He hadn’t been acting quite like himself ever since she’d moved in. She sincerely hoped they would get back on their old, comfortable footing soon.
“Turn around,” she ordered, spinning a finger to demonstrate. One of them had to get past this awkwardness and she figured she might as well be the one.
He shifted on the couch to present his back to her. Kicking off her shoes, she tucked her socked feet beneath her and sat on her knees to give her access to his neck.
“Wow. You are tense,” she commented, feeling the knots in the muscles beneath her fingers. “Try to relax.”
“Easier said than done,” he muttered.
She shook her head and attacked the knots with a fervor that made him groan a little. “You’re going to have to put this test behind you. So you didn’t do as well as you would have liked. You shouldn’t let it bother you this badly. Everyone has good days and bad days. Next time, you’ll have a good day.”
She thought he was beginning to feel a little less tense. “I know,” he agreed. “I’m just mad at myself.”
“I’m sure I’d be the same way.” She tugged at his collar. “Unbutton your shirt so I can get to the knots at the base of your neck.”
He obeyed without a noticeable pause this time. She pushed her fingers into his warm, taut skin. “Does that hurt?”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “But don’t stop.”
She smiled and squeezed again, drawing another low moan from him.
His hair was getting a bit long, she noted, feeling it brush against her fingers. He had nice hair. Very thick and soft, the color of dark sand. Not blond, exactly, but not a true brown like her own either. She had wondered on occasion what it would feel like to bury her hands in that soft pelt. She found her imaginings drifting in that direction again now, as she pressed against the tendons in the side of his neck.
Deciding she’d better move away from the temptation of his hair, she worked on his left shoulder. He had great shoulders. Broad and strong, smooth and tanned. She knew he didn’t wear a shirt when he mowed his small lawn; she had seen him perform that chore on occasion. A vivid memory popped into her mind of Connor, shirtless and just a little sweaty behind the push lawn mower, a pair of shorts riding low on his lean hips, his warm-sand hair gleaming in the light of a hot summer sun.
“Ouch.” He flinched. “You’re squeezing a little too tight on that knot.”
“Oh. Sorry.” She forced her fingers to relax, rubbing at the knot without digging into it as she had been.
What was with her tonight, anyway?
Shifting again on the cushions, he turned abruptly. “That’s enough. It feels a lot better. Thanks.”
She was still on her knees, and his movement had brought them even closer together. She was suddenly, intensely aware of the way his shirt hung open, revealing an intriguing slice of tanned chest and flat stomach. So near she could almost feel the warmth of his skin. So close that it would take only the slightest tip forward to have her pressed against him.
She leaned quickly backward, almost overbalancing and falling flat on her back. She might have do
ne so had Connor not reached out to steady her. He was grinning when he grabbed her, but his smile faded as their eyes met. He didn’t immediately move his hands away from her forearms.
“Um, thanks,” she said, her voice sounding a bit strained to her own ears. “It would have been embarrassing if I’d fallen off the couch.”
“You could have whacked your head on the coffee table.”
“So I guess you saved my life. My hero.” She was trying to tease, the way they always cut up with each other, but for some reason the jest fell a bit flat.
His eyes went dark. “I’m nobody’s hero, Mia.”
“It was just a joke.”
“Yeah. Funny.”
But he wasn’t smiling. She knew that because his mouth was only inches from her own. She could feel his warm breath against her cheeks, and heat built inside her in response. “Connor—”
Did he lean a little closer? Was there suddenly something different about the way he looked at her?
“Mia,” he muttered. “I—”
“Mia!”