleav's fingers at her waist so captured her attention that, glancing to the side, she was startled to find his face so close. How could such pale blue eyes appear so hot, so deep?
It was desire. Desire, the same as in those well-remembered fleeting moments in the store.
But then she had felt power, control. Now, surrounded by him, his hands touching her so firmly yet so tenderly, his mouth, his lips so close, she was entranced, not entrancing. Gathering her courage, she forced herself to speak. "Should I feed them more?" she asked him, her voice trembling with its whisper.
"No." His answer was brief, but the sound of it continued to linger in her breast.
She met his gaze but couldn't hold it as, time and time again, his focus dropped to her lips, which warmed so quickly under his perusal that, without thought, her tongue snaked out to dampen them.
His eyes widened perceptibly, and the grip on her waist tightened. "Esme…" The word was a tortured whisper.
She was trembling now. The nearness of him, the desire, the fear all warred together inside her. Would he kiss her? When would he kiss her? What would she do if he kissed her? Should she scream? Should she run? Oh, how she wanted him to kiss her.
He had turned his head slightly to the side. Save to graces, Cleavis Rhy was going to kiss her! Those long, muscled arms were going to hold her. That beautiful mouth was going to press against hers. Those long slender fingers were going to touch her, caress her. It was going to happen. He moved closer, only so slightly. Yes, it was going to be a kiss. She was sure of it. Any second now his lips would touch hers. Any second now. Any second. Now! Now!
She couldn't wait any longer.
Esme threw herself at Cleavis Rhy. Clasping her arms tightly around his neck, she slammed her warm wet lips against his.
At her sudden lurch, Cleav lost his balance and fell back against the ground. Esme sprawled on top of him, wiggling closer by the minute. Her fingers grasped his dark hair by the handfuls. Her lips stuck to his tighter than a tick on a stray dog.
She heard a strangled exclamation from his throat and felt the strength of him as gently but firmly he tried to roll her off of him.
The feel of his long, strong body against hers and the spicy scent of his skin was more pleasurable than Esme had expected. That ball of tingling anxiety that lay low in her abdomen dropped within her, and the craving it triggered robbed the young woman of the last vestiges of her good judgment.
Instinctively Esme wrapped her strong, work-muscled legs around him and held on for blue blazes. As he rolled her to the ground, she rolled him atop her.
