Page 16 of After You Returned

“She’s fine. She has a nasty cut on her forehead, but otherwise she’s perfectly fine.”

“Thanks to you.”

He shrugs and his cheeks darken slightly. Dang it. He’s adorable when he’s embarrassed. How can I refuse to help him when he injured himself saving a woman’s life? I can’t punish him for being a hero.

I pat the treatment table. “Hop on, remove your shirt, and lay down.”

His blue eyes sparkle. “You’re going to help me?”

“Unless you make some stupid comment about me asking you to remove your shirt. In which case, you’re going to wish your rotator cuff was the worst pain you have.”

He grins. “I love it when you’re salty.”

I roll my eyes. “But you hate it when I add salt to your coffee.”

“You added salt to Zane’s coffee. I got caught in the crossfire.”

“He’s your younger brother and therefore your responsibility.”

“The same way you’re responsible for Thomas and Ian.”

I snort. “No one can accept responsibility for those two yahoos. They actually brought a sheep to the Salty Dip and then got annoyed when Sheepwreck Sally wasn’t allowed to enter the competition for best costume.”

He chuckles. “Ian and Thomas haven’t changed one bit.”

At the reminder of how well he knows my brothers – they were the best of friends back when Miles and I were dating – my good humor vanishes.

I check the clock. “Come on. Your thirty-minute session will be over before we can begin at this rate.”

Miles whips off his t-shirt and my gaze snags on his six-pack abs. My fingers tingle with the need to reach out and touch him. To trail my fingertips along the ridges of his muscles before my tongue tastes every inch of his chest. To scrape my nails through the smattering of hair on his lower chest.

He clears his throat and I force my gaze to his face. His blue eyes have darkened to nearly violet with passion, but to his credit, he doesn’t smirk or make some juvenile comment.

“Hop up on the table and lie down.”

I wait until he’s settled before asking, “What did the doctor say?”

“The tear isn’t bad enough for surgery, but I need therapy and to modify my activity.”

“No surfing.”

He sighs. “No surfing.”

I reach for him but stop. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

“Do your worst.”

The second my hands touch him, I receive a jolt. I don’t jump. I’m used to how electric it feels whenever we touch. Even after all these years, a single touch has my nervous system on high alert and my nipples tingling with anticipation.

Calm down, nipples. Nothing will be happening here.

I prod his shoulder and Miles sucks in a breath. I stop. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” he grits out.

“Your muscles are tight. I’m going to give you a soft tissue massage to loosen you up. You should be applying ice therapy, and I’ll make a list of stretches for you to perform to prevent stiffness.”

He groans. “I know the deal.”