Page 11

M etal walked stiffly into the kitchen. Man that was close. Looking down into that incredibly pretty face, sky blue eyes fixed on his, lips swollen and wet—fuck, walking away had been hard .

About as hard as his dick.

He’d never been so happy to have a woman staring at his face. Usually that was a deal-breaker for sex. His face wasn’t what got chicks into his bed. They usually looked at his body and often their gaze just went straight to his junk. Some women knew he’d been a SEAL and wanted a piece of that. That was sex he didn’t want to have, because they either wanted to fuck a killer or wanted to see if he got violent.

A couple of chicks who wanted to be hurt left him feeling sick and sad. He made sure what he was getting into nowadays and if there was even a whiff of that, of a woman wanting to be hurt, he was out faster’n shit through a goose, as a teammate from Alabama used to say.

O’Brien men married strong women who wanted respect as well as love. O’Brien men didn’t hurt women. They hurt men who hurt women.

No one had ever looked him square in the face as if he were King of the World the way Felicity had. Especially not a woman who looked like Felicity.

One kiss. Almost chaste except for a little tongue and boom! Hard as a rock. So he’d been really glad she seemed to be fascinated by his face because if her gaze went lower he’d have been busted.

Jesus.

She was fucking wounded . Had fucking stitches . What was wrong with him? He was a freaking medic. Medics took healing people really seriously. He sure as hell did. The world was broken and anything he could do to put a little of it back together again, well—he was there.

He was hard-wired to be there. The O’Briens had always been there, a long line of cops and firefighters and whenever there was a war, there were O’Briens stepping up to volunteer, mostly in the Marines.

He’d done both—he’d fought and he’d healed.

This was the very first time he wanted to fuck someone he’d patched up. It was a weird feeling, except, well look at her. He peeked over his shoulder for a second from the living room and their eyes met and he felt a punch to his chest.

God she was so fucking beautiful. And so freaking smart too. Genius level, Lauren had said. Father a Nobel. Way way out of his league.

His dick had no business getting involved, it should just shut up and stay down. The bad thing was he’d have to be a dead man not to react to beauty and brains. She was incredibly desireable, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and where he worked was lousy with beautiful women. His two bosses were married to women famous for their beauty. Bud’s wife was incredibly pretty. And Lauren was no slouch either. None of them could match Felicity, though, or whatever her name was.

That was another thing that caught him, tugged at his heart. Beautiful and smart as she was, she was also intensely vulnerable. There’d been something so lost and lonely about her as she told her story, her family’s story. She’d been like a displaced person all her life, growing up clandestinely learning Russian.

His Irish forebears had done that, generations ago, in the scoil ghairid , the hedge schools. They’d taught their kids Gaelic, though it was against the law. At least they’d all been together. It had just been Felicity and her mom, a woman homesick for her country and a confused young girl, being taught to keep herself secret and separate.

It didn’t take a degree in psychology to realize how isolated Felicity must have been growing up, with one name after another, not daring to tell anyone who she really was.

Not like him. He’d always known exactly who he was, Sean Aiden O’Brien, of the Staten Island O’Briens. An offshoot of the Brooklyn O’Briens and Long Island O’Briens. There’d been six of them in his household and there had been another fifty spread out over the New York area—aunts, uncles, cousins. They were loud, boisterous, quick to anger and quick to forgive. Any given holiday their house had filled up with O’Briens and Callahans, tow headed and ginger cousins rolling in the grass like puppies. He’d grown up in a world of loving family as far as the eye could see and the heart could feel.

She’d grown up in the shadows and he’d grown up in the light.

That twisted his heart. Cracked it open, actually.

Metal thought he’d left his heart behind in Afghanistan but apparently he hadn’t because he could feel it beating hard and fast in his chest. And he was a man whose heart rate didn’t go up when intubating a fallen teammate with bullets flying.

Sometimes, in combat, he’d see things with a medical eye. He’d see a guy zigging instead of zagging and think—a bullet’s going to catch him. He’d see a teammate react too slowly or react with anger instead of keeping a cool head and he knew that teammate was a goner. If not today, then tomorrow.

So that’s how he recognized that he was heading straight for heartbreak, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He made her tea, walked into the bedroom and stopped.

She was lying in his bed, sound asleep, hair a golden halo around her face, one slender graceful hand lying on the bedspread. Well, she needed sleep more than she needed a cup of tea. He went back into the kitchen and poured the hot tea into a one cup thermos and set it on the bedside table, then frowned.

She was making small noises. No, he thought as he bent further, she was trying to suppress the noise, as if stifling cries in her sleep. It was painful to hear, both terror and repression at the same time. Reliving her attack in a nightmare. Her eyes were scrolling back and forth under her eyelids, as if she were frantically looking around, trying to find her attacker.

The sick fuck . Metal didn’t do anger. He’d gone through four fucking years of war without feeling anything but cold righteous duty. But right now? Right now a surge of rage burst to life inside him. He wished he had the fucker in front of him right now because he’d gouge his eyes out, tear his dick off, crush his balls with his hands and then slit his throat. The feelings were savage, unfamiliar.

He watched her, terrified in her sleep. Beads of sweat formed along her temples. Her feet suddenly scissored under the covers; she was running away. Her throat clicked, mouth tightly shut against screams, coming out as whimpers.

God, those whimpers were breaking his heart. He didn’t want to wake her up but he couldn’t stand to hear them any longer. He touched her shoulder and she quietened instantly. Her face smoothed out, her legs stopped moving restlessly. She reached out in her sleep and her hand curled around his and he could see her move back down into a restorative sleep.

Because he held her hand.

Ah, honey, he thought. He hooked a chair with his foot and sat down, without breaking her hold on him. Man, if holding his hand brought her peace and a feeling of safety, he’d sit here for the next ten years.

He’d sat in the chair by her bed all last night, just in case she had a bad reaction to the antibiotics or woke up in pain. And he was perfectly prepared to sit in this chair by her side all this night, too. He could go without sleep. All SEALs could, they’d been trained and trained hard to do it.

And right now, he’d do anything, give anything to keep that peaceful expression on her beautiful face. Sitting in a chair was nothing.

So he held her hand and watched over her.

Felicity woke up slowly, like floating, easy and soft and gentle. She was holding something warm and hard and the warmth from her hand spread through her whole body.

Just before waking up she’d been dreaming about something but she couldn’t remember what. A good dream, though. She rarely had those, most of her dreams were dark. In most dreams she was lost and afraid and alone. More times than she could count she would wake up with a start at three o’clock in the morning, sweating and cold and afraid. There was always plenty of milk in the fridge because a bad dream called for a cup of hot milk and honey. But not this dream. It was about emotions more than events, and the emotions were connected to a warm safe place, some kind of haven.

She never had dreams like this so she kept her eyes closed, savoring everything. Her bed felt slightly different but comfortable nonetheless. The comforter felt heavier than usual. She was a little sore along her side, but there was no pain. It was all good. The dream slowly morphed into reality, but she wanted to cling to the dream as long as she could. Finally she opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, blinking, unsettled. Her ceiling was pale yellow. This ceiling was gray.

But the floaty feeling persisted.

Her hand was held in a firm, warm clasp. She lowered her eyes, looked at her hand, followed up a very large muscled arm to enormously broad shoulders and bright light brown eyes.

Sean. Metal.

The man she’d kissed last night. Not just kissed but kissed . The kind of kiss that was a prelude to sex. Sex had definitely been in the air. He’d been aroused and, well, so had she. Her body held memories of that arousal. It had felt like Metal had thrown some kind of switch and her body had been replaced by someone else’s, the feelings had been so strange and new. However strange and new, though, they had been totally unmistakeable. A billion years of evolution had suddenly pushed past her IT-obssessed brain and taken over her body.

What she had felt had been pure sex.

Again, she blushed a bright red, all the blood in her body rising to her face. It was a curse and had been all her life. Her emotions could be read on her skin by just about anybody who wasn’t into computers. One of the many reasons she avoided normal people.

“Morning.” His deep voice was a soft rumble. As if not wanting to startle her. He was watching her face carefully and if he noticed she was flushed a bright red he didn’t say anything. His own face had been flushed last night but it definitely hadn’t been from embarrassment.

“Morning.” She looked back down at her hand in his. Her hand had been in his for a long time. Her skin told her that. “Did you sleep at all or did you sit here holding my hand all night?”

He didn’t answer which was an answer in itself. She sighed. “You didn’t have to?—”

“Are you hungry?” he interrupted her.

She was about to answer no when all of a sudden a huge appetite roared into being in her. Extraordinary. She wasn’t a big eater, she stayed home all day and she snacked with fruit or yogurt, so hunger was never an issue. Right now it felt like a hungry lion woke up in her and she was ravenous.

“Actually, I am.” Even she could hear the amazement in her voice.

Metal nodded. “Good. That’s a really good sign of healing. I’ll change your dressing later but first how about breakfast?”

The sky outside the window was dark and bruised looking. “What time is it?”

“Around nine.”

“I slept for sixteen hours!”

“Yup. And you look it. You look really rested. But I’ll bet right now you need to use the bathroom.”

As he said the words, she felt an enormous urge to pee. “Yeah.”

“Let me help you and you can look at yourself in the mirror. Color has returned to your face, it’s amazing. So here’s how it’s going to work. I’ll help you to the bathroom and back and bring you some breakfast, which I think you should have in bed since it’s only us. I mean, what’s the point of being sick if you can’t have breakfast in bed? And then afterward, we’ll change the dressing and I can help you wash.”

Help her wash. She’d have to be, um, naked for that to happen, wouldn’t she? Ordinarily she’d shy away from that thought but instead she had an image of her naked and Metal’s huge hands on her, smoothing a sponge over her and her entire body blossomed into heat.

She huffed out a breath in reply, totally unable to form words.

“Good.” He gently pulled back the blankets and lifted her out and up, setting her on her feet. “Can you stand? Do you want me to carry you?”

Wow. Being carried again. It had been amazing, of course she wanted him to carry her. But she found she could stand on her feet. Honesty and pleasure vied for a brief violent moment inside her and with a sigh of regret, honesty won.

“I can stand, thanks.”

It was really true. Standing, walking would have been beyond her 24 hours earlier but now she stood without swaying. She felt a little weak but nothing like the day before. She felt herself again. And though she wasn’t going to be carried to the bathroom—her new favorite mode of transportation—he kept a big arm around her back as she walked and that was second best after being carried. She walked normally but slowly, without shuffling, but she also had that strong arm right there, waiting to catch her if she had any problems at all.

It made her confident that she wouldn’t, couldn’t fall.

He stopped at the bathroom door. Raised his eyebrows.

“I can do this part myself,” she said and placed a palm against his chest. Underneath her hand was a slab of muscle, hard and dense. Surprisingly, he placed a large hand over hers, as if to keep her hand where it was.

As if her hand really wanted to be somewhere else insteading of touching the most exciting male chest she’d ever seen.

“Call me if you need me.” The tone wasn’t a request it was an order. “I’ll be right outside.”

She nodded, dropped her hand, went into the bathroom and used the toilet. Washing her hands in the sink she looked at herself carefully in the mirror. She looked…normal. Her stay at home face, sure. No makeup, no lipstick. But her skin color was good and her eyes looked bright, the whites clear.

The tee had to go, though. She’d been wearing it for two days. Though it was kind of cool that she was wearing Metal’s tee. To her knowledge she’d never worn anyone else’s clothing. It was an odd sensation, wearing someone else’s garment so close to her skin. It was blindingly white, very soft, washed many times, and huge on her. It could have been a summer nightgown except it gaped so large at the throat.

She’d ask for another one after she washed. Somewhere someone was enjoying her carry on with a pretty cotton nightgown with tiny roses that she’d ordered online.

On the sink was a brand new sealed toothbrush and a travel-sized tube of toothpaste. Smiling, she picked it up and brushed her teeth.

She looked at herself again in the mirror and found that she looked almost exactly as she looked every morning. Better, even. Most mornings she hadn’t slept for sixteen hours. The only difference was the slight bulge on her right side which were the bandages. Which Metal would soon change.

There would be healthy flesh beneath the bandages, she could feel it. Stretching, she felt the pull of the stitches but no pain at all. All in all, considering she’d been slashed three days ago, she was in pretty good shape. Some hot food in her stomach and she’d be in great shape.

True to his word, Metal was waiting for her right outside the bathroom. He smiled when he saw her, though he checked her out head to toe. He stuck his elbow out. “Ma’am? May I have the pleasure?”

Oh yeah. “Why yes, sir, indeed, sir. Most chivalrous of you.” Two could play at that game.

He walked her back to the bed and she got in. A wooden board rested against the mattress. He pulled her up against the bedstead as if she were a doll, settled the pillows at her back, and pulled up the board. Flipping open two legs he placed it across her lap.

“A bed tray!” Felicity looked him up and down. Healthy as a horse, strong and fit. The strongest and fittest man she’d ever seen, in fact. “Have you been sick?”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am. Wounded, yes, but never sick.”

“Do you have a bed tray because you recovered from your wounds here? It seems a strange thing for someone who looks as healthy as you to have.”

“Nah. Made it for you. Look.” He directed her eyes and fingers to the undersides of the edges where neat small brass brackets held the bed tray legs open, allowing them to be folded back to the bottom of the tray when not in use. “Took a wooden tray and adapted it so you can eat in bed. Like I said, what’s the use of being knifed if you don’t get to eat in bed?”

She studied the hinges. They were absolutely perfect. There was nothing to tell that this wasn’t a commercial bed tray, that he had adapted it. The workmanship was exquisite. He’d done that for her. She had no idea when. Maybe while she had been asleep, only she seemed to have a sensory memory of him holding her hand all night. At some point, though, he’d taken the time and trouble to fashion the bed tray for her.

“Thanks.” She looked up at him, fingering the brass hinges. “That was incredibly thoughtful of you.”

He waved that away. “If you’re ready, then we can have breakfast together in here.”

“Oh!” Her stomach rumbled audibly and he smiled, patting the air as if saying patience .

“Hold that thought. Breakfast. Coming right up.”

It was an amazing breakfast. Oatmeal with honey and raisins, hot scones, slices of baked ham, more of that wholewheat bread and a cheese platter. And a bottomless thermos of hot tea.

Metal put the plate and bowl and a huge mug of tea on her bed tray and used the bedside table as his own tray. He piled his plate with about three times the food she had.

“You first.” He was holding a spoonful of oatmeal in front of her. As soon as she opened her mouth he tipped the contents in. A friendly gesture but his face wasn’t looking friendly. He looked absolutely completely focused on her.

It was unsettling and sexy as hell to have this man so totally concentrated on her. It was partly the medic in him. He was studying her to see how she was.

And she was fine, just fine.

But there was also pure male interest. The way he looked at her, watched the food disappear into her mouth, observing every movement of her lips. She watched his mouth too.

At one point, they both lifted their gazes at exactly the same moment. With any other man she’d have laughed but she didn’t feel like laughing. They were watching each other so intently the moment felt solemn.

She dropped her gaze back to her food.

“Are you the cook or do you have a sister or significant other who brings you things?” she asked, then realized what that sounded like. It sounded like she was asking him if he was taken. Which wasn’t what she meant, of course. Much.

Metal slowly put down the slice of bread he was eating and turned to look her full in the face, expression sober. Felicity was blushing again, cursing herself. She was blurting things out because she was so weak and had no filter between brain and mouth. Her real curse was that she was unusued to interacting with people. She was particularly unused to interacting with huge macho guys she happened to find very interesting. If she survived this, she was going to make a point of spending time with men who weren’t geeks. Practice up.

His face was completely without expression. Not blank so much as unreadable. “That was a question,” he said.

Felicity nodded. No use pretending.

“The answer is no. No mother, no sister, no significant other. No unsignificant other, either. No one. You?”

The question stumped her for a second and she knew her face was showing the real kind of blank, as in uncomprehending. Then of course she understood that he was asking the same question back. Was she in a relationship?

Well…no. She seemed to have this relationship force field around her. Men simply bounced off it. And of course she spent most of her time in the house.

No one had ever even asked her if she was with someone. Not even her few geeky boyfriends. They lunged at her when they got their courage together and it had much more to do with them getting in touch with their own gonads than with her.

“No,” she answered. “No one. Just like you.”

“Why?”

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

Metal narrowed his eyes and looked her over, making no move to hide what he was doing. “You’re beautiful and smart and have all your limbs and teeth from what I can tell. Why on earth aren’t you with someone? What’s wrong with the guys where you live? They blind or have some kind of illness or something?”

“I…don’t get out much. Hardly ever, as a matter of fact. This trip to Portland was my first trip out of town in almost a year. I work on my computer and nowadays it’s easy just to order everything online…” Her voice trailed off as he moved closer.

Metal reached across her to lift the tray away, then planted a big hand against her left hip, another against her right hip, leaning forward until his nose practically touched hers. His movements were slow, deliberate and he gave her plenty of time to object if she wanted to. Which was crazy of course. Why would she want to object?

His face came closer, closer, closer until it was so close it was out of focus and she closed her eyes. Felt the molecules of air shift as he moved his head toward hers then he put his mouth on hers and thought stopped.

She was pure sensation, feeling not thinking. Her brain just switched off, like in sleep only better. Because she was aware of the sensations.

His lips were soft but his stubble was rough against her skin. He somehow moved above her, in a dominant position and that excited her so much it scared her. He lifted his mouth for a second, so close she could feel his breath—actually she felt like she was breathing through him. When he spoke, his lips were against hers, voice so deep it seemed to reverberate throughout her chest.

“I’m glad you aren’t with anybody. Because you are now.”

A beauty like Felicity, free. Man. Opportunities like this just didn’t come his way that often. In battle Metal had two jobs to do—kill and save his guys’ lives. So every ounce of opportunity that came his way, he took it, even a split second opening.

For a second, when she told him she was free—against all odds, against the way the world should be organized because someone like her should be snapped up immediately—she moved toward him. Her mouth opened slightly as she watched him, her hand unfurled, her shoulders relaxed.

She had no idea what she was saying with her body language, but he did.

They were subtle signs but Metal was used to reading subtle signs. He’d once caught a tiny twitch just as a teammate was being zipped up in a body bag. The teammate had been alive, just barely, and Metal saved his life. He got Christmas cards from the guy, now retired, living with his wife and his dog.

That was all in the land of death Metal had left behind. This— this was the land of life, oh God yes. Felicity was life itself.

Moving in on her, moving to kiss her, felt like plugging into something vast. Like plugging into the world itself.

He was moving real slow, she could stop him at any time. But she wasn’t stopping him. Nope. When his mouth settled back on hers, she opened up for him, pressing against him, her tongue stroking his.

At the touch of her tongue his dick surged in his pants, from zero to hero in about two seconds. Full blown erection, too, not some half assed thing from looking at a pretty woman.

Nope, below the waist he was up and ready for action. He wanted to woo her, court her. He wasn’t good at it but he’d seen movies. Except usually the wooing required wit and charm, things he lacked. And on top of that, she had stitches. They were clean and they wouldn’t hurt but fucking in the missionary position was out of the question. So those were two good reasons not to jump her, lift up his tee on her, shove his jeans down and slide right in, which is precisely what he wanted to do.

Lucky thing they were taught discipline in the Teams.

He pulled away a little, looking down at her. Fuck she was beautiful. The Russians were known for their beautiful women. But she was 100% nerd, and she couldn’t see her own attraction.

He saw it, oh yeah.

Metal watched as Felicity’s eyes fluttered open and smiled at her. It was a real smile. He didn’t smile often, mainly he just bared his teeth, so he knew the difference. She was a little mussed, a little confused, completely desireable.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” she answered.

“You know I’m a medic, yeah?”

She nodded, watching his eyes carefully.

“So there’s this whole new field of diagnostics to find out if you’re okay. It works really well on women. When being examined by a man.”

Now she was smiling, already figuring out where he was going with this. Smart lady. “I haven’t heard of that, but it sounds interesting.”

Interesting, oh yeah. He nuzzled the soft skin behind her ear, licked it, felt her shudder. He would have smiled back at her but suddenly he didn’t feel like smiling. He felt like biting, like crawling on top of her and holding her arms up over her head with one hand and sliding the other up under that huge tee, cupping a soft breast. He felt like sliding her legs apart with his and rubbing his erection against her. He felt like?—

Stop that , he told himself. His hard-on was already painful, no use frustrating himself. Concentrate on the here and now, not on what he wanted to do but wouldn’t and couldn’t.

And anyway the here and now was really great.

“Yeah.” He sniffed her, trying not to sound like a dog. But fuck she smelled good. She smelled of his plain soap but also of something else right underneath. Something fresh and enticing. Her own scent and the hint of female arousal under it. Mmm.

Mouth and nose on one side of her neck, hand cupping the other side, he could feel and see her arousal. Nothing like his, of course. His dick was sending out signals that were probably interfering with cellphone reception. He could feel his heartbeat in his dick. But she was with him, she wanted this. There was no mistaking it and if he didn’t feel she was turned on he’d get up off her and move far away. Maybe tie himself to something like those Greeks did when they sailed past the sirens. She was tilting her head slightly into his hand, giving his nose and mouth more access.

“So how does it work?” she asked, voice a little breathless.

“Hm?” He was drunk on her skin. Every time she blushed, she gave off a little burst of heat and a little puff of her scent. She blushed often, that pale ivory skin going a delightful pink. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a woman blush. When she blushed she went from very, very pretty to stunning. “What works?”

He could feel her cheeks move as she smiled. “This new therapy of yours. How does it work?”

“Touch.” The hand cupping her neck moved down, shifted the gaping neck of his tee to one side uncovering delicate collar bones. “Dermotherapy. Just invented it. Healing by touch.” His hand shifted again and the tee fell off one shoulder and looking down at that pale perfect skin he saw the beginning of the swell of her breast.

Her eyes were half closed. “Dermotherapy, huh?”

“That’s right.” Metal curved his hand over one smooth shoulder. It was like touching warm satin, only better. “I’m going to trademark it. Make a million dollars.”

“Not in Russia you won’t. Do you know what ‘dermo’ means in Russian?”

Metal pulled back and shook his head, keeping his eyes on hers. Such a brilliant blue, like pieces of the summer sky. “No idea.”

Felicity huffed out a laugh. “It means shit. So that won’t go over so well, will it? Shit therapy.”

“Nope. Not good. Public relations nightmare. Okay, let’s rename it kiss therapy.” He planted little kisses all along her long, pale neck, along her delicate jawline, back down along her shoulder. He bit her, just a little, right where the neck met the shoulder and felt her jolt. “How do you say kiss in Russian?

“Pobeluy.”

Weird word. He gave an internal shrug. Now he could say it in Russian. He’d say it in Martian if that would help. “Pobeluy me.”

She laughed, touched his neck, then opened her hands like a little blossom, stroking him. She leaned forward and put her mouth on his.

Jesus. Sensory overload. Touching her, her mouth open under his, tongue stroking his…it was more exciting than fucking other women. Under his fingers on her neck he could feel the blood pumping hard through her veins. His was, too. He was already so excited he couldn’t breathe. Good thing fucking was off the table because he’d have a freaking stroke. Die right here, in his bed, brain simply blasted from lust.

Metal couldn’t reach her breast from the tee’s collar. But! He was a good strategist and forward thinker. His hand bunched the bottom of the tee and slowly pulled it over her head. She lifted her arms for him, which was good. Showed she was in the game. He wanted her so badly he wondered whether he was generating thought waves that could be messing with her head.

He wasn’t. Or maybe he was but she wasn’t picking up on them. She was okay with being naked for him.

Naked. God.

Metal nearly forgot to breathe as he lifted his head and looked down at her. The rest of her was just as beautiful as her face. Pale and smooth and absolutely perfect. Like someone had reached into his head and pulled out his ideal woman.

Even the long strip of gauze along her side didn’t detract from her beauty. It simply reminded him that she was vulnerable. It was a hard world and wasn’t too forgiving to the soft and gentle, however smart they were. Whatever happened between them, no one would ever hurt her again.

There were images of naked women more or less everywhere these days. Pneumatic, pumped, sometimes even rubbery looking. Silicone and plastic and spray tans.

Felicity looked like a woman, slender, delicate, utterly real. Her heart was pounding and he could see and count the beats of her heart in her left breast. Automatically, without thinking, he counted them. Eighty beats per minute. She was excited.

Her breasts were small and incredibly perfect with pale pink nipples and yes, thank you God, the nipples were hard. Growing harder and pinker by the second as he stared avidly. He wasn’t necessarily a breast guy. He particularly hated implants because he knew he was feeling sacs of saline solution under his hands. As a combat medic, he’d held plenty of sacs of saline solution and they reminded him of death not life.

But these breasts—ah, these were a miracle of nature. Soft and round and complete turnons.

It wasn’t easy because her breasts were eye magnets, but he lifted his gaze to her face. Which was eye candy, too. “You like touch therapy?”

She nodded, smiled. “Kiss therapy, too.”

His dick gave a kick in his pants. That’s what it felt like, anyway. A surge of blood so intense his dick jerked. He leaned forward then stopped when she put a hand on his chest.

They both looked down. Her hand was slim and lovely but not strong. If he wanted to move forward her hand sure as shit was not going to stop him. But that hand stopped him as suddenly as a grenade. He wasn’t moving if she didn’t want him to.