by Whitley Gray
“De nada.” Remy threw an arm around Jamie’s shoulders, gave him a shake.
The heat, the nonjudgmental words, the friendly moral support were too much. Jamie’s throat tightened. He turned toward Remy and breathed in the intoxicating scent of cologne. God, he smelled good. Like the forest in springtime. A shuddering breath got away from Jamie, and the arm tightened around him.
“’S okay,” Remy whispered next to his ear.
Gentle acceptance, undemanding comfort. Emotion swelled in Jamie’s chest. One nudge and he could kiss the guy. The urge pushed at him. Remy seemed to feel that Jamie was special, worth helping. This couldn’t be how Remy treated everyone, especially another guy.
But this wasn’t a romance. No matter how much Jamie wanted it otherwise, this was a friendship, fragile and new, not ready for the test of intimacy. With a sigh, Jamie pulled back.
“Ready to go?” Remy’s arm dropped to his waist.
“Yeah.” In slow motion, Jamie stood and tucked the crutches under his arms.
Remy let go. “Ready to solo?”
Probably not. He started forward. The room took on the appearance of an obstacle course: table here, floor lamp there—and a cord, for God’s sake. Look out for the cord. He jerked the crutch up. It went wide, right in front of Remy, and Remy tripped. Oh, fuck a duck. If he’d killed his benefactor—
In a gymnast-like move, Remy tucked and rolled. He stood and brushed himself off.
“Oh, God. I am so sorry.” Jamie’s heart pounded his ribs, riding high on adrenaline. “Are—are you okay?”
“Unscathed.”
Thank you, Jesus. “That was something else. Where’d you learn that?”
“Martial arts. Although I’ve never had to defend myself against a crutch before. If I ever meet one in a dark alley, I’ll know what to do.” Remy grinned.
Heat moved into Jamie’s cheeks. “Maybe you should walk behind me.”
“Uh, no. A backward swing could go high and catch me where it counts.”
The flames grew higher, burning Jamie’s face. He ducked his head. “I’m a menace.”
Remy chuckled. “Come on, menace, let’s go home.”
* * * *
Remy eyed Jamie’s slow progress down the steps. Okay. So Jamie and crutches were about as safe as a toddler with a scalpel.
Jamie lowered himself with painstaking precision from one step to the next, trembling with nerves and effort. And they hadn’t reached the first of the three landings.
After two more steps, and Jamie stopped on the concrete stair. Face tight and pale, he met Remy’s eyes. “Sorry. It’s a lot harder than I thought.”
“See why an elevator is necessary?” And if the fire had spread beyond the laundry room, Jamie could have been trapped.
Grimacing, Jamie nodded. “You’ll never get to your workout at this rate.”
“Sure I will.” He held out a hand. “Crutches.”
Jamie’s eyes narrowed as he handed them over. “What’s happening?”
“Hang on to the railing. Don’t bump your foot.”
“Okaaay.”
Facing Jamie, Remy bent and tossed Jamie over his shoulder.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
Hiding a smile, Remy trotted down the steps. “Part of my workout.”
Jamie’s hands clutched Remy’s sides. “We’re both going to get hurt.”
“I feel fine.” And he did. Jamie’s delectable behind was close enough to bite. The heat of his body, the strength of his hands fisted in Remy’s shirt…must be heaven to feel those strong fingers giving a back massage. Or massaging other things. Blood detoured south.
Oh, for God’s sake. Get a grip. Running shorts wouldn’t hide a damn thing. Remy willed his cock to deflate, clenched the crutches in his other hand.
“Let me down.” Jamie pounded Remy’s flank as they made the turn for the last set of stairs. A hint of panic had crept into his tone.
Weird idea to just grab him and go, Marshall. Bad idea. “Almost there.”
“No! Stop. Now.”
At the bottom of the stairway, Remy gently tipped Jamie upright and let him get his balance. He kept one arm around Jamie and held out the crutches. “You all right?”
“I asked you to stop.” Jamie swallowed, tucked the crutches under his arms, and looked away.
O…kay. Something was off. Maybe Jamie didn’t appreciate Remy’s he-man tactics. “Sorry if I offended you. I just thought it’d be easier—”
“Forget it. Can we go, please?” Jamie gave a sickly smile. “I don’t want to run into Simon.”
Remy doubted fear of seeing Simon had been the reason behind Jamie’s reaction, but for now, getting home and going for a run sounded like a good plan.
* * * *
In Jamie’s opinion, daytime TV sucked.
Even with satellite, nothing good came up. Not a single superhero movie. The bookshelves held no comic books, vintage or otherwise. Jamie doodled on a scratch pad, graphite lines forming a sketch of Remy. It’d been a long time since he’d had the urge to draw. It’d been a long time since a man had taken this kind of care with him. On the other hand, it hadn’t been long since he’d said “no” and a guy did as he pleased anyway.
It was just a lift down the stairs.
But Jamie had said no, and Remy had kept going. It had been sort of caveman-like. Controlling.
Don’t overreact. He did put me down.
He chewed on the pencil. Afterward, everything had gone back to a seemingly level playing field.
When they’d returned from the motel, Remy had eased off Jamie’s splint and put a lawn chair in the shower—“for safety,” he’d said—and turned Jamie loose with soap and water. After the initial skepticism, Jamie’d discovered it worked well. Clean was heaven.
Afterward, he’d wrapped a towel around his hips and opened the bathroom door, and Remy’s gaze had skated down Jamie’s front before darting away. For a second, Jamie had thought he’d seen a spark of desire there, but Remy had only smiled and helped him to the bedroom in a brotherly fashion, leaving him alone to get dressed.
A few minutes later, Remy had returned and replaced the splint on Jamie’s left ankle. Remy had seemed nervous, saying little and keeping contact to a minimum. He’d said good-bye and blitzed off for a run. The sense of letdown had caught Jamie by surprise.
Jamie tapped the pencil on his lip. If he knew how to cook, he could fix Remy dinner as a thank-you for everything he’d done. Living with Vince had left Jamie with the main culinary skill of dialing for takeout. The time he’d tried making spaghetti, Vince had tossed it in the trash without tasting it. Vince had hated leftovers, so there hadn’t even been microwave reheating. Hell, Jamie had ended up getting lunch at the hospital cafeteria most days.
Those days were over. Now he’d eat what he wanted when he wanted. He’d learn to cook, damn it. Maybe Remy would be willing to teach him.
I’m supposed to be thinking of a way to help him, not the other way around.
No cleaning to be done either. Remy was an excellent housekeeper. And yard work was out of the question with his ankle. God, he was a useless houseguest. He pulled out his cell phone.
“Hello?” Sarah sounded breathless.
“Hey. It’s me.”
“Hey, me. How are ya?” In the background, kids screeched.
“Better. Up and around on crutches.” On crutches and nearly wiping out innocent bystanders with the greatest of ease.
“Good. So are you still at the doctor’s house?”
“Yeah. But he’s gone right now to work out.”
“Oooh. Musclehead, huh?”
“Not at all. He’s running—training for a marathon. I screwed up his schedule.”
“Aw, honey. One day isn’t going to make that much difference. Hold on.” The phone muffled, and Sarah yelled something unintelligible. “Okay. I’m back. The boys are trying to murder each other. Superman and Batman are not friends, no matter what they tell you.�
�
“It’s that superpower-envy thing.” Jamie chuckled.
“I guess. It’s just that—” A crash followed by a howl overtook the words. “Aw, frick. Gotta go. Behave.”
And she was gone. Jamie snapped the phone shut and grinned. With luck, the superheroes wouldn’t need stitches.
Chapter Six
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Remy pulled into the garage and turned off the ignition, feeling the muscles cramping up from hips to toes. Tension ran up his back into his shoulders and curled around the base of his skull. Three in the afternoon, and he’d burned out his legs. Idiot.
Considering he knew better, why had he convinced himself he could do ten miles? Normal was six, and eight was the plan for the week. Missing a day didn’t mean making it up all at once. At this rate, he wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning.
Ibuprofen, a hot shower, and prayer.
Or maybe an ice bath and prayer.
The engine pinged as it cooled. He eased out of the car, wincing at the knots forming in his calves. So not the plan. Plus, he needed to call Brett and ask him to help retrieve Jamie’s vehicle from the park, before something happened. It had been fine today, but it wasn’t a good idea to leave it there.
Skirting the rear of the car, Remy shuffled next to the wall, avoiding the panoply of snow shovels and rakes. He exited through the side entrance and stalked stiff-legged around to the back of the house. Jamie wasn’t on the patio anymore. Maybe he’d decided to take a nap. He unlocked the door and stepped into the kitchen. A trace of bacon scented the air. “Jamie? I’m back.”
Silence.
Through the dining room and on to the living room. Empty. Remy rubbed his quadriceps. “Jamie?”
Only the faint ticking of the clock on the mantel.
Had he called his sister and left? But surely he’d wait until Remy got home or at least leave a note. A knot formed beneath his sternum. He hadn’t gotten enough time, and if Jamie had left…
Bedroom. Remy hobbled down the hall. The door to the guest room sat ajar. Holding his breath, he glanced in.
Thank God.
Jamie reclined on the bed, eyes closed. His ankle was propped on a couple of pillows and topped with an ice pack. A book rested in his lap, and he wore earphones. No wonder he couldn’t hear me. Remy cleared his throat and then knocked.
Jamie jumped and tugged out an earbud. “Hey. Didn’t hear you.”
Remy breathed a sigh of relief. Ridiculous to be so happy the guy was still here. “Are you okay? Pain?”
“Nope. Ice packs have made a new man out of me.”
A cramp in the thigh stole Remy’s breath. “I’ll start dinner after my shower. Sound okay?”
Jamie pushed up straight, and his blue-eyed gaze locked on Remy. “You’re limping. Did you get hurt?”
“Muscle cramps.” He grimaced. “Nothing a shower won’t fix.”
A smile started slow and like a rising sun spread over Jamie’s face in a dazzling display. “Let me give you a massage.”
Now he couldn’t have heard right. “What?”
“A therapeutic massage. It’s what I do for a living.” Jamie held up his hands. “Ten fingers, available right now.”
Sounded like a proposition. But Jamie’s face showed no guile, no come-hither sexiness. Remy rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know if that’s—”
“I worked at a sports medicine clinic before I moved here. I have lots of experience.”
Remy planted his fists on his hips. Jamie’s hands on him would be awesome. Maybe too awesome. Remy wasn’t sure his body would know it was platonic.
“C’mon. I guarantee it’ll help.” Jamie rubbed his palms together. Muscles moved under the pale skin of his arms.
Did Remy want to recover and run that marathon? Or just suffer through, knowing he’d passed up a chance to ease the pain and get back to training? “Let me grab a shower first. Back in a few.”
* * * *
“Ready?” Jamie stood on one foot next to the bed and patted the comforter.
Remy swallowed and ran a towel over his hair. Suddenly a pair of boxer briefs didn’t seem like enough of a barrier. Maybe he should make do with Icy Hot and a heat wrap. Or an ice bath. “You sure you’re up to this?”
“Yeah. It won’t be as good as a table, but I can manage.”
“You can’t weight-bear on that ankle, and standing on one foot isn’t safe.”
“I know. I’ll sit next to you while you lie on the bed. And it’ll help me get an idea of whether I might be able to work.”
“In the name of gainful employment, then.” Remy approached the bed and draped the towel over the footboard, then lay down on his stomach. He rested his chin on his folded arms.
Jamie settled on the bed next to his hip. “Scoot over a bit, would you?”
Grunting, Remy scooted.
“I’m going to use lotion, if that’s okay with you.”
“Fine.”
A snap, and a juicy squirt. Very suggestive, under other circumstances. A light fragrance met his nose. Melon, fresh and cool. Hands closed on Remy’s shoulders and commenced with a hard squeeze to the trapezius. Remy gasped. God, the guy was strong.
The hands relaxed. “Okay?”
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
Gentle kneading along the ridges of tight muscle progressed to the deep probing of thumbs along Remy’s spine. Jamie’s fingers stroked outward and down, working toward the small of Remy’s back. The heat of Jamie’s hands and the rhythmic motion woke Remy’s libido, and blood pulsed to his groin. He bit back a groan. Crap.
Jamie paused. “Is it too hard?”
“Maybe a little.” Maybe a lot. If you only knew. Beneath Remy, his cock swelled against the mattress, and he shifted. No one had ever given him a rubdown like this.
“You’re really tense—tight as piano wire.” Cool lotion hit Remy between the shoulder blades, and he jumped. “Sorry.” Jamie’s voice came from near his ear.
Remy grunted, fisted his hands beneath his chin.
“Can you relax your arms by your sides?”
Pulling his hands free, Remy stretched his arms down next to his body. The warm pressure of Jamie’s hip pressed against Remy’s hand, trapping it between them.
The rocking motion continued as Jamie worked, releasing the kinks from Remy’s neck and back. This was a great massage—relaxing and erotic. He clamped down on the urge to hump against the mattress. The kneading skipped over the muscles of Remy’s ass—thank God—and resumed over his hamstrings, long strokes down to his toes. So good… His bones dissolved in pleasure and desire smoothed into drowsiness.
“Turn over,” Jamie murmured.
“Mmm?” He was comfortable right here.
“Turn over.”
Rolling to his back, Remy blinked a couple of times. He’d almost been asleep. They must be finished. The massage hadn’t lasted as long as Remy had hoped. As far as he was concerned, Jamie could keep touching him in any capacity. For a moment, Jamie studied Remy’s face, as if gauging his response. “Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks. Haven’t been this relaxed in months.”
Jamie’s gaze darted to Remy’s hips, then up to his face, settling on his mouth for a second before meeting Remy’s eyes. “Would you like me to work on this side?”
Glancing at his own groin, warmth hit Remy’s cheeks. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. As he’d relaxed his erection had deflated, but a damp spot on the front of his boxer briefs screamed a silent confession.
Jamie licked his lips, kicking off a hunger in Remy’s gut. Those blue eyes were sucking him in, drowning him in desire. I need to get out of here before I do something I shouldn’t.
“Remy?”
What’s happening? If he’d read this wrong, making a move could be disastrous. Remy chanced stroking the masseuse’s arm with his fingertips. “Do you want to… work on this side?”
For an eternity, Jamie remained motionless.
That ha
d to be a “no.” Whatever Remy thought he’d seen in Jamie’s eyes, it hadn’t been an invitation. Nothing risked, nothing gained. Remy sat up. Advil and Icy Hot.
With a sigh, Jamie pushed the damp hair off Remy’s forehead. The touch sent a shock of awareness straight to his cock, and Remy couldn’t convince it to remain flaccid. He let his eyes drift shut.
Warm breath hit his lips, and he opened his eyes. All he had to do was lean in and this would go forward. This was such a bad idea. The worst. Don’t do this. He’s practically your patient. Just get up and walk away.
He slid his palm around Jamie’s neck. Soft curls, warm skin. They bumped noses, chins, and then they were kissing. The roughness of unshaven jaws scraping, smooth lips moving in harmony. Remy had missed this. It was exciting, invigorating. The gentle probe of Jamie’s tongue parted Remy’s lips. Deeper—good. Jamie tasted of citrus and sunshine. Remy lay back, pulling Jamie with him.
“You’re…trembling,” Remy said in surprise. “Are you—is this okay?”
Jamie slid to the side and stretched out next to him. “Yes. I want to be here.”
“Yeah? Because we don’t have to. You know that, right?”
“Yep.” Heated lips traveled over Remy’s neck to his collarbone, sucked a kiss there, and he moaned. Jamie’s echoing moan hardened Remy like surgical steel. He tugged at Jamie’s shirt, got it off. Buttery skin, nipples the color of coffee with cream in a field of sparse blond hair. Smiling, he dipped his head to the small nubs, licking them to hard peaks until Jamie thrashed and pressed his hips to Remy’s.
They ground against each other, cocks poking at clothing in search of relief. Remy slid a hand to the small of Jamie’s back and dived beneath the waistband of his shorts and briefs to squeeze his ass. Months had passed since Remy had caressed another man, and for a moment he savored the texture of bare skin over hard muscle, sweet and round.
A firm grip closed on Remy’s dick through his underwear and he gasped. Oh, God. They were really doing this. With both hands, he unbuttoned Jamie’s shorts and lowered the zipper, taking it slow in case Jamie wanted to call a halt to the proceedings.
