by AJ Renee
His arm raises, and I force myself not to react as he leans over my shoulder to reach the cabinet. The skin between his eyes creases, and his skin pales. My concern for the man trumps the sexual charge running along my skin at having him in my space.
“Viktor?”
A grunt escapes his parted lips, and I see a flash of pain as his body trembles. My arms dart out to help him back down into his chair. His breaths are shallow from his exertion, and he refuses to make eye contact with me.
Turning from him, I open cabinet after cabinet until I find a glass. “Okay, first things first. You need to do your part, Viktor.” After filling the glass with water, I hand it to him. “I need you hydrated. I don’t mean with Jack or any other alcohol. Whether you like it or not, you’ve been given a second chance. You will hate me and fight me every step of the way, but I promise you, in the end, you will thank me.”
Viktor grunts as he holds the glass filled to the brim. Temptation to admire his features tickles my senses. What is wrong with me? My throat is dry from the desire and confusion tumbling around inside me. I grab another glass and fill it for myself, even though I don’t think it’s going to help.
Between sips of water, I force myself to concentrate on the man sitting in quiet contemplation. “Drink up so we can get started.”
His lips part but no words come out. A moment passes and as he tips the glass, I watch the cords of muscle in his neck bob up and down as he guzzles the fluid.
“Fill it up and come to the living room.”
A smile tightens my face as I walk away and he does as I ask without a fight. I kneel and sift through my supplies, finally removing a thick mat and a foam roller. From my suitcase I remove a set of adjustable weights. I hear the soft roll of wheels on his carpet as he approaches me.
The odd connection I feel to this stranger is confusing the crap out of me. The desire to not only feel his body over, under, and in mine but to know the Viktor living in him—before the anger and pain coated him. I shake my head, scattering my crazy thoughts.
Our eyes meet, and his eyes focus on mine in a way that scares me. They search mine and widen a fraction. They move over my face and down my body in a caress. My body lights up, and my breath catches at the intimacy of it.
I clear my throat. “Okay, um, let’s get started.” At his slight nod, I continue. “I’m sure some of this stuff will be familiar to you. First, we both need you to take care of yourself. You need to stay hydrated, eat healthy, shower, and make sure your limb’s skin is clean, and at its best. I’m going to help you strengthen not only your residual leg, but we also need to make sure your left leg is at its strongest. We are going to work on your balance and upper body strength. You’ll be sore, but I need you to tell me if there is any pain at all. Okay?”
“Okay,” he mumbles, and his lips pull into a thin line.
“Before we start, I need to see your leg and make sure everything looks good.”
He chuckles. “Trying to get in my pants already.”
I swallow my own laughter at the way his brows raise suggestively. “You’re wearing shorts, Viktor.”
His fingers lift and push on the material to the stump shrinker, and it rolls off what is left of his calf. Kneeling before him, I look at the puckered flesh where the sutures brought his skin together. I lift my hand and press my fingers along the skin and muscles of his stump.
Viktor hisses as his leg jerks under my touch, and our gazes collide. “Does this hurt?”
His eyes darken. “No,” he grits out.
“Viktor, in order for me to help you get stronger, you need to talk to me.” Tilting my head, I study his expression. I rub the tissue and note the visual level of discomfort before his leg retreats. The muscle in his jaw tenses, and his lips pull back tight. “Okay, go ahead and put it back on.” I nod at the material in his lap.
I watch him slip the shrinker back into place and lean back with his hands over his stomach. For sitting in a wheelchair, he looks comfortable. Viktor watches me, and his attention makes me dizzy. It’s so intense that I need to force myself to break the connection.
Over the course of the next hour, I stretch the muscles in his legs and back. Teaching him along the way so he can use each motion on his own to ease any pain. Viktor listens to my words, nodding and speaking only when absolutely necessary.
None of it surprises me. Viktor is like so many of my previous patients. The path to recovery is much more than strengthening my client’s bodies. Their minds, hearts, and muscles need to heal and learn to cope with their new bodies. My ultimate goal is to help Viktor realize that his injury doesn’t have to hold him back.
“Go ahead and lie back. I need to grab something.” I reach in my bag for some instant ice I keep on hand and return to where he’s lying with his eyes closed. I take a moment to check him out without embarrassment.
He’s absolutely beautiful. Both of his arms are covered in tattoos, one design woven into the next. The T-shirt he put on earlier now covers the upper half of his body, but from his nearly naked welcome, I know his tattoos continue all the way up. A few disappear over his traps and onto his back. Stories in picture form cover him, on display for all to see. Some are in bright vivid colors, and others pop in black and white.
I observe his face and notice his full, soft, kissable lips twitch under my stare.
“Didn’t your mother teach you not to stare?”
My gaze flies to his. Dark brown eyes almost pitch-black stare into my own. Curiosity and amusement flit across them, and I clear my throat. “Sorry, I thought you were asleep.” I lie, because the truth is not only embarrassing but completely unethical.
Viktor is my patient, I remind myself.
After kneeling at his side, I slide the foam roller under his knees. Looking around me, I spot my massage oil and lean forward to grab it.
“Well hello,” his voice, now husky, teases.
Instantly I realize my error, as the new position presses my belly to his. I can feel his muscles ripple through our shirts. Desire shoots through my body and lands between my thighs. I gasp and push back with the bottle of oil in my hand.
This man has me completely off-kilter. I’m behaving like a student rather than the professional I am.
“Sorry about that,” I say to his stomach and clear my throat. It doesn’t help at all that I’ve seen what his body looks like under that shirt. My imagination would have never done him any kind of justice.
For a man who’s been relatively immobile for the last few months, he’s maintained a pretty damn great physique. This leaves me wondering how good he looked prior to his injury. Holy hell. I don’t think I would have survived seeing however many packs of abs he had then. His six-pack probably had a few six-packs. As it already is, the man still has a firm body.
I force myself to look at his face. “I’m going to remove the shrinker. After this last hour, the tissue could use a massage, and then we’ll ice it to help with any swelling.”
My fingers touch his thigh, and the hair tickles my hands. The muscle under my hand flexes as I slowly pull off the material. I rub a few drops of oil into my palm and begin massaging the stressed tissue.
At first Viktor is tense, which only makes my task more difficult. I take peeks up at his face, looking for any signs of pain. After a few minutes, he finally relaxes into my touch and his eyes close.
“I’m sorry about your mom…” The words fly out of my mouth with no warning. I hadn’t even been thinking about it.
“Me too…” Viktor’s eyes flick over my face and close again. “Thank you.”
“I never met my mother,” I confess. God, what is wrong with me? It’s like a case of verbal diarrhea.
“Why not?” he asks.
I shrug and rub the tissue, hoping my touch is soothing it. “I’m not sure. My father never really told me what happened to her.”
“Are you an only child?” Interest in my story brings a lightness to his eyes. Open curiosity and a touch of s
adness for the girl who never met her mother. My heart squeezes.
I laugh. “No. I’m the baby of the family. I have three brothers and two sisters.” Although with all their selfish ways, I would have been better off as an only child.
“Wow! Your parents were awfully busy. I can’t imagine feeding that many people.”
“It wasn’t always easy. Papa did his best,” I say fondly of my father. “My siblings weren’t always the easiest.” Easy was not a synonym that could ever be used to describe them.
When the tissue under my fingers becomes pliant, I grab the ice and activate it. “This should help alleviate any swelling and help with the soreness from today.” Once he’s settled I begin to put away my things, so I can leave after I know he’s doing okay.
I spot the wheelchair where we parked it and look around the room. “Do you have the crutches they gave you at the hospital?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles.
“I want you to use them more than the wheelchair. I know it’s a pain, but we want you to get stronger.” I zip one of my bags as he grunts, acknowledging he heard me.
Keeping my head down, I work around him. I force myself not to stop and stare. When everything but what he is using is in its place, my gaze lands on him. There’s nothing else for me to do. Nothing else to keep my shaky hands occupied. Nothing else to keep my mind from wanting to know more about him.
The air around us crackles. It doesn’t matter that this attraction is forbidden. Viktor calls to me like no other man has. It scares me to be honest. The sizzling chemistry struck me hard when the door had opened, revealing the surly, sexy man in only black boxer briefs.
“You’re staring again,” he mumbles, startling me.
A blush creeps up my face. “I’m going to go pack the car, just relax.”
The multiple trips in the cold help me keep my head. I inhale the air and let it shock my system, hoping it will dispel Viktor’s scent. In my twelve years as a physical therapist, I’ve been hit on by my clients on multiple occasions. Never has one made me want to throw caution to the wind.
Never.
Hell, he hasn’t even hit on me in the few hours we’ve now known each other. And yet here I am standing in the snow, looking up at his house and daydreaming about the feel of his large paw-like hands running up my body. These next few weeks are going to be the hardest so far in my career. Luckily, I’m sure his fit body will bounce back from this bump in the road.
“Ah! Get your shit together, Isabel!” I snap and draw in fresh air.
Viktor
I’m in hell.
I can feel the flames licking at my body. They wrap around me, snapping and burning me. Sweat pours down my face and drips between my shoulder blades.
“Viktor?” the sexy temptress calls to me.
My nostrils flare and air rushes into my lungs. Only the air isn’t clean. No, it hasn’t been clean in over a week. The smell rushes my senses, and I feel my dick twitch against my shorts.
I’m in hell, and Isabel Marchant is my guard. The one holding me prisoner. The gorgeous woman with a steel rod for a spine. Tough and sweet. Soft and firm. Heaven and hell.
For one long week, she’s been coming to my home—pushing me. Always pushing me and fuck if it hasn’t worked. Not once have I seen pity in those brilliant eyes. The times I’ve seen pride shine in those deep pools, I’ve felt like I could climb Mt. Everest.
Her soft hands have touched, grabbed, guided, and pushed me every single day she has come over. All in the name of physical therapy. At times, the touches between us linger a little longer than they should. Our breaths catch, and we stare, but neither of us cross that line.
Fuck if I don’t want to cross that line. To make her cry out my name. To make her body bend to my will. To make her mine in every way I possibly can.
At the end of each session, her magical fingers massage and work the tissue at the end of what’s left of my leg. The first time her delicate and feminine hands touched my ravaged leg, I wanted to kick her out of my home, to shout and yell obscenities.
I’m a broken man. The sight of my injury makes me cringe. This gorgeous woman touching it? It makes me want to crawl into a hole and die. She sees my discomfort, but the stubborn woman only ignores me.
After a week of no pity or disgust, I’ve managed to lie back and only grind my teeth. Her simple touch is for medical purposes, and I know this. My body on the other hand begs for its turn. Each time her skin touches mine I have to force my mind elsewhere. It’s either that or subject her to my erection. And hell if I haven’t gotten hard multiple times a day since meeting this woman.
“Viktor?” she says again, annoyance clear in each letter of my name.
I smile. “Yes, beast master?”
She chuckles, and my chest squeezes at the sultry sound. “Stop calling me beast master. Now work on your push-ups. You need to strengthen your upper body.”
“Ah…You want some more eye candy to dream about, Belle?”
I smile when Isabel rolls her eyes before asking, “Belle?”
“Well, you won’t let me call you beast master. Plus I like Belle better anyway.” My gaze drifts from her to the mat under me. “No woman is going to look at my bum leg and scars and be like, ‘Yeah, I wanna take that beast for a ride.’ I’m a broken man. They’ll just move along to the newer, younger, and whole models.” Frustration and anger boils under my skin at the confession.
The silence is deafening. I sneak a peek up at her and see shock and anger flash in her eyes. I can’t bear the fact that I did that, but it’s the truth. I straighten my body into position as she asked and start my push-ups. I’ve increased my amount in a week. I’m also doing them when she’s not around. I hope I can get back to the one-armed strength I used to possess.
On my exhale, my arms straighten and a smile teases my lips. One week of Drill Sergeant Belle has done more for my body than the weeks in the hospital or in rehab. I don’t remember feeling a shred of hope in those days. Then again, I was visiting my mom who was in a state of coma that was all my fault.
“Viktor.” Her hand lays on my lower back.
I pause. I hold my body in plank position and stare at the ground. Ripples of anger roll through me. “Don’t fucking show me pity,” I snap and look at her. “You’ve never looked at me with pity, don’t start now.” I couldn’t bare it if she started now.
Her lips stretch into a thin line. “You’re a fucking idiot.”
My brow raises in surprise. Never has the always-professional temptress cursed, and hell if I don’t find it sexy as fuck. Make-up sex with this woman has to be phenomenal—her body meeting mine thrust for thrust as we race to ecstasy.
“First off, you are far from broken. Secondly, you’re not a beast. You may have the manners of a beast, but ‘beast’ isn’t the noun I’d use for you. Although, there are plenty of women who enjoy a rough ride with a surly man. And lastly, if any woman looks at you with anything other than awe for rising after being knocked down? Then she doesn’t deserve you.”
My throat thickens, and my nose flares at her words. There isn’t anything I can say. My arms begin to shake, and I force myself to push out the rest of this exercise.
I cast her a side glance. The emotions swirling around inside me are a jumbled mess. All thanks to this beautiful woman who is only spending time with me because I’m paying her to. Okay, not me but my insurance company and aunt. It’s all the same though. She’s not here by her own free will.
Mom would have loved her.
Where the hell did that thought come from? I ask myself, and a growl of frustration rumbles through me.
Belle’s hand touches my shoulder. An electric current flows down my spine at the skin on skin contact. “Hey, I don’t want you hurting yourself. Why don’t we try—”
“I’m fine,” I snap. Grief spurs my anger, and the words sound like a whip across flesh. The sound mirrors the look of hurt that crosses Belle’s delicate face. Sitting back on my knees, I men
tally kick myself in the balls. “I’m—”
“Done?” She grabs the roll. “Lay on your back. Let’s work on those short arches again to strengthen your quads.”
Her tone is polite and curt. I hate it. I especially hate myself for putting that rigid posture in her body. I want it to go away, but there is nothing I can do but do as she’s asked.
The rest of my session goes in the same manner. She instructs me to do one exercise or another. I grunt in acknowledgment at her words and continue trying to figure out how to fix what I broke. Add the fact that I’m still unsure as to why I would consider Belle and my mother at the same time.
Belle grabs the oil after she removes my shrinker, and I prop my body on my elbows. “Hey?” I wince at the weak sound. I’m exhausted from today’s session, ready for an anti-inflammatory to ease some of the pain in my body.
“Mmhmmm,” she mumbles, eyes downcast to pouring oil in her palm.
My body shakes as I lean all my weight on one elbow and grab her wrist with my free hand. “I’m sorry.” Her gaze meets mine and I continue. “I thought of my mom and it made me grumpy, but it’s no excuse for snapping at you like that.” Air fills my lungs when I see her eyes soften a fraction.
Belle nods. “It’s fine.”
“No. No it’s not. I was an asshole, and you didn’t deserve that.”
She laughs and I can’t help but smile at the sound. “That you were. Now lie back down so I can finish up. I can’t stay past the hour today, so after I set you up with ice I need to clean up.”
Lying down like she asked, I close my eyes and force myself to relax in anticipation of her fingers on my skin. I breathe her in past the smell of my sweaty, overworked body. She’s becoming my drug, but I can’t even consider the ramifications of that fact.
Her hands still and I meet her gaze. My brows raise in question, waiting for whatever has made her look suddenly unsure.
“Umm…is there any way I can change in your bathroom? Feel free to tell me no. I know this isn’t part of patient-therapist benefits.”
