It was like someone had relit the world after months of darkness. Electric desire flashed through his rusty body and he dug his fingers into her skin to draw her even closer. She obliged, opening her mouth to him and darting her tongue to meet his with hesitation that faded as he sucked her deeper.
For a moment, everything else in the world disappeared. He forgot his physical pain, he forgot his frustration and his guilt, he forgot the life he’d lost and the one he hadn’t saved. He forgot everything and drowned in how sweet she tasted and how erotically she moved against him as her breasts flattened to his chest and she lifted against him with a deep moan in her throat.
And then, just as swiftly as she had surrendered, she pulled away. He let her go, watching as she staggered back, turning as she lifted her hand to her lips like she could still feel him there. He knew he could feel her.
And he wanted to feel so much more.
“Going to run again, Miss Oakford?” he asked as the time stretched out between them and he felt her readying to do just that.
She spun toward him, her cheeks flushed and her pupils dilated. She stared and then shook her head. “N-no,” she stammered, her voice shaky and unfocused. “No, of course not. I’m to help you. It’s time I did just that. Will you remove your shirt?”
He nodded as he sat up and slowly began to unfasten the buttons along the front of the fabric. She watched him for a beat, then shook her head as she knelt to begin helping with his boots.
His heart all but stopped at the sight of her on her knees before him. And when she looked up, apparently utterly unaware of how fucking tempting she was, it took all his control not to drag her back up his body, flip her on her back and just have her until he couldn’t take anymore. Until she was sated and soft beneath him.
Until her voice was hoarse from crying out his name.
She tugged his boots off and set them aside. As she rose, she turned away and he watched her as she moved to where she’d left a tray earlier in the day. She picked up a few bottles, some bandages and a needle and thread, then returned.
“Here, let me,” she said softly, setting the items on the bed beside him before she moved to help him pull the shirt over his head. He grimaced as he lifted his bad arm enough for her to pull the fabric away. After she tossed it aside, she leaned in, examining the scarred flesh as she clucked her tongue. “How often did they reopen it?” she asked.
He shut his eyes and shoved aside memories of those horrible experiences. Tried to forget the pain that had brought him to unconsciousness more than once. “I lost count after eight.”
She turned her face, as if his pain affected her physically. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she traced the mark with the edge of her fingernail.
“You have to do it again, don’t you?”
She jerked her gaze up to his. “How did you know?”
“I hear it in your voice,” he said as he lowered himself back to the pillows. “And every healer does it, don’t they? You have to make your own mark on me.”
Her lips parted. “Stalwood should hire better men. I have no desire to mark you, Lucas. I do not take any pleasure in the pain that I will cause. But I hope you’ll…you’ll…”
He met her eyes at her hesitation. “What?”
“Trust me,” she said. “I realize you don’t know me. You have no reason to do so.”
“I do,” he said softly. “I do have a reason.”
“And what is that?” she asked, even as she lifted a thin scalpel from the bed and dipped it in liquid.
“You’re his daughter,” he said, gripping the sheets with both fists as she lowered the instrument to his already burning skin and made a delicate slice.
She didn’t look at him, but kept her focus on his injury. “That is a high standard to live up to,” she said softly.
He bit his lip as she probed his wound, examining the damage that made him so damned broken. Then she clucked her tongue and set the scalpel aside. She picked up her mortar and pestle and began to throw dried herbs and a different, thicker liquid into the little bowl. As she mixed it, she met his eyes.
“Almost finished and then I will never reopen it again,” she promised.
He gritted his teeth. “That’s what they all say.”
“I’m not them,” she said, holding his stare.
He almost laughed, but couldn’t quite when the pain was making his vision blur and his voice strangled. He tried to focus, tried to find levity in this moment so she wouldn’t see how desperate and vulnerable she was making him. “You’re certainly much prettier than the others.”
The world began to spin around him. He could feel his pulse in the hole in his shoulder and that throbbing made his knees shake.
“Well, I should certainly hope so,” she said, her tone still calm and soothing and he could hear the smile in it. “I’ve seen some of those louts my father trained. Prettier isn’t exactly the hardest mountain to climb.”
