Page 79 of Beach Cottage Kisses

He grinned. Couldn’t help himself. Didn’t even try. “A victory cry,” he told her, holding up one crutch. “Sorry if it startled you.”

Iris blinked. Stared.

She didn’t smile.

He’d dropped his gaze to her mouth. Of its own accord, it went lower. Saw the pointed circles of clearly hard nipples pushing against the long-sleeved T-shirt she was wearing.

I’ll be damned. His only coherent thought.

Seeing him on crutches had turned her on?

He’d figure himself for being out of his right mind, for being so horny he was seeing sex everywhere, if not for the fact that Iris’s cheeks reddened and, blurting that she had to pee, she quickly brushed by him.

Apparently, they both needed her to get the hell out.

* * *

She had to go. The past couple of days had shown Scott’s body gaining in strength and endurance. She just hadn’t realized how big his arm muscles really were, until she’d seen them flexed and bulging on the outside of those crutches.

She’d seen him shirtless countless times on the beach. How could she have missed such an obvious portion of his physique?

How could she honestly be salivating over an injured man’s arms?

The size of a guy’s biceps had never turned her on before. More surge residue.

It had to be. Any other option was out.

If Scott knew that she was standing in the bathroom with her belly on fire, getting wet for him, he’d become a control freak and insist on staying away from her until they both regained their usual footing.

Which meant until Sage and Gray got home, at the very least.

That was another full week away.

And he needed bandage changes and compression wraps.

He was the patient. The one in need. It was up to her to control the situation for the good of his care.

Decision made, she pulled her satchel up onto the king-size bed she’d spent those soul-freeing late-night hours on with him, and as efficiently as possible, loaded her things inside. Her camera equipment was next.

Their agreement had been that she’d remain in house until he was on crutches.

For the sake of their friendship, now that he was mobile and capable of tending to most things himself, now that he was strong enough to do everything he needed to do, she couldn’t stay.

He was in the kitchen, at the table with his laptop in front of him, when she rolled her bigger bag out—her smaller satchel over her shoulder and on her back. Whistling for Angel, who appeared from under the table immediately to stand beside her, she didn’t meet the man’s gaze as she said, “There’s plenty of stuff in the fridge for dinner. I’ll be back at eight for compression,” and reached for the door handle. He knew where his antibiotics were. Knew when to take them.

Even if he didn’t, he could read the bottle.

She was pushing through the screen door when she heard, “Iris?”

Glancing behind her, she saw him standing, those damned muscles hugging his crutches again. “You don’t need to come back if you’d rather not.You’ve gone over and above this week. I can call Dale over…”

It was probably for the best. On the verge of nodding, she assessed him instead. Afraid suddenly that if she didn’t come back, that’s how the future would be for them. One or the other turning to someone else, walking on the beach with someone else after work, as a way to avoid what they both feared.

Ending up with the result neither of them wanted. Losing each other.

But the choice wasn’t just hers. “Is that what you’d prefer?” she asked him, point-blank, her eyes daring him to look away from her.

“No, of course not. I just—”