“Tell me when I can come in,” I called after him. “Do what you do when you have a massage—everything off and cover yourself with a sheet.”
Otherwise, I’d rub him once, and he’d say he was much better.
A flush crept over my body while waiting. I was doing this. I was putting my hands on his bare skin.
I could be professional.
God, I wasn’t even an amateur.
“Ready,” came his muffled voice.
Okay. I could do this and not let my hormones rage. I was newly single. I was an uninvited guest. I was stepping over the line. But he was in pain and I was certain I could help him.
My pulse thundered between my ears when I entered his room. Instead of a dark cave, I found a spacious bedroom with photographs of the valley on its walls. It was like the view from his front windows right in his room. The window had no shades, but faced the trees. What kind of wildlife did he see roaming by?
Only the lamp on his nightstand was on, casting a warm glow around the cozy, manly room with his solid cedar furniture and sleigh-style bed frame.
Finally, I looked at the bed. His blankets were tossed to the side and his big body was sprawled on his belly. I stopped beside him. I didn’t know what side was his usual one, but he’d lain so his left side was close to the edge.
“Did you make the dresser and bed frame?” I asked, pushing my sleeves up. My hands shook. The massage was supposed to be clinical but the intimacy was undeniable.
“No.” His head was turned in my direction and his eyes were closed like he was blocking out the discomfort. “They’re inspiration pieces. I got them before I opened my shop.”
His deep voice did wicked things to my belly. The electric energy between us swirled lower.
Be. Professional.
I rubbed my hands together to warm them up. “Where do you need it the most?”
He cracked an eye open.
Could I have made it sound more sexual?
“Around my knee, and my shoulder’s flared up.”
Both were my fault. “Okay. I’ll start at the shoulder.” I could figure out how to position the blanket while I worked on the less revealing body part.
I pulled the sheet down. He’d chosen a solid pewter color. So fitting with the rest of the room. I touched my fingertips lightly to his fevered skin and yanked my hands away. “Uh, do you have lotion?”
His eye was back to being a slit. “I have lube.”
A giggle sputtered out of me. I was rewarded with a chuckle from him. I laughed harder. “God, this is awkward. I only want to help. I swear.”
“I believe you,” he said, seriously. “Check the drawer.”
In the nightstand was a plain bottle of lube. I couldn’t resist looking around. He had a few magazines, too many pocketknives to be useful, and little else. “No condoms?”
I bit my lip.Intrusive much, Summer?
“I don’t bring women here.”
The confession pleased me more than I could imagine. I was in his home, but no one else had been. Also, no other woman had walked in and caused him to have an accident. Regardless, he must buy condoms when he was meeting Jackie or he must keep a box somewhere to load his wallet when needed.
Not that it was my business.
“I won’t use much.” I squeezed the cool gel on my hand, closed the cap, and faced his big body. Time to bare some skin. “Your left shoulder, right?”
He bent his right arm and rested his face on it so his head wasn’t twisted to the side. “Yep.”
