by Tina Beckett
He’d gone from a young man who could dance his way through a clump of football players on his way to making one goal after another, to a man who could barely put one foot in front of the other—even with the help of that walker. A man who’d aged twenty years overnight.
He’d always meant to donate it, but he didn’t like looking at it, much less try to drag it down to his car.
His body had failed him once, and it looked like it was failing him again.
As much as he tried to suppress it, a hole of fear opened up inside him. What if, despite what he’d said, it wasn’t just his muscle? What if the fall onto his ass had knocked something loose, or torn a muscle that he couldn’t afford to lose?
His cat appeared from the kitchen and came over and hopped into his lap. He picked her up and set her beside him. “Sorry, girl. I’ll feed you as soon as I can get back up.”
Amy reappeared with a trash can and he tensed. “I’m not going to vomit, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Of course not. I took the liner out of it and it’s clean. I’m going to put some hot towels in there, but I need to know where your dryer is because I’m going to rotate moist heat with dry.” She stopped. “Aw...is that Rachel?”
“Yes.”
Amy came over and tickled the cat’s head, trailing her fingers over Rachel’s thick fur. “Hi, there. I’ve heard about you. Lucky girl, I don’t have allergies.” Her head suddenly came up and she glanced away from him. “Dryer?”
“I don’t have a dryer, but I do have a heating pad.”
“Where?”
He nodded toward his bedroom door. “In the closet in my spare bedroom on the top shelf.”
Moving toward where he’d indicated, she slid through the bedroom door, reappearing two minutes later. “Okay, so you do have something.”
When he looked up, he saw she was holding the heating pad in one hand, and the walker in the other.
“No. Put that away. Right now.”
His voice was forceful enough that Rachel hopped off the couch, giving him a baleful glance as she stalked away. But the last thing he wanted to see was a reminder of how weak he’d once been. How utterly helpless he’d felt. Especially when faced with a woman who’d had to help him walk to his own damned car.
Amy set the walker down with a frown. “It’s not for forever, it’s just to give your leg muscles a break tonight.”
“Not tonight. Not ever.”
She stared him down for several minutes before leaving the walker where it was and coming over with the heating pad. “Okay, we’ll talk about it later.”
No, they wouldn’t. But damn, she was as stubborn as he was. An unwilling smile came to the surface, despite his best efforts to keep it down. “I wouldn’t count on that.”
All she did was laugh—a knowing little laugh that said she was going to get her way. Some way or another. Maybe she normally did, since she was the power person in her little physical therapy realm. But she was in his world now. And here, he was used to calling the shots.
Only he was pretty sure that Amy wasn’t easily intimidated.
“Let me get set up. It’ll just take a few minutes, but in the meantime, I’ll plug this in and get some heat going to those muscles. Take off your pants.”
Shock rolled through him. There was no way in hell. That was almost as bad as her suggestion to use a walker.
“Not happening. You can do whatever it is you want to do through them.”
“No. I can’t. Not only can’t I, but I won’t. I have a towel here.” She pulled something out of her beach bag. A huge pink towel with a picture of cats.
“What is that?”
“It’s an Aristocats towel. You know—like the movie? You can drape it over your lap, since you seem to be so, er, modest.” She said it with a twitch of her lips.
Modest. Sure. He could show her exactly how modest he was. Because despite the pain in his leg and the pain she was in his backside right now, there was a very real possibility that at some point that towel might reveal a muscle problem of an entirely different kind.
“I’ll help you take them off, then.” Her smile was teasing. Coaxing. And something shifted inside of him. Something he didn’t want to examine. And he certainly didn’t want her to catch a glimpse of it in his expression. He had to get rid of her for a minute or two, even if it meant taking his damn pants off.
“Fine. Go in the other room, and I’ll get them off myself.” He would do it if it killed him.
“Okey dokey.” She tossed the cat towel in his lap and picked up the trash can and stack of towels and carried it into the kitchen. “Yell when you’re ready. Or when you decide you need some help.”
He’d just unbuttoned his jeans when she popped her head back into the room. Was she kidding him? “What?”
“I think Rachel is hungry. What does she eat?”
“There are cans in the pantry and her dish is on the floor beside the dishwasher.”
This time she stayed gone, while he did his best to shimmy out of the snug garment, sweat beading his lip when he had to put too much weight on his injured leg.
Diabos. What if he had to have surgery on it? Again. Worse, what if he could no longer perform surgeries? Or perform at all.
After his accident, it had been two years before he’d gotten the nerve up to actually try to have sex with someone. Some of that was because of Halee’s betrayal, but some of it was also due to his body’s betrayal.
Well, there was certainly no sign of that kind of trouble tonight. In fact...
He yanked his right foot out of the leg of the jeans and used it to push them off his other leg. He picked up the towel that sported a white cat with a big pink bow around her neck and a smaller one on top of her head.
Caramba! He draped the ridiculous thing over his legs, wondering why he hadn’t asked her to leave one of his plain white towels instead. Because they weren’t as big as this one was, of course.
A few minutes later, she came back in with the trash can. Curls of steam came out of the top of it.
He frowned. “Exactly how hot are those towels?”
“Pretty hot.”
He glanced at her. Several strands of hair had escaped her ponytail, spiraling down her collarbone. And with her standing there in a white sundress that sported tiny little holes all over it, Roque was struck with the thought that the towels weren’t the only thing in this room that were hot. Amy was, too. Even the pain in his leg couldn’t erase what she did to him. And then there were her feet.
Bare feet.
“What happened to your shoes?”
“They’re in my beach bag.”
Thinking back, he didn’t think she’d put them back on as she helped him walk back to the car. The pavement had to be blistering hot, but she’d said nothing. And she’d driven his car barefooted. Had come up in the elevator like that and padded across his wood floors.
And that was the impetus he needed to do what she asked. If she could do what was necessary for him, he was going to cooperate with whatever she wanted him to do.
That immediately sent another flurry of thoughts spinning through his head that had no business being there.
“Will the moisture hurt your couch? If so, we’ll move this operation to your floor. Or...your bed.”
Um...no. Not the bed.
“It won’t hurt the couch. And the back folds down to make a bed.” The black leather was pretty forgiving.
“That’s perfect. How does it work?”
“There’s a button on the side of it.” He leaned forward so the back wouldn’t go sailing down with him on it.
She cranked it down. “Okay. Is the pain in front or in back?”
Even as she said it, a little twinge happened that he needed to suppress—that had to do with a pain of another kind. “It’s actual
ly on the outside of my thigh, where the scar is.”
“Let’s have you lie on your stomach, then, like we would if this were a massage table.”
His stomach. Good choice. He relaxed slightly. “I want the towel wrapped around my waist, then.”
“Your wish is my command.”
And that was a phrase he didn’t even want to consider. Because what he suddenly wished for, he couldn’t have. Like kisses. The kind they’d shared in his office.
Between the two of them, they somehow got him covered and in position. Then there was a quick sting as she draped one of the hot towels over his left leg and then another on top of that. Then she set the timer on her phone and pulled a vial out of her purse.
He gave it a wary look. Had she gotten some kind of herbal potion from Flávia Maura? “What is that?”
“Relax. It’s just a blend of essential oils that I carry around for muscle pain. It has wintergreen, peppermint, lemongrass and a few other things in it. I’m going to mix it with some olive oil I found in your pantry. It will act as a natural analgesic and will help lubricate the skin as I work it.” She paused. “Unless you want to take a muscle relaxer. If you have some.”
He did somewhere, but he tried to avoid taking them, having had a problem weaning himself off narcotic painkillers after the accident. It had made him leery of taking much of anything. “I’d rather not unless I have to.”
“That’s what I thought.”
She took the towels off and traded them for another two. “Once these cool, I’m going to massage your muscles, using the oils.”
Massage his muscles. Great. Well, there was one muscle that he was glad she couldn’t see.
Five minutes later her hands were on him. And as soon as her touch hit his skin the pain in his leg became so much background noise. It was there, but it was not what his primary focus was. Her hands squeezed and rubbed and worked in strong capable strokes that had his eyes closing. Only to jerk back apart when she got to the seized area.
“Diabos!”
“Hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
His head cranked around to look at her only to have her smile. “I can feel the balled-up muscles, but needed you to tell me I was in the right spot.”
“Oh, you’re in the right spot, all right.”
He gritted his teeth and willed the pain away, forgetting about almost everything else. But still she kept working, kneading, using the base of her palm to push against the tightness in his leg. Fifteen minutes later he realized the pain was ebbing, so slowly he wasn’t aware of when it had actually started retreating, but it was fifty percent better. Then sixty. Then seventy-five. And that he could live with.
“Thank you. I think it worked.”
“Just give me a few minutes longer. I think I can get the rest of it.”
True to her word, when her hands finally went still, her fingers paused to trace the furrow of his scar, sending a shudder through him. She’d taken almost every bit of his pain away. And added a pain from a completely different source.
“Amy, thank you.”
Her hand moved away, and he immediately wanted it back.
“You’re welcome.”
He cautiously rolled over and sat up, keeping the towel in place, and felt no flare in his leg. When he looked at her, though, her cheeks were flushed in a way that might have been exertion, but it also might be...
She’d traced his scar, her fingers soft and sure, and had felt totally different from what she had done moments earlier. It had hit him on an emotional level that was new to him. He normally did not like women lingering over that mark.
She was still kneeling on the rug in front of the sofa, but when she went to grab one of the towels on the floor, he stopped her with a hand to her wrist. Then, unable to resist, he stroked a finger along her cheek. “Leave all of the stuff, and I’ll get it in the morning.”
“How are you feeling?” She peered up at him with eyes that almost sparkled. And he found he liked it. Wanted to be the reason for that look.
“Better. I can’t believe a simple massage had that much of an effect.”
In reality, there’d been nothing simple about that massage. Or the effect it had had on him.
“I told you it would work. Do you believe me now?”
“I believe...you. I once had another physical therapist, though, who...” Not finishing his sentence, he stood, hauling her to her feet, her hands warming his and sending an answering heat straight to the area he’d been trying to ignore. He stared down at her face, watching as her teeth found her lower lip and pressed deep into the soft skin.
Damn. He should have stayed down on the couch, because now that he was standing, all he wanted to do was...
Kiss her.
He cupped her face, and she tilted it as if waiting. For him. “Hell, Amy. What was in those oils again?”
“Nothing dangerous.”
That’s where she was wrong. Because something powerful was coursing through his veins, taking control of his thoughts. And if he was reading her expression correctly, she was feeling its effects, too.
“Hey.” His thumbs stroked along her jawline, the soft skin creating an addiction that he didn’t want to fight. “If I kissed you—in this ridiculous towel—what would you do?”
A dimple played peekaboo in her cheek. “Maybe you should try it and find out.”
Her smile said this was one time that she wasn’t going to put him on the ground with a sweep of her leg.
So Roque lowered his head and slid his mouth against hers.
* * *
The second he touched her lips, Amy melted inside. She’d enjoyed the last fifteen minutes of that massage far too much. His muscles were firm beneath his skin, not flaccid the way she would expect them to be. He felt like an athlete. Even though he was no longer one.
His lips were firm as well, moving over hers in a way that sparked tiny fires of need all along her nerve endings. God, she couldn’t believe this was happening. It was like he’d somehow read her thoughts and was thanking her for making him feel better.
Only this didn’t feel like it was done out of duty. Or gratitude. It felt like he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
A fling. Wasn’t that what she’d envisioned having with some stranger? Hadn’t she seen it as a way to jump-start her life and send her in a new direction?
Well, who needed a stranger when she had the perfect man right here in her arms. Someone she knew...trusted. Someone who was safe. Someone whose skin she’d already touched and wanted to touch again. In a completely different way.
She didn’t need commitment. Didn’t want it. Not the way she’d wanted it in the past, only to be disappointed when the man she’d cared about had suddenly pulled away without so much as an excuse or a goodbye. That had hurt. Enough to not want to repeat that experience.
But she didn’t need promises of a future from this particular man.
Amy settled in to enjoy, wanting nothing more than to be swept to bed and revel in his lovemaking.
Only he wasn’t going to be able to sweep her up in his arms. And that was okay. She didn’t need shows of strength. She just needed him, and what he could do for her.
Her hands slid up his arms, loving the way his muscles corded beneath her touch, her fingers continuing their upward journey, before tunneling into the warm hair just above the collar of his polo shirt.
Roque’s head tilted, deepening the kiss, his palms skimming down the back of her dress, before pulling away slightly. He fingered the fabric. “What’s the name of this?” he asked as he bunched the skirt in his hands, the cool air in his apartment caressing the backs of her thighs in a way that made her squirm against him. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all day.”
“About what?” Her mind glazed over, having a
hard time thinking beyond what she felt at the front of his towel.
He smiled against her mouth. “This material with its tiny little holes. It looks so sweet and innocent, but there’s a warm sexy side to it that makes me want to explore each and every inch of it.”
Thank God that bubbling awareness hadn’t been completely one-sided. She’d been more and more conscious of it as the day went by. At least until she’d kicked his feet out from under him.
“Eyelet. I don’t know what it is in Portuguese.”
“Mmm... I don’t, either.” His lips ran over her jawline and down her throat, the heat from his mouth almost unbearable. And when he reached the sweetheart neckline of the dress, he brushed along the dips and curves, making her moan. Still keeping the fabric behind her gathered up, he used the fingers of his other hand to find the zipper at the back of her dress, easing it down until he reached her waist. Then he traveled back up, finding the strap of her bra and tugging it slightly. “So you do have one on. This time.”
So he had noticed that first day that she wasn’t wearing one. Her senses went up in flames.
She didn’t want him laying her down on the couch, since she’d worked on him there. This was one time when she really didn’t want to mix business with pleasure. Plus, Rachel had come out a couple of times, trying to get their attention, and Amy would rather not have to share Roque with her right now.
Maybe he read her thoughts, because he gave her mouth a hard kiss. “I’m thinking I’d like to be somewhere else. Somewhere a little more private.”
Relief swamped through her.
“I was just thinking that myself,” she murmured.
Letting her dress go, he took her hand and pulled her along with him until he reached the back of the apartment, going through a door, which he nudged shut behind them. She took a second to take in her surroundings.
A huge bed, clad in a plain brown quilted spread, sat in the center of the room, large wooden posts making it both masculine and inviting at the same time.
Or maybe that was Roque.
Reaching the bottom of her dress, he hauled it up and over her head, until she stood there wearing only her underwear and her bra, both pink. He fingered the waistline of the lacy briefs. “Are these...?”
