“Never,” he promised while manipulating each one and then moving up her leg. He held her calf aloft while testing the knee for mobility and injury. “This ok?”
“Sure,” she bit out, and his stomach dropped.
Had she hurt the joint? A knee injury would put an end to her trip. Not only did the thought of her in pain make his belly churn, but the thought of her leaving so soon . . .
After re-entering his life so recently . . .
“Does ithurtwhen I do this?” he asked pointedly.
“No,” she bit back.
“Tabitha,” he warned with a rumble in his chest.
“It doesn’t hurt, I promise.” She squirmed and understanding shot through him. How could he have forgotten one of her spots? The long lost memory of paying particular attention to the sensitive flesh at the back of her legs washed over him.
Lust replaced fear, thrumming strong through his veins. He cleared his throat and willed himself to focus then moved to the other leg and performed the same inspection as though it were a ritual. Shoe, toes, ankle. Knee.
“Lie back,” Zac directed gently.
“Yeah, right,” Tabitha snorted.
“I need to check your hip mobility.” Zac captured her gaze. Willing the importance of making sure she was uninjured from his eyes to her sky blue gaze. The stare down lasted ages, until finally she nodded.
“Be quick,” she conceded.
“I’ll be thorough,” he tossed back at her with stern authority. He watched as she laid back onto the crash pad and flung a forearm over her eyes.
Goose bumps crawled up her long leg from ankle to the bottom of those little shorts she wore. Zac licked his lips, grateful she shielded her eyes, because surely he looked like a cartoon coyote fantasizing about sinking his teeth into a roadrunner’s long leg.
A dainty throat clearing recalled his attention. He glanced up to see Lark standing a few steps away, holding her camera, blinking with snark. The way she batted her eyelashes was like a message in Morse code. And he read it loud and clear:Behave yourself, asshole.
Blondie was right. He’d better get that professional hat back on or else he’d make a mess of the whole situation.
Carefully, fully supporting the weight of her leg, Zac rotated it in a big, slow, outward circle. He tested the bounds of the joint mobility and nearly blushed to see just how flexible his tabby cat still was. Visions of him pushing both knees to her armpits and slipping into her flashed through his mind. Overwhelming him with aching for a time long past. He lowered her first leg and conducted the same investigation with the other. All the while scanning from her long legs and the barely there shorts that clung to her generous hips to her face for signs of discomfort.
Satisfied—perhaps that wasn’t the correct word—that she wasn’t injured, he finally lowered her other leg and sat back on his haunches.
“You’re in the clear,” he assured her.
Tabitha sat up with his help. “Like I was trying to tell you.”
“I’m not a take-someone’s-word-for-it kinda guy.” Zac rose to his feet and, taking Tabitha’s hands, helped her up too. “I’ve always needed to see for myself.”
“I remember,” she replied, though her gaze was dark, hooded like distasteful memories swarmed back in without her permission.
Zac bit his lip and nodded. “Right. Well.”
The blatantly awkward silence hung heavily in the air, muddying the freshness of the late summer day. Why, of all the moments, was them staring each other down the most intense? He’d been spreading apart her thighs to test her hips, but this . . . this . . . was heavy.
Click. Clickclickclickclick.
For chrissake, blondie.
“Lunch?” Lark asked, positively loving every second of the scene before her.
Chapter twenty
Zac
