Excerpt of A Sweet Montana Christmas by Roxanne Snopek

One of my favorite scenes in this story in when Austin
attempts to wash his wife’s hair. The hot-water tank is
out of commission and the facilities are, shall we say,
rustic. But he wants so badly to make Melinda less
miserable and so he does this clumsy, thoughtful thing
that ends up being a bit of a mess. Those are, I think,
the most romantic gestures; not the ones that work
perfectly, but the ones that involve risk, the chance of
failure, of being laughed at.

**

Austin set the aluminum tub on the butcher-block table in
the kitchen.

"Come here," he said.

Melinda looked at him with caution, but he could feel
excitement, thrumming like a field, around her like a
field.

Fear and temptation.

She stepped up to him and he handed her a towel.

He wanted to unzip that thick hoodie and pull it off. To
lift up the shirt beneath, little by little, revealing
her creamy torso by inches, until he could see the lower
swelling of her breasts.

"Eyes up, big guy."

He jumped. "Sorry." He laughed shakily. "Habit."

He gestured to the chair. "Sit. Put this around your
neck. I'd ask you to take off your top, but..."

To his surprise, she slipped out of her hoodie.
Underneath, she wore a tank top and it was fantastically
obvious that she was braless.

Her breasts looked larger, the nipples pink and straining
through the thin fabric.

He adjusted his pants. This was going to be harder than
he thought, pun intended.

"Are you going to wash my hair, Austin?"

She asked it in a smoky voice that might have come
straight out of an old western saloon. Low and slow and
smooth as honey.

"I am." He helped her lean back and draped her hair into
the small tub. "Comfortable?"

"I'm okay."

He scooped a bowlful of water and poured it over her
head, being careful not to get any in her eyes.

She groaned, deep in her throat, a sound that sent more
blood rushing southward, a sound he'd only heard when she
was in his arms, sweaty, sated and limp with pleasure.

He stroked her hair, lifting it and continuing to pour,
getting every bit saturated.

Then he squirted a handful of shampoo and began massaging
it into her head. He'd never done this before and water
splashed onto the table.

A bit of foam dripped onto her throat, then slid slowly
toward the neckline of her tank top. She lifted her hand
and caught it, without looking. The sight of her fingers,
caressing her skin, so close to those rosy nipples...

"Ow!"

The towel beneath her neck slipped, allowing the sharp
edge of the tub to bite into her skin.

"Damn, sorry, baby," he said. He tried to tug it up but
his soapy hands slipped. He bumped the tub with his elbow
and suds splashed onto the table.

Way harder than he expected. In every way.

Suddenly he was aware of Mel, giggling. She put her hand
to her mouth, trying to hide it, to let him carry on.

Then she grasped the back of her head and sat up,
dragging the towel with it, laughing freely.

He felt like an idiot. Washing a woman's hair was
supposed to be a sensual thing, not a comedy show.

She leaned forward, laughing with her whole body now, and
he felt the humor tickle him, too.

"That," she said, between gasps, "was the single best
shampoo... I've ever had."

"Liar," he said. But her joy unlocked something inside
him and before he knew it, the two of them were bracing
themselves against each other, bent over at the waist,
howling, while water dripped onto the floor and Mel's
still-soapy hair sagged onto her shoulders.

"We're going to have to heat more water," said Mel, when
she got her voice back. "I need a rinse."

Her face was flushed and her now mostly-transparent tank
top had slipped off one shoulder. Dark hair, red lips,
those pink nipples. She looked like a strawberry sundae,
with chocolate drizzle and whipped cream on top and yeah,
he wanted to eat her up.

"There's enough hot water," he said, taking her hand, "to
do this properly."