“Got one up on me, darlin’. I don’t even know what cardamom is.”
“Because you’re a dude,” she teases, warm and sweet, and it aches to hear that fondness in her voice for me. “But they had this one line of scents called Dragon’s Hide. It was this leathery smell mixed with something else I couldn’t identify. It always made me think of Dad. This leather jacket he always wore, all the time, and I just…”
“You tried to make your own?” I ask softly. “So you’d have a scent that reminded you of him.”
She nods and swallows thickly.
I open my eyes and watch her in her glory.
The sweet little smile playing around her lips, the way she touches me with tenderness. This woman might just be an angel come to earth.
“But I made it my way, and it kept me working until I figured out the oil I’m using on you right now. Cinnamon. A little fiery, just like me.” She shakes her head with a soft, self-deprecating laugh, and her unbound hair shimmers like the spark she is. “The heat helps, don’t you think? It’s a good topical remedy for pain. Penetrates deep to loosen up the tension and warm the muscles.”
“It’s working,” I tell her. “How come you never used it before?”
“The smell’s pretty strong,” she says, flicking an almost nervous glance at me from under her lashes. “I’m always worried people won’t like it.”
“I do,” I answer. “It’s deep shit. Intoxicating. Sultry, kinda. Helps me limber up.”
Her eyes ignite, even if that pixie smile of hers doesn’t change.
“Yeah?” she whispers. “I’m glad.”
I am, too.
Not for the reasons she’s thinking.
I’m just happy to be up in her world tonight.
Glad that she’d take something tied to an important memory and turn it into something she can use to ease people’s pain.
It’s like this girl was born for that name she carries.
She really is a peace to the world and to me.
And she’s everything as I close my eyes and settle into silence and let her go to town.
I don’t know when I started trusting her hands this much, but I do, just like that big ol’ pissed off lion in the story with a splinter in his paw.
I let go.
Drop my pride, drop my defenses, and let Peace Rabe fix my hell.
Boy, does she ever. Every time her hands glide across my flesh, I feel like she’s reaching inside to soften my soul.
I know what she told me, when those bad memories hit during that one session. Massage can stir up old pains. It’s only natural that touching those trigger points in the body unlocks things that were buried away.
Thing is, pain’s not the only thing that’s been branded in me.
I haven’t been calm or truly happy for a long time.
But she’s coaxing that out, reaching down to where the better stuff’s buried. She dredges them up and lets them spread through me in a blissful wash of warmth, rolling through my flesh until I’m a relaxed, lazy mess sprawled on the couch.
No pain.
No hurt.
No heartbreak.
No anger, no tension, no loss.
Just me and this fine ass woman.
Her hands on my skin, my body throbbing, and fuck, I can’t stop how that wonderful feeling pools in my gut and pulses in my cock again.
This time, it’s slow and riled instead of urgent and tense.
Best of all, she never stops touching me.
Telling me, with every tender press of her fingers, that she’s not afraid.
Not repelled by whatever this insane, unspeakable thing is between us.
I don’t know how long I lie there, letting her turn me into a mess of contentment.
It seems like forever and too soon at the same time when she slowly eases, stopping with her palms resting lightly over my scar.
“How you feeling?” she asks, her voice pure silk in the darkness behind my eyelids. “Better?”
“Oh, yeah,” I breathe, opening my eyes, looking up at her hazily. “Doesn’t even hurt now. Feels like hot butter.”
“Good.”
She looks down at me with her eyes half-lidded, her lips parted, and—
Shit.
There’s something there.
Something blazing in the rapid pace of her breaths, the way her tits rise and fall, the thinness of her shirt and bra over nipples that press hard little swells against the fabric.
Peace just holds my eyes for several long moments before her gaze darts away. She pulls her hands back, standing and reaching for a towel from her kit.
“Give me a second,” she says, a throaty burr darkening her voice. “I’ll get everything cleaned up.”
Her tongue slides over her lips, her gaze slipping over me for a drawn out second. Then she turns and walks away just a little too fast, vanishing into the kitchen.
I push myself up on one arm and stare after her.
The sway of her hips, the tightness of her sweet, thick ass in her jeans…
Sweet hell, they’re pulling on me like gravity.