“Michael?”
“Huh?” He forced his eyes over and found himself trapped in a concerned gray gaze. She’d asked him something, but he couldn’t for the life of him say what.
Her brows furrowed, which he found strangely adorable. “Are you okay? You look a little…intense. Is your back bothering you?”
“You may have to get used to this look on my face.”
Her worried frown deepened, and she slowly straightened and faced him. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“This is how I look when I’m thinking about tossing you onto the sofa, dragging those criminally short shorts down to your ankles, and giving you the tongue lashing of your life.”
Her throat contracted as she swallowed. “Oh.”
He crossed the room, feeling like a panther closing in on prey. “Would you like a drink first?”
“N-no.” She swallowed again. “The dirty talk works for me. I’m good to go.”
“Awesome.” He took the vacuum from her, lifted it, and twisted to stow it out of the way, but ended up dropping the thing when a current of white-hot pain blazed down his back and into his leg.
“God-damn-it!”
“Don’t move!” Her hands were on him in a second—all over him—fluttering from his neck, to his shoulders, to his waist. “Let the pain ease off. You taxed your back lugging me around last night, and now when you twisted, you drove your swollen disc into your nerve. It hurts like crazy, I know, but I promise it’s not new damage. Just stand straight, and the sensation will subside in a few minutes.”
He stood there, sweaty, shaking, and pissed as hell at the time bomb in his back that could turn his own body against him at the most inopportune times. “This fucking sucks.”
“I know,” she said in a low, soothing voice. A gentle hand patted his chest, and then slid up and around to the back of his neck. She kneaded the tendons there until he closed his eyes and let his head fall forward. “You’re used to being able to rely on your body. You’ll be able to again, but, for now, you have to take things easy and give yourself time to heal. Come on.” She tugged his hand and pulled him toward his bedroom. “Let me help.”
From pretty much the moment he’d walked in the door and seen her in dancing around in those high heels and shorts, he’d planned on getting her into his bedroom, but a therapeutic massage had been the last thing on his agenda. Now, here she was, leading him into his room like a nursemaid. The whole sad scene made his earlier aspirations seem like a sick joke. “I don’t need any help,” he ground out, well aware he sounded like a cranky five-year-old. He caught a glimpse inside the guest room as they passed, and nearly stumbled at the sight of two, oversize, hot-pink duffle bags parked on the floor, overflowing with clothes and shoes. “You know, for a free bird, you don’t travel all that light.”
She gave him the owl eyes. “Too much stuff everywhere?”
Okay, maybe the pain made him more blunt than normal, but he was starting to feel claustrophobic in his own home. “More than I expected. Ten years rotating between stateside posts and overseas deployments got me used to keeping things pared down to the essentials. All this”—he gestured to the apartment in general—“is a little overwhelming.”
“No problem.” She preceded him into his bedroom. “I’ll edit the decor down a bit after I get your back squared away.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Take off your shirt, remove your belt, and lie facedown on the floor, right here.” She pointed to the empty area right beside his bed.
Her words taunted him with their completely unintended erotic undertones, and the frustration of the situation got the better of him. “I’d rather have you face down on the floor, naked, telling me exactly how hard and fast you’d like me to fuck you. Barring that, I’d just as soon be alone with my messed-up back and two fingers of Johnny Walker.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, which pushed her breasts up to tantalizing new heights above the neckline of her tank top. “If you follow instructions like a good boy and let me get you to the p
oint you could actually follow through on the offer, I’m more than happy to discuss how hard and fast I like to be fucked.”
Okay, huge incentive to stop acting like a complete asshole. He walked over to her and carefully unfolded her arms. Then he took her hand, threaded his fingers through hers, and squeezed gently. She squeezed back. “I’m sorry. I can be a good boy.”
“I’ll bet you can.”
She obviously intended to rub her very talented hands all over him. No reason to fight that. But he could fight for maximum comfort. “Sure you wouldn’t rather do this on my bed?”
“Not this. I need you on a solid surface if I’m going to try to work some magic between your L5 and S1. Afterward,” she raised a shoulder and let it drop, “who knows where we’ll end up?” She took a step back and wiggled her fingers. He released her hand. “Go ahead and get into position. I’m going to grab some massage oil from my room. Be right back.”
She swept by him and he moved aside to let her go. He expelled a slow breath and then stared at the spot where she’d told him to lie down. Getting down there was going to be a challenge. He unbuttoned his shirt with less-than-steady hands, shrugged it off, and tossed it on the bed. The white undershirt quickly followed. Then he sat on the bed, lifted each foot, unlaced and removed his boots without moving his lower back. The belt came off next. And then—thank Christ he was still alone—he lowered himself to his knees like an out-of-practice Catholic. From there he went onto all fours and slowly slid his legs backward into a push-up position. He released his elbows and lowered his chest until it rested on the rough-weave carpet. The pressure on the nerve abated a little and the pain lancing down his leg subsided from heinous to merely unbearable.
“Do you prefer sandalwood or eucalyptus?” Chloe’s voice invaded his thoughts at the same time two powerful scents invaded his nostrils.
“Your choice,” he managed, turning his face to the side to watch as she stepped out of her heels and knelt down beside him.